Slippery When Wet: A Novel (Zane Presents) (16 page)

“Oh, yes! Whip it! Uh!”

I lifted the belt over my head and brought it down against her flesh, how she liked it—hard, swift, and calculated.

Whap!

Whap!

Whap!

Lash after lash, her puffy cunt wept, bringing forth more wetness, more jolts of electricity; more surges of heat; each strike reverberating in her cunt, ricocheting off the lining of her walls.

“Yes! Yes! Yesssssssss!” she cried out as I swatted her breasts, her swollen nipples sensitive and erect, with the belt. She arched into the lashes, offering up more of her pussy. She strained to keep from screaming out her safe word. She gave into the pain. Gave into the pleasure. And came.

Slick Heat moans into the phone, snapping me from my reverie. “Oooh, I’m so horny. It’s been weeks since my last session. And I’m long overdue.”

I smile. “Yes, you are. And you know I aim to deliver you your greatest pleasures one lick at a time.”

“Oooh, yes. I know. I have the rest of the day free. When can you fit me in? The sooner the better.”

I glance through my appointment book, the one I keep hidden and locked. “I’ll see you at four.”

“See you then,” she says excitedly.

My clit tingles at the thought of beautiful strong women with secret punishment fantasies. The lascivious sound of leather and suede lashes stroking, cutting deep into their pussies. The animalistic growls and grunts and groans of horny, needy, powerful women who—with the strike of a paddle, or hairbrush, or flogger—submit to pain, give in to pleasure.

Four
P.M
., Slick Heat saunters through the sliding doors, stylishly dressed in a pair of faded low rider jeans and a white gauzy blouse that reveals her flat stomach and hangs over her smooth shoulders. The diamond stud in her navel sparkles beneath the edge of her shirt. As always, she’s in a pair of gorgeous strappy heels. Six-inch, I’m sure. Her towering presence, the light scent of her perfume, commands attention. My attention. And I eagerly wait to give it all to her.

I smile, standing up to greet her. Today I am wearing a chain halter-top and matching thong with a pair of wet-look latex leggings, latex gloves, and seven-inch platform heels. She eyes the sway of my breasts and chains as I reach for her hand.

“Come. Let’s get started.”

“I can’t wait,” she says seductively, allowing me to lead her by the hand. Today, I will take her into The Chamber. I have converted one of my three bedrooms into my personal dungeon, complete with faux rock panels covering the walls, recessed lighting, soft gray carpet, and thick window treatments to shut out light. Hanging from the walls are a pair of stainless steel daggers, several whips, and two pairs of handcuffs. Several pieces of erotic bondage artwork are situated on each wall to add to the sexy, sensual, yet sinister, aura of the room.

Over in the left corner is a multi-position Saint Andrews Cross—an
X-shaped support with restraints for the wrists and ankles—that can, in a matter of seconds, change from a cross to an inversion table to a spanking stand. It is for my more daring clients who crave being strapped to the cross, then whipped and strapped unforgivingly.

A portable stockade, spanking stand with red leather padding, a bondage box, as well as a black leather bondage chair—with its fully adjustable back, removable arm boards, and multiple bondage points—are situated about the room to add to the theme.

And for the final touch, a four-thousand-dollar steel bondage bed, with an adjustable sling support system, is centered in the middle of the room. Oh, how I love this room.

I unlock the door, then step in with Slick Heat on my heels. She takes in the décor. Her eyes gleaming with excitement as she walks deeper into the room. “I love being in this room.” Her hand glides over the St. Andrew’s Cross, then touches the manacles that hang from the arms.

“Remove your clothes,” I instruct, shutting the door behind us and turning on the recessed lights.

I eye her as she kicks off her heels, pulls her blouse off over her head, then shimmies out of her jeans. She peels off her silk panties, unveiling her slick petals. I lick my lips, eager to inhale her scent.

“Toss me your panties.”

She grins, tossing them in the air. I step in and catch the delicate fabric with one hand, pulling them up to my nose. The crotch area, damp and scented in her warm musk, causes my own cunt to pucker.

Her aroused pussy, excited by her sinful desires, always smells so sweet.

“Are you ready for your lashings?”

“Mmmhmm. I’ve been ready all day.”

I smile.

For today’s session I have decided to use the Saint Andrew’s Cross. And she is pleased, so very pleased. I can tell she is already on the edge of a climax as I take each of her wrists and place them in the padded restraints. Then I bend down and do the same for her ankles. After I have her strapped in, I slowly flip the cross up. She’s now upside down, her ankles and wrists bound; her legs spread apart. Her cunt and clit are wide open and ready. She is already soaked. Her shaved cunt dripping like a faucet.

I look down into her wanting, powerless eyes. Ease two fingers inside her pussy.

She moans.

She is hot. She wants to be touched. Wants the thudding ache in the center of her cunt to be caressed away. Not by fingers, not by tongue. But by lashes of a belt.

I pull my fingers out of her. Kneel down and force my wet fingers into her mouth. She licks them without direction. Her tongue thrusts out. She greedily sucks my fingers in.

“Yeah, that’s it, greedy little spoiled bitch. Suck my fingers clean.” I reach up with my other hand and reach between her thighs. She is wetter than ever.

I grin, pulling my fingers from her mouth, standing up.

She whimpers.

Anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac.

She knows how magical the belt is. How it hangs limp, then comes alive. Lash, by lash, the heat of the leather, the thrash. The end of the thick buckle wrapped around my hand. The sound it makes as it’s whirled into the air, then brought down, slashing into her aroused sex. The jolt of electricity that shoots through her after her cunt has been set afire over and over.

I tease her with the leather. Lay it over her sex, lightly tap it, then slide the length of the belt over it. She moans.

I taunt her with it. Popping her clit with it in rapid succession, stopping, then starting back again.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

“Ohhhh, yess!”

Her moans rise in pitch with each smack of the leather against her sex, gasping with each strike.

Seven whacks in a row, that’s what I deliver. Seven sharp lashes of leather against her clit cause her head to thrash and her eyes to snap shut. She bites down on her bottom lip.

I watch as she breathes through her nose. As her breasts rises and falls, her heart practically thumping out of her chest.

Her pussy still throbs. And, before she can collect her thoughts, before she can prepare for the next blow, the belt is slicing back between her thighs, crashing into her cunt again and again. Wetness splashing out against the leather.

She gasps.

She whimpers.

Slick Heat wants more.

She begs for it. “Oh please. Mmmm.”

The belt strikes again, sweet pain coursing through every nerve ending. She thrust her hips upward, welcoming its stinging contact. This time, she screams out.

This time, tears well up in her eyes.

This time, she is lust-crazed.

She’s moaning and groaning and grunting. Her hips winding, her pelvis thrusting, her orgasm rampages through her.

I walk over to the closet, sliding back its door. Inside is a six-drawer dresser. The first drawer is where I keep lubes, creams, scented oils, condoms, and other essentials. The remaining five
drawers house an assortment of wooden hairbrushes, paddles, vibrators and dildos. Along the wall hangs an array of floggers, ball gags, and harnesses. Everything neatly lined in order.

I pull open the first drawer and open a tin, popping three Altoids mints into my mouth, then shut the door, walking back over to Slick Heat. She is still whimpering and winding her hips from the lashings to her sex. She looks up at me with pleading, teary eyes.

I marvel at the beautiful welts that have puckered up beneath her smooth skin. Her skin the canvas, the belt the paintbrush. Her whipped pussy is a masterful work of art. I lick the drool that has gathered in the corners of my lips. Her tender clit swollen and throbbing, her wet cunt crying out for me to fuck her, fill her, stretch her.

“I’m going to soothe your pussy now.” I rub a finger over her slit. She moans. Thrusts her hips upward. “You want me to make sweet love to your stinging cunt?”

“Yes! Mmmm…”

Pushing forward, I kiss the tip of Slick Heat’s clit, then kiss around it before placing my mouth over her juicy sex. She moans loudly from the added heat in my mouth and the tingly sensation it causes. Her clit is rigid against my tongue. I massage it with my lips, then suck it deep into my mouth, slicking it with spittle.

“Oh, yes…oh, yes…uhhhh…uhhh…”

“You like that, huh?”

Her hips thrust upward. “Yes.”

I fuck her with my tongue. She moans and cries out, pleasure rising from within. Her engorged cunt, slick and on fire, is beating as I lap her clit, then suck on it harder and faster.

Finally I give her what she’s aching for, what her cunt thirsts for. A ten-inch black dildo. I grip it by its smooth, faux balls and carve it deep into her pussy, probing her, stroking her, fucking
all the way into her while swirling my tongue over her clit. She bucks and whimpers, then lets out a loud groan. I fuck her harder, faster. Her pussy swallows in every inch, tip to base buried deep into her. I slowly pull out, then slam back in. Pull out, slam back in. The slit of her pussy stretches open wide. I can almost feel it pulling and gripping and sucking the dildo as I fuck her with it.

It doesn’t take long before Slick Heat comes and cries out, her head thrashing to and fro. Five minutes later, she leaves the confines of her padded restraints, liberated and carefree. Her secret cravings fed, her thirst for the forbidden quenched…until the next time.

Three weeks later, I awaken to the sound of Art of Noise. “Moments in Love.” And to the smell of bacon and fresh roasted hazelnut coffee. I breathe in the aroma and sound, stretching and yawning. Then shut my eyes closed again, lying still in bed, inhaling. Exhaling. Inhaling, again. I take in the music, the smells. And a smile sweeps across my lips. My beautiful Sasha’s back in town. I live for the sight of her, for the feel of her touch.

Instantly my pussy tingles and I am compelled to touch it, to tease it, to bring it to the edge of pleasure, then dangle an orgasm over the cliff, denying it release. I let out a moan as a soft tremble washes over me as my hands glide over my breasts, fingertips lightly brushing over my nipples.

My hand dips between my legs as salacious memories and pure lust flower in loins, forbidden urges satisfied with fierce lovemaking. My fingers settle over my pussy lips, then between the wet folds. With my other hand, I pinch my swollen, sensitive nub between my forefinger and thumb, gasping, massaging and kneading it, running my fingers in tiny circles over it.

In my mind, I imagine it is Sasha’s hand over my mound, her fingers teasing and playing in my overheated pussy. I spread my quivering legs wider and arch my back as I thrust my middle finger deep. I open, then close my eyes, blinking images of Sasha slipping a single wet finger in and out of my slick opening. I use my thumb and flick my clit.

A cry catches in my throat.

I thrust two fingers deep.

Then a third.

I take in a deep breath.

Everything about Sasha makes me ache with hunger and need. She allows me to give into my primal cravings. And I allow her the same. She fuels my rampant need, feeds my every desire. I lick my lips, fondling and toying with my clit. I am swollen and throbbing and sopping wet.

I breathe in another deep breath.

I can almost smell Sasha’s warm, spicy pussy. Can almost taste its sweet pungency. I imagine her hips hovered over my face, the bud of her flower poking out from its hood, erect and ready. She lowers her cunt to my mouth, my probing tongue pushing into her slickness as her muscles are pulling me in, welcoming me into her warmth.

I let out a soft moan at the thought, spreading open my labia and plunging two fingers into the heat and wetness. I push them in and out of me until I can hear the slick sound and smell my own arousal. Heated by slippery fingers that have found my spot, steam curls out of my cunt, swirling around my clit. And when I can no longer take it, I reach under my pillow and pull out my Wonderland vibrator, turning it on low speed and gasping the minute the vibrating tip touches my clit.

I close my eyes, whimpering softly, as I massage my clit. I stroke my clit over and over, bringing myself close to orgasm. “Oh, god, yes…” I spread my legs wider and slide the tip of the vibrator into my wet pussy. Its vibrations ricochet against my inner walls. “Ohhhh, yessss…” I slide the vibrator into my smooth pussy, slowly at first, then with more urgency, pushing it up into me as far as it will go. “Oh, yes…mmmm…ooooh…” The vibrations pulse through my body. “Oh, god, yes…”

My orgasm crashes over me. Endless waves of intense pleasure soak the sheets beneath me. Several minutes later, when my breathing and heartbeat steady, I blink my bleary eyes a few times, focusing on the digital clock. 8:47
A.M
.

Enigma plays. “Principles of Lust” pours out through the surround sound. I hum its tune in my head, climbing out of bed and heading for the bathroom to freshen up.

Ten minutes later, barefoot and naked, I descend the winding staircase, making my way into the kitchen. Sasha’s hot gaze roves over my body as I enter the kitchen. “My, don’t you look scrumptious.” She’s wearing a red Essence Festival apron over a white mini-skirt and form-fitting blouse.

I greet her with a kiss. “Good morning.”