Cute Girls

Punch Line

“The speaker in this tale is a guest at the dinner table of her publisher, the dominatrix Mrs Prentice. She is the last of several writers to tell the story of how they began writing erotica.”

*****

I didn”t start writing until I was about 35. My first book, “Submissive Slave in Suburbiam”, was an instant success and I”ve not looked back.

I went to a girls-only grammar school and was a very conventional child. My father was a bank manager. My mother didn”t work. I used to cry when they argued and shouted. Sometimes Mummy screamed horribly. Once or twice, she would have a black eye next day. She always said she had fallen over, but I knew he”d punched her. I determined never to let a man do that to me.

I had no experience with boys, apart from being groped at discos. No one ever asked me out. I thought I was plain. My first proper boyfriend was one of my Biology lecturers at university. He was knowledgeable, charming and worldly. He made me laugh with his funny stories and off-the-cuff remarks about current affairs and people we saw in the street. He would point at an old woman wearing black and say “Definitely a stepmother!” He used to take me out to movies and restaurants that I couldn”t have afforded as a student. He had a car too.

Peter courted me for ages before I let him have sex with me. Well, I didn”t really let him. We had been to see Polanski”s MacBeth at the movies and he suggested a take-away on the way home. We picked up a Chinese and he drove me back to my place. My flatmate had gone home because her father had just died. I opened some wine while Pete laid out our aluminium cartons and found some chopsticks.

When we had eaten, I said I was tired. I thought he would go when he got up and I put my arms round his neck and stood on my toes to kiss him goodnight. He kissed me back tenderly and started to feel my tits. I had often let him do that but never gone much further. They”re very sensitive and it aroused me, but this time I was determined to have an early night. I tried to pull away. Peter held me tight and put his hand up my skirt. I tried to squeeze my legs together but he was able to rub my mons. I said “No, Pete, I want to go to bed,” but he wouldn”t stop.

“Look, stop it,” I shouted. He kissed me, this time roughly, stifling my increasingly desperate protests. It was summer and I had no tights on. Holding me and kissing me like this he forced his finger under my panties and between my sex lips. I could feel that I was wet. I increased my struggles to get free.

He grabbed my arms and forced me down onto the floor. I started to scream for help, hoping a neighbour would hear. Peter put his hand over my mouth and laid heavily on top of me as he pulled my short skirt up. He started forcing one of his legs between mine. I thought of kneeing him in the balls but my right leg was trapped. I don”t think I could have really done it anyway. He pushed my left leg aside with his knee and pulled my panties aside with his free hand. I was still struggling to no avail. I started to cry.

His hand parted my labia and his finger penetrated me. Then he pulled it out. I felt something larger pressing against my private lips. I was trying to shout “No” but could only make a muffled sound. The pressure got harder and he did something to me with his hand. Suddenly I felt a nasty pain as he slid right into me. I had lost my virginity. I was crying buckets. He took his hand away from my mouth and forced his tongue into it as he started to thrust into me. I lay there limp, all my resistance gone. It was too late now anyway. Eventually, he pulled out and I felt his warm liquid squirt onto my tummy; my skirt had ridden or been pulled up right to my waist. The only strange thing was that I now felt empty and had a longing ache. I wanted him back inside me.

A minute ago, I”d wanted to kill him but now his good points came to mind. At least he had tried to avoid putting me up the spout by pulling out. He kissed me on the check and got up pulling me to my feet as he did so. He hugged me and said “Thank you baby. I”ve wanted you so long. I love you so much,” and kissed my eyelids. I hugged him for a while and again felt that funny ache in my vagina.

He picked me up and carried me to bed. He undressed me as I lay there limply, not knowing what was happening to me. He cleaned his mess off me with a tissue and covered me with the bedclothes as he got in beside me. He put his arms around me and held me as I snuggled up to him.

In the morning, he asked me if we could do it again but I showed him my maiden”s blood on the sheets and said I was very sore. He left. I saw him at college a couple of days later and he asked if we could go out. I thought that I might as well let him have me again, now that he”d taken my cherry. He wouldn”t make a bad husband.

The next Saturday he took me out for a wonderful meal. The restaurant was candlelit and served delicate plates of Moroccan food. It was romantic, and Peter kept telling me how wonderful I looked. He took me to his flat and asked me if I would let him make love to me again. When I hesitated, he asked me to marry him. “Result!” I thought, but I said he had to use a condom. He had some.

We went to bed and I made him feel my tits for ages until I let him stick himself into me. I grew more and more aroused as he thrust into my wet, willing opening. I was really disappointed when he came and rolled off. I hugged him as he fell asleep.

Quite soon, I moved in to Peter”s flat. He fucked me every night for a week but, after that, less often. I told my parents that I was engaged and a date was set for next autumn, when my finals were over.

Peter started telling me that he didn”t like me going out so much; I should concentrate on my studies. One night, I stayed in the Union bar until closing time, talking to this girl about Chinese science in the middle ages and its connexion with Alchemy in the Middle East. She thought that all that Philosopher”s Stone stuff was a European corruption of the true spirit of Arabic Alchemy. When I got home, Peter slapped me and accused me of going out with another man. I protested my innocence. He punched me in the abdomen and then kicked me, as I lay on the floor, terrified.

I slept on the couch. I decided to try and find a flat and leave him. In the morning, he was tearful and apologetic. He said he loved me; he had drunk too much because he missed my company. He would never do it again. I stayed.

But of course, he did hit me again. It wasn”t quite a routine but I got used to being hit and covering up the bruises. I even used that old cliché about walking into a door once. Every time it happened I planned escape, but getting a flat wasn”t so easy in Coventry. The lazy option was to stay. The beatings got gradually more frequent.

Leaving college was my excuse to get away from him; I was fed up with the constant beatings. I went home and, from there, looked for a job and a flat in London. I finally got a graduate trainee job with an Insurance company. I was going to be an underwriter. I gave up men until I met Gareth.

Gareth was a postman. He was a sensible chap who told me he liked the look of me one night in a wine bar near where I lived. I”d met a girlfriend from back home there, to catch up on old times. He was very handsome. I moved in with him and cooked his meals and washed his clothes. He started to beat me up almost immediately and my flat search started again.

I met Baz on a tube train. He made me laugh and took me for a drink. He was a motorcycle courier. I told him, for some reason I can”t explain, that I was unhappy and looking for a flat. Why didn”t I share with him? His flatmate was going off round the world next month. I jumped at the offer.

Two weeks after I moved in to Baz”s flat, he jumped me. He offered to cook dinner on Saturday night. We drank wine with the meal, although it was only Irish stew. I had nothing better to do, so I went to the pub with him after I had washed up. When we got home, he grabbed me and kissed me.

“You”ve got such lovely tits,” he said. “I”ve wanted to feel them ever since I first saw you on the tube”.

I let him massage my breasts. I let him press his knee in between my legs. I was feeling the need for a man inside me very badly. He took me to his room and undressed me. Unlike my previous lovers, he didn”t just stick himself into me. His kissed my breasts and then my tummy. He was licking my clitoris. It was gorgeous. I begged him to penetrate me, and he did. As he thrust in and out, he fingered me. I felt my muscles contracting around him; I was losing control of my own body. I writhed in panic as he thrust and caressed me. Then it happened. For the first time ever I had had an orgasm.

I started sleeping with him all the time. He made me come sometimes but not always. He expected me to do all the housework. Inevitably, it seemed to me, he started to beat me up. I seemed to attract the type.

I met Philip at work. He was an accountant and seemed different somehow from the other men I had known. He was softly spoken and considerate. He read lots of books and made a fascinating conversationalist and companion. And he was tall, dark and handsome. He didn”t have to ask me out twice.

I saw him as often as I could, without Baz finding out. He continued to be tender to me but I was surprised at what a consistently good lover he was. I always came with him when made love. Sometimes he gave me multiple orgasms. He always aroused me very slowly with kisses and caresses before even touching my sex. I was always wet for him. I fell in love. I wouldn”t even mind if he hit me, I decided. After all, it was all I”d ever known from men. It was just the way they were.

Within weeks, I told Baz I was leaving him. He beat me up of course, but I sneaked back for my things while he was out working and went to a coffee bar until Phil came home from work. Then I went to his place. He was expecting me and was preparing dinner. He saw my bruises and held me as I cried and told him about Baz and then the others. It all streamed out of me. He took me to bed and fucked me till I screamed. Then he made my dinner: a tasty bouillabaisse. I”d landed a catch; he could cook too.

Our first row was over something minor. If I remember correctly, he got really uptight because I hadn”t crushed a milk carton before putting in the bin. He said it meant he had to take the rubbish out more often. I screamed back that he never took the fucking rubbish out anyway.

Suddenly his mood changed and, instead of shouting, he starting telling me off in a really cold, stern voice. He told me that he didn”t like girls who swore and started recounting all the things I”d done wrong since I”d lived there. He was wagging his finger and pushing his face into mine.

Suddenly I was terrified. It was all happening again. I collapsed on the floor and curled into a ball. I was shouting “Please, Phil, please don”t hit me,” over and over again. I was crying with fear.

He picked me up and kissed me gently on the face and eyes. I continued to sob on his strong shoulder as he held me. He made tea and took me close to Heaven in bed. I forgot about the incident. At last, here was a good man.

A week later, we rowed again with exactly the same result, except that, as I wept on his shoulder, he said “I think we need to talk.”

He poured out two whiskies and I sat next to him on the sofa.

“Listen Jenny –” that”s my real name – “I think you”re a feckless, lazy, foul-mouthed little madam sometimes. You need your bottom spanked.”

So, he was going to beat me up. I was scared and started to sob again. He put his arm round me as I flinched from the movement and cringed.

“I know what you”ve been through with men, Jenny. You said you thought you attracted violent types to you. Have you ever considered that they might be a magnet for you? No, don”t say anything. Listen! There is such a thing as a submissive woman. We don”t know if it”s because of nature or nurture, but they exist. They are only happy when a dominant person controls their lives. The weakest and commonest degree of submissiveness is the woman who says she”s wants a man to take responsibility: someone to lean on. More extreme are those who wished to be physically punished for usually subconscious guilt: ─ for real or imagined sins. It gives them release. It absolves their souls. And it arouses them sexually too.

“I would very much like to give you a good thrashing. You deserve it thoroughly. But I think you would enjoy it too Jenny if it were administered by the hands of a man that cares deeply about you, as I do. I will not beat you without your permission. I am not a heartless, selfish, inadequate thug like the others. I”ll give you some books to read and until the weekend to think it over. Now drink up, it”s dinner time and I”m hungry.”

I made his dinner and started reading the books he gave me. The first one was on book on the Psychology of power relationships between dominant and submissive personalities. It was interesting. I didn”t know that such topics were the subject of serious research. Next evening I read “The Story of O”. I “was” aroused by it. I had to jump Phil as soon as he got in from a meeting that he”d had to go to. I read more and when Phil was too tired that night I was really pissed off with him and was grumpy with him in the morning. I was horny all day and finished the novel as soon as I got home. It was only when I re-read it a year or two later that I realized how well written it is. Then, it was just a turn on. I imagined the insides of my thighs being whipped as I hung upside down and shuddered. It must be awful and a spanking was a long way from that kind of sadistic torture. I imagined Sir Stephen looking rather like Phil. There was a picture of a pretty actress playing O, so I imagined her like that, blonde and gamine.

On Friday, Phil said “Well?” as soon as he got home from work.

“Sorry, Phil, I don”t follow.”

“Is the grumpy trollop going to accept the punishment she justly deserves?”

I remembered my grumpiness from the morning and felt guilty. I was horny as hell and wanted to go to bed with him, but he looked stern. There was only one way I was going to get him into the sack. Anyway, I wanted to try.

“OK, Phil. I”ll let you spank me.”

Phil fetched an upright chair and told me to lie across his knee. I did so feeling very stupid as my hair fell forward over my hands, which pressed against the plush front room carpet.

“Hadn”t you better pull the curtains?”

“I”ll decide that. Now keep quiet for your spanking, you foul-mouth grumpus.”

I was not surprised when he lifted the hem of my skirt but when he started pulling down my tights I tried to get up. How dare he? He pushed me down, pushed my right arm up my back, and held me there, helpless to get away. The tights and knickers came down and trapped my knees together.

He hit my left cheek. It stung and I felt it flatten and go back into shape. Then the right cheek, and so on alternately. His spanks got steadily harder.

“Ouch,” I cried.

“I told you to be quiet, bitch”

The smacks got harder still.

“Ouch! Stop! That”s enough. Please! Please stop. You said I had to consent. Aaarh!”

He was really slamming into me now and I started crying. He stopped smacking and let me feel the warmth spread through by bottom and thighs. My sex seemed to have bean beaten too. It was warm and throbbing. He touched me there and I could feel how wet I was. His finger slid from back to front. The minute he touched my clitoris I exploded with pleasure. My thighs clamped his hand as I convulsed and shook.

“God!” I said, as the waves of pleasures subsided to breatheability levels.

He lifted me up and kissed me.

“That really hurt Phil. I did ask you to stop.”

“If I”d stopped you wouldn”t have come like that. I”m a pretty good judge of how much a girl can take.”

“You”ve . . . you”ve spanked people before?” I was shocked.

“Of course. You didn”t think you were my first girlfriend, did you?”

“No, but–”

“Yes, a warm butt.” He put his hand on my skirt where it had fallen over my sore bum.”

“Show me how red I”ve made it. It turns me on.”

I turned and he lifted the skirt again.

“Lovely, Jenny, I want to take its owner to bed and warm the sheets with it.”

Even though I”d just come, I wanted him inside me desperately. I slipped out of my shoes and tore my tights and knickers off. I dragged Phil into the bedroom and tore his clothes off too. I pulled him on top of me feeling for his tool. As I centred it on my opening and he plunged into me, I felt the burning in my bum again. I should have gone on top. But it was too late; I was coming again; I could feel my vagina contracting around his length. Then I felt him swell up inside me and pulse. I thought I could feel gobs of his semen hitting the entrance to my womb. I wished momentarily that I wasn”t on the pill.

Next day I wandered round the house in a sort of trance all morning. My bum kept reminding me of last night. I kept finding excuses to kiss Phil.

“You really are a horny little slut aren”t you?”

“Don”t call me that.” It was degrading to be so spoken to.

“Well you are. You let my spank you, and you came on my hand. By the way, there”s a matter of disobedience still to deal with. I really should have dealt with you last night but I, er, got distracted.” He smiled.

“Disobedience!” I said indignantly.

“Yes. I told you to keep quiet for your spanking and you made all sorts of noise. I”m sure the neighbours could hear, and certainly anyone passing the front room window. I wonder if anyone did look in.”

I remembered the curtains. How awful! Had anyone seen me in the humiliating posture?

“How”s your bum? Ready for more?”

“No, please.”

He took me in his arms and kissed me. I responded. I wanted him so badly. He started to caress my breasts, which have always been very sensitive. I pressed against him. He put his hand in my jeans and rubbed me.

“Do you want me inside you?”

“Yes, Darling.”

“Well, take your punishment then.” He took his hand away.

What could I do? I kissed him but he pushed me away and walked off. I followed him to the front room where he was reading.

“Please, Honey.” I said.

“Please what”?”

I thought for a moment. I was so horny. I wanted him.

“Please spank me for making a noise.”

I couldn”t believe what I had just said.

“I want to tie you up this time,” he responded.

Well, it couldn”t hurt more just because I was tied, I thought.

“OK.”

He went upstairs and returned with rope and a sports bag. He went to the cellar and came back with a small workbench of the sort DIY enthusiasts own.

“Take your clothes off and lie across this,” he said, setting it up in the middle of the room.

I did and he tied my hands and feet to its legs. I watched him open the bag. He took out a cane. I started to struggle against my bonds. I cried out.

“I never said you could cane me.”

“Quiet!” he shouted.

He produced a ball gag from the same bag and gagged me. Then, to my complete surprise, he left the house. I heard the front door slam. It must have been about midday.

It was dark before I heard the key in the door. My wrists and ankles hurt. He had a woman with him I could hear her voice in the hall. I heard the clicking of glasses and laughter. After about an hour they came in to the room. All I could see, looking upside down between my own, was their legs.

“She”s got potential, Mistress. Would you like to see?” It was Phil speaking.

“Yes. Has she felt your cane before?”

“No. This will be her first time. But I”ll cane her hard anyway.”

I started to wish I”d never got into this. I was really terrified and started to struggle again, but it just hurt my wrists more. A hand started fingering my cunt.

Lace wasn”t changing his mind. He didn”t believe her complaint, meek or otherwise. He refused to listen to her exhortations to withdraw. Her body told him what her voice would not. In spite of her anxious fear, she pulsed around his prick as he moved inside her ass. With his warm hands soothing her Kelly began to calm. To have him inside this verboten place seemed abusive, more cruel than all the other humiliations she had endured at his hands.

She was confused, one minute wanting him out of her body and out of her life. Yet the next minute, she was overjoyed to feel that cock inside her ass, having him penetrate her deeply. In that moment of defilement she utterly belonged to him, his prize and chattel. The man that had her mastered. He”d made her profoundly content. One precious river of desire moved in every nook and cranny of her physical self. And then, that river, not content to confine itself to physical sensation, moved into her thoughts, exploiting the new and vibrant sensations. A sense of peace, of submission, of release and enslavement snared her mind and drove away the shame.

He fuckeded her ass long and hard. The more she relinquished, the more he used the channel to soothe his body ache. The sensations increased with his tempo and he was soon butt fucking her in hard primal strokes. He came inside her while moving at full speed, prodding violently, clutching her kneeling form with greedy hands and listening to the sounds of her own sensuous joy ring true in his ears.

He heard her release and her happiness, the sound of surrender playing like a symphony. Kellie came as she felt his hot jizzum shooting deep into her rectum. This second powerful orgasm drained her again and she lay on the desk like a limp flower.

Lace’s cock slowly withdrew from her. Ms. Milton stepped forward and wiped it off with a soapy cloth. Then she did the same to Kellie’s upturned ass. The soothing cloth was replaced by something inserted into Kellie’s wide open anus.

“What’s that?” she queried.

“It’s a butt plug my dear” Ms. Milton responded “You will keep it inside you until you get home. This will assure that you don’t lose any of Mr. Lace’s sperm.”

“Ok” Kellie replied although it made no sense to her. The fight had gone out of her.

Ms. Milton helped her up and got her dressed. Mr. Lace retied his robe stepped over to the two ladies. “Mrs. Jameson, you have made an extraordinary argument for us to retain your children at Colhaven. We must have these conferences more often. You will set up an appointment won’t you Ms. Milton?”

“Yes Sir” She replied and turned the dazed Kellie toward the door. Outside the office they stepped over to Ms. Milton’s desk where she opened a large date book. “Lets see now how about next Wednesday at 5:30 pm?”

“Yes, that will be fine” Kellie answered nervously.

“Very good. We’ll see you then.”

Kellie looked into the mirror behind the reception desk and noticed that her hair was disheveled and her clothes were uneven like she had just thrown them on. Turning to leave she noticed the butt plug made her walk with a slightly bowlegged stride.

Making her way to the door she spotted Marjorie Nichols sitting awkwardly in one of the waiting chairs. Her dress pulled up her thighs revealing the tops of her stockings. Kellie recognized her from the orientation all the parents had to go through.

Marjorie smiled and said hello. Kellie just giggled and stepped out into the night air.

“FIN”

Tags: Fetish, Story