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Philip took my hand, the way he does when he opens the car door for me. I kept my head bowed, as per the rules in our game, but I couldn’t help turning my eyes up to look at him. The buttons of his shirt dotted a trail to his fine leather belt. Glint of the street light on the buckle. And the smell of his cologne, subtle pulses of smoky sweetness drifting to me.
“I expect you to be on your best behavior,” he said, his voice deep, always intimate. His hands touched my collar, straightened it, pressed it flat. “You know I love you in this dress,” he said. And I love to wear it for him, this tight-waisted, flouncy jumper which he often says reminds him of a schoolgirl. It drapes almost to my ankles. And I’d worn the proper shoes: my suede Mary Jane’s. “And underneath? What did you wear for me?”
I had to swallow to get the words out. “White cotton panties… the stockings with the lace that you like.”
“That’s my girl.” He cupped my chin in his hand, and now I was allowed to look at him. Those deep brown eyes which always seemed to be silently deposing me, studying me, devising new ways to affect me. His hair still looked a little wet from his shower and held a beautiful dark luster. But his eyes, something brewing behind them, always, to take me by surprise, no doubt. “Now, you’re not to speak unless you are spoken to. Riley knows what he can expect from you, and you will fulfill his expectations. Won’t you, my little slave?”
I managed a quick nod. I could feel the blood pulsing in my ear.
We walked up the brick drive without talking. Philip carried with him our ‘bag of tricks’ a beautiful black leather medical bag in which he kept his favorite instruments and toys for use upon me. We stopped below the soft glow of the porch light.
“Anything you’d like to ask or say before I ring the bell?”
“No, Philip,” I replied quietly.
A strange din came over me. Flash of sanity. Flash of panic. This was crazy. And I wanted it! I’d anticipated this day, savored the threats, the promises, for months. Now it was happening.
And was I afraid?
But wasn’t that part of the thrill? Knowing that you’re safe, with someone who cares for you and would let no harm befall you, yet feeling that fear, achieving the fear all the same.
Fear. The kind that chills the skin and makes the heart seem to bruise against your ribcage. An almost impossible ascension to attain with someone you love. But Philip has always had that gift, the ability to make me tremble. And I love the way he uses it, time after time.
Click of the door latch. The front door opened, an almost blinding light in contrast to the darkness outside. My eyes dashed downward to the gleam on the tile of the foyer, only in part because the rules of the game dictated that I do so.
It was Riley, Philip’s friend from work. I knew his voice – that soft, low rumble – from our little flirtations on the phone. I looked at his shoes, nearly twice the size of mine. To look directly at his face right then would have been torturous, knowing that he and Philip had talked, knowing what I was there for.
Starting to feel the ache of a blush coming to my face.
He ushered us in. The door closed and latched behind us. Dull heavy thump of Riley’s shoes on the tile, as opposed to the lighter tap of Philip’s and the still lighter scuffle and click of mine.
Philip is a formidable man at 6’3” but Riley is huge. Nearly seven feet tall. They don’t get much bigger outside of professional sports. I could feel his size in mere presence as we walked next to him. A novelty man; pure mind candy to a submissive girl like me. This guy could pick me up and shake me out like a rug if he wanted to.
I’d only met him a couple of times in person; I wanted to experience him so badly.
And Philip wanted to see it.
A long, thin mirror hung on the wall of the foyer and I stopped for a moment. Philip would allow me this. Psyche time. Riley walked on. I looked into the reflection as Philip stood behind me; looking into my own black eyes, with their thick, almost brushy lashes which Philip often said added a bewitching and child-like quality to my face. My cheeks, even my lips, seemed flushed with color. “You look beautiful,” Philip said, then pulled my dark brown hair back from my shoulder and kissed my ear. “You’ll do fine.”
The furniture in Riley’s living room was simple: plump cushioned couch and ficus against a now darkened view of the ocean, coffee table on a white fleece rug. Soft lighting. Vivaldi playing faintly in the background.
Philip set the leather bag down on the polished walnut dining table in the corner.
Riley offered wine.
I waited until Philip put his hands on my shoulders and spoke into my ear. “You may answer. Raise your eyes and look at our host. Be respectful.”
So difficult. So peculiar. As much as I wanted to look at Riley, it almost hurt to do it. But I managed it, flashing glimpses upward to the colossus of him.
Riley took a room when he entered it, but not just because of his height. He had that something. Almost delicate features for such a large man, with strong, deep-set eyes. He kept his head cleanly shaved, adding to the drama of his presence. And his face held an uncompromising expression, always, even when softened by a smile.
I accepted the wine. Quickly. A white Bordeaux, great for soothing the nerves. We drained the bottle. Then…
“Let’s not belabor the evening with awkward silence.” Philip reached around from behind me and began to unbutton the straps to my jumper. I couldn’t help the little gasp. He scolded me in that dark, gentle tone, “Now, you know the clothes were merely incidental, a travel necessity.” I could feel my nipples shrink tight as the hair stiffened at my nape. My straps fell behind me, then the bib. Then he unbuttoned the waist. “We want Riley to see how lovely you are, don’t we?”
Riley just stood there, didn’t move. But I could see the effect in the crotch of his jeans, the thickening beneath his zipper.
“Step out,” Philip urged me with a pat to the seat of my panties as he pulled away my skirt, which had fallen to a puddle around my feet. He took my blouse next, guided my hands to that place where they belong when we play these games: joined at the base of my spine, shoulders back. “Wait.” And he opened the leather bag, took out the long white gloves, helped my hands into them. “I love her in white,” he said to Riley. “Like my naughty little angel.”
Riley groaned something low in his throat. I was dying for him to touch me. My breasts heaved at the edge of the lace on my bra and when he finally took one of them in his hand, it looked so small against his palm. He lifted the weight of it until the nipple popped over the lace, then he stroked the nipple with his thumb.
“Yes. Very much.”
The two men spoke over me as adults would speak over the presence of a child or a pet. I felt weak. My heart trilled.
“Now, show our host your appreciation,” Philip said.
I felt drunk with it all, already. I fell to my knees on the stone hard tile. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, that my husband was actually sharing me with one of his friends. But of all of Philip’s friends, Riley was the one who could handle it. Cool and discrete. Always grounded. He had the right frame of mind for this kind of play.
The smell of the leather of his belt had its affect as I unfastened his jeans and laid them open. His cock strained, painfully twisted beneath his briefs, as though bound, and when I freed it with my hands it sprung upright, its head shiny and pink. “Take it in your mouth. That’s it,” Philip coached. “Show him how much you love it.”
His flesh seemed to bend to the form of my throat even though it was so inflated. Such soft skin against my tongue. I had to tilt my face upward to reach him. And the smell of him, that man smell, as I opened my throat and stretched myself tall to push my nose all the way down to his tickly pubic hair. I could feel his scrotum against my chin.
“Good girl,” Philip instructed. “Now, don’t make him come. Not yet.”
I stopped the long, slow forward lunges of my mouth only when that essence of saltiness touched my tastebuds.
Riley bent his cock back into his briefs, like caging a suffering animal.
I turned on my knees to give Philip the same treatment, but he stopped me. “Not yet.” Something churning in that mind of his. I stood in response to his gentle command.
“Now Riley,” Philip said. “You have to establish yourself as a proper master or she’ll never really respect you.” Philip turned one of the kitchen chairs around so that its tall, straight back faced the table. “You’re going to have to punish her.” Now my heart was racing. “Have you ever spanked a woman before?”
Riley laughed, the way people do in awkward situations. “No.”
“Then this will be a new kind of fun for you.” Philip directed Riley to sit in the chair. I still looked at the floor. The mere humiliation, the bittersweet torture of it all, made tears well in my eyes. I could see him in my periphery. So strong. So big. “Now, take her over you knee.” Riley stuffed his hands under my armpits and lifted me up, then draped me across his lap. His thighs were like Sequoia trunks beneath me. His hand almost covered the entire span of the small of my back when he rested it there. Philip squatted just long enough to tease me, “Now you really do look like a little girl.”
He instructed Riley to pull down my panties and I felt my heart pound in my sex. “It might help if you imagine she’s done something bad,” Philip instructed. “Maybe she just broke the dishes in a tantrum or she keyed your car—”
“Oh, you don’t want me to imagine that.”
“Yes we do,” Philip said. We. Including me. It felt like a ball was stuck in my throat as he squatted down so that I could see his face again. “We want this to hurt,” he taunted me. “We want the warmth to last all evening so that even as we’re fucking her,” he took a few strands of my hair around his fingers, “she’ll think about who’s in charge.”
Philip stayed there now, slipped his hand beneath the lace at my breast and toyed the nipple between his fingertips.
The first spank came abruptly, like a thunderclap, then the next, then the next. Nice and firm and solid. “Bad girl!” I heard Riley say under his breath as his huge hand cuffed the curve of my rump yet again. Softly agonizing bliss of confusion. I kicked and squirmed as he held me in place, his hand thundering down again and again, a hot stinging pain which communicated straight to that secret place inside me. Philip told him to spank my hand when I tried to cover my bottom, and it exploded with pain as well, as though someone pressed a hot coal in it. I kissed it until it cooled.
And I started to cry; I achieved it, that state of feeling softened and relaxed enough to allow the tears to really flow. Philip kissed my face when he saw them, “That’s my baby,” then motioned for Riley to stop. He stood me up, but not before Philip had a chance to show Riley the magic. I felt Philips fingertips slip between my legs to touch the slickness which felt both warm and icy on my upper thighs. “See? Now, she’s ready.”
Philip cuddled me for a moment, until the trembling from my crying went away, and I melted against the strength in his shoulder, pushing my pelvis close to feel the hardness that I knew was there waiting for me. That delicious twist of hardness.
He kissed my eyes. Smiled. But there was a storm brewing behind it. I knew what was coming and I loved these moments.
Philip swept his arm over the walnut table and our bag of tricks spilled onto the floor. Paddles, anal toys, silver speculum, all a mess on the tile. Then he plonked my butt up onto the cold tabletop and pushed me back. “Now, this is the best part.” He yanked my panties roughly down and off as I lay splashed back in my tangled hair on the tabletop. He popped the front latch on my bra to free my breasts, pushed my legs open wide. “Come, feel this.”
Riley put his hand, as directed, between my legs and I felt his thick finger push inside me. My sex clamped down reflexively and I shuddered.
A look came over Riley’s face.
“Strong, huh? Have you ever felt that kind of control?”
“It’s from the games and the spankings,” Philip explained, quite analytically. One wouldn’t have known he was freeing his cock from his pants at that very same moment. “She spasms and comes so much that her muscles have developed an amazing flex.” He stabbed his penis into me right then with a force of someone breaking a barrier. My back arched in response and my sex slurped him in. I rolled my pelvis on the table, (this cool, hard table against the tingling heat on my ass) bucking and grinding as though my body ruled my mind. The hungry little beast between my legs clutched and strangled against his hardness, squeezing all my pleasure points against him so that the contours of his cock stroked them all at once, like the strumming of an instrument as he thumped me.
His belt buckle tinkled lightly with his thrusts. I could feel his shirttails against my legs. And he jammed me with his cock, standing over me, the veins bulging beneath the gloss of sweat at his temples, his eyes dark with tempest.
Riley moved to pin my hands when I grabbed for Philips shirt. I knew I wasn’t allowed to touch, but I wanted to touch him so badly.
Philip finished in deep, cruel thrusts that exploded pleasure in my body and made my back arch its deepest.
But I knew I was in trouble.
“Down from the table!”
I climbed down.
Philip spoke to Riley’s confusion. “She knows she’s not allowed to touch.” Philip fastened his trousers back together… and took out his belt. “You know what to do, Carlie.”
My bottom still stung from Riley’s spanking; I clutched my poor rump cheeks as I watched Philip fold the belt over onto itself in his hand. “Now,” he said.
New, stabbing feeling in my belly -- and my sex. I let my bra drop into my hands, placed it on a chair, bent over the table as I knew was required, face and hands pressed again the smooth polished surface. Bead of my wetness moving slowly down my inner thighs. “I knew one spanking wouldn’t be enough for you,” he said. Riley took hold of my wrists again when Philip instructed it, though I could feel a reticence in him, probably from the look on my face. I tried not to show it: that fear again. I could feel the largeness in my eyes, the quivering in my lips that I couldn’t control.
“Her bottom’s still pretty rosy,” Riley commented.
I watched Philip. He seemed to exchange something silently with Riley, a reassurance maybe. Then he pulled back the belt. “Look at me, Carlie,” Philip said. “I want you to watch it happen. Watch what Daddy’s about to do to you.” And he brought it down.
The belt snapped strips of flame across my skin, curling around my hips, crossing and crossing again. I drew my bottom tight, twisted my hips, even tapped my little Mary Jane’s against the floor to weather it. He stopped relatively quickly, before I started to cry again.
Then, the tender moment, stroking my hair away from my ear, the soft kiss on the back of my shoulder. “Now, show me that you’re sorry.”
I went to my knees again, opened his trousers which were filled to capacity with new hardness. My own scent mingled with his on his skin. I could taste the flavor of my own fluid as I took him deep in my mouth, encircled him snugly in the ring of my lips, stroking in long back strokes, drawing with a suction that hollowed my cheeks and made my jaw muscles ache. He wouldn’t come again, not so quickly, but I knew by the way he seemed to lean back in languid pleasure that I was melting him. “Good girl,” he smiled, then snapped his fingers for me to stand.
Now it was Riley’s turn. He stepped near to me, so deliciously tall. “After that whipping she’ll be more than ready for you,” Philip remarked with a pinch to my rump cheek that made me jump.
Riley looked down on me with a softness I’d never seen in his eyes before. His face was almost red with desire, I could see his pulse in his throat and the heaviness of his breath, but he looked at me with pure sweetness.
“You really think you’re ready for me?” he said, that deep voice, like a spell on me. I bit my lip, nodded. And he lifted me back up onto the table.
His cock was very stiff; I felt no bend or give in it at all as he swiped the soft, wide head along the line of my lips to wet it. He leaned over me, close. Such smooth skin. Then I felt him push inside me. Slow, warm, gentle expansion, pressing deep inside my belly. My stretched little sex could barely cope. He cradled me in his arms as he moved, forcing my legs open very wide, pressing himself inside me all the way to the hairy base. My bottom stung from the belt, I could feel his pubic hairs, tiny prickles against the lower welts as his body size forced my knees almost up to my chest. And I could feel the soft touch of his scrotum as he rocked me so tenderly.
The perfect contrast: Philip’s sharp, commanding manner verses Riley’s soothing charm.
We went back and forth like that in fun little variations: Philip’s cock, then Riley’s, then over the knee or the table again. They even broke out the anal wand, marveling aloud at how my shy little pucker seemed to want to shrink away when they pulled my rounded cheeks apart, and how my anus seemed to fight the slim little probe as they pressed it ever so slowly inside. I lay open-mouthed against the tabletop as they did this, basking in this glorious invasion.
By the time it was over I felt sleepy, and both Philip’s and Riley’s cocks were as red and raw as my rump.
Philip didn’t bother to dress me. It was 3 a.m. He carried me out with my head on his shoulder and my legs wrapped around his waist. Still wearing the long white gloves and the lacy white stockings and my little Mary Jane shoes.
Philip stopped by the door to say good-bye.
Riley leaned down low and smiled. “Next time I see your teacakes at the office party I’ll savor them with a new fondness,” he said, and kissed my cheek.
“Happy Birthday, Carlie.”