'Getting Away'

This tale is from a spanking compendium by Jay Lawrence and E.Edmund Debarquet called 'So Spank Me' from which I have posted other stories. I suppose this is really more am exercise in BDSM sexual control than a real spanking story but I hope you enjoy it.



GETTING AWAY by Jay Lawrence



Dedicated to weekend Masters and slaves everywhere. Alas, one
can't always have it all…
* * *
The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. No one followed
so I pressed the button for the fourth floor. The moment the steel
doors closed, you smiled. Swiftly, remarkably deftly, you unbuttoned
my top to reveal my naked breasts. The elevator pinged as we
reached our destination. You posed a question.

"Do you think there will be someone there?"

I replied with utter certainty.

"Yes."

The doors opened and we stepped out into a narrow, windowless
hall where an East Indian maid clattered a cart load of cleaning
necessities, barring our way with mundane unconcern. Smartly
wrapping my top across my chest, I stifled a giggle and squeezed past
the woman whose life did not, would not, could never involve
clandestine sadomasochistic liaisons in drab inner city hotels.

I like to be beaten with a riding crop.

You used the plastic key card to open the final door, the door to all
earthly delights and unsuitable, improbable passions.
I like to be slapped with the palm of your hand.

We started doing this last Halloween, after several months of
virtual correspondence, courting one another on the world wide web.
I sent you web cam snapshots of my greedy vibrator-stuffed cunt,
eagerly exchanged for glorious Technicolor images of your fat cock
stiff in the warmth of a tropical morning, oozing thick cream like
some volcanic Caribbean dream. I named you my Satyr. When you
took your son to Florida, I sent you my panties care of your hotel.
Crusty silk boxers rewarded my gift of musky lace.

I like it when you insert your finger in my ass and fuck it in and
out. Soon, I'll want two fingers...

We sat down on the nubbly couch and I squirmed onto your lap,
letting my shirt fall open again, my big soft tits hanging loose. I
wasn't wearing panties and my thin skintight leggings were little
barrier to feeling the hardness in your crotch. I live to make you hard.
I sat on your knee and put my arms about your neck.

"Shall I give you a lap dance, sir?"

"Why not?"

You're always so restrained, a little reserved, as if you're holding
something back. I like that. Slowly, sensuously, I began to grind my
pussy against the steadily swelling bulge in your crotch.

"You're getting hard, sir!"

I giggled and threw my head back, arching my spine, thrusting my
wobbling breasts towards your chest. You sat, quite impassive, like a
real guy in a gentlemen's club, who knows that he can enjoy the view
but should not touch the merchandise. Your cock was a hard, fat
cylinder between my spandexed thighs. I stroked his length with my
mound of Venus, giving him a firm massage.

"Am I a naughty girl, sir?"

You did not reply but smiled enigmatically. Teasingly, I slipped
my cotton shirt down to reveal my soft white shoulders. I turned my
head to one side, letting my hair fall in a gentle wave, glinting auburn
and gold in the bright summer light. Still, you did not move, nor
touch me, nor speak. I wondered what it took to drive you wild. I
increased the pace of my dance, tossed the shirt on the floor and
pressed my boobs against your face. Your hard dark stubble felt sharp
on the delicate flesh of my tits. Almost lazily, you took one nipple
into your mouth and sucked. I felt my pussy open like a dewdrenched
flower. Moaning softly, I pushed my fingers through your
hair as you suckled on me, fully immersed in the hot velvet of your
tongue. Then the tip of one finger found my anus and I cried out.

"Oh, please… Please…"

You know how to torment a girl.

"Take off your leggings and sit on that desk."

I looked questioningly into your eyes. You merely nodded at the
desk. Slowly, I eased myself off your lap, then self-consciously
peeled off the black spandex pants that clung to the wet place between
my legs. No panties. Naked. My raunchy striptease bravado
dissolved as I stood before you on the rug. You crossed your legs and
folded your arms across your chest.

"What did I just tell you to do?"

"Oh. Sit on the desk."

"Then do it."

"Yes, sir."

My face was flushed as I pushed aside the large 'phone book and
settled myself on the leather trimmed blotting pad. The long, fine net
curtains blew gently in the breeze and I shivered, suddenly almost
cold. My nipples, already swollen from your attentions, firmed a little
more. You placed one hand under your chin, as if thinking hard.

"I want you to think about punishment, Jay. In a few minutes, I am
going to take off my belt and strap your bare bottom until you cry.
Until I do so, you will sit quietly and think about what is coming to
you. And when I have finished, I'm going to parade you on the
balcony for all to see. Think about that too."

I could not look at you. My heart was beating so fast and so hard
that my breasts shook slightly with the pulsing rhythm. My hands
were on my thighs, palms turned downwards, moistening rapidly. My
cunt was slick. There was a radio alarm clock on the bedside table
and I watched the red numbers slowly change. The room was quiet
but for the distant hum of traffic, the city sounds. My mouth was dry
and I thought of the wine I had brought, your favorite, a dry French
red.

"Right."

My heart leapt as I heard you unbuckle your belt and slide it slowly
through the loops of your pants. Although I did not watch, I knew
you were doubling it. You crossed the room, grasped my ankles in
one large hand. Suddenly, I lay on my back on the large flat desk, my
legs held high like a snared hare in a hunter's cache. You towered
over me, huge, invincible and I closed my eyes, my whole body
quivering at the prospect of the strap.

"Are you a slut, Jay?"

Your voice was distant and cold. My stomach seemed to turn to
water and I could not speak.

"A common prostitute?"

I gasped as your fingers probed my pussy, then my ass.

"How many men have you fucked?"

I groaned as you withdrew your hand from my crotch and slapped
me hard across one trembling buttock.

"I'll show you what I do with sluts."

There was a brief, terrifying pause, then I heard you grunt and the
belt hit the backs of my thighs with a resounding crack. I cried out in
pain and tried to evade the next stroke but you simply held my ankles
in a tighter grasp, raising my bottom up into the air, legs over my
head. Each time you whipped me with the strap, I screamed, my
entire body jolting with the cutting lash which felt hot and sharp and
heavy all at once.

"Oh, please, sir!"

You're so much stronger than I am, there was no way I could
wriggle out of your steely grip. Up went my legs, pink and bare and
plump, exposing my rapidly reddening buttocks to the searing caress
of your belt. I know you like it when I try to struggle. You'd hate to
have a passive sub. Like me, you enjoy a bit of a fight, a tussle, but
your sheer dimensions put me at a physical disadvantage. Helplessly,
I beat the palms of my hands against the sides of the desk, savoring
the thrill of being caught. I'm the kind of girl who loves a rape fantasy
and you love to oblige.

"Your cunt is dripping, you little bitch."

I didn't remove all of my pubic hair, as you don't care for that nude,
prepubescent look, but I took off as much as I could. My pubis was
round, pink, plump, smooth, with just a dusting of fine golden curls.
My syrupy cleft was open to you, the long clit red and rigid like a
little cock; moist, juicy labia swelling like ripening fruit. I wriggled
my bottom and gasped at the sharpness of your heavy leather belt.
After a time, you paused and smiled.

"You should see your ass. It's scarlet."

I looked up at you, looming over me with implement in hand. You
like to whip me in the supine position so you can see the pained
expressions on my face. You enjoy the blushing, the grimaces, the
occasional tears. You also like to have full access to my cunt and ass.

"Yes, let's take a good look at that stinging rear."

You're very much into humiliation. Slowly, a little shakily, I
clambered down from the desk and you walked me to a nearby door.
Beyond the billowing net curtain, there was a balcony, overlooked by
other hotels and apartment buildings. You looked down at me and
grinned. You were clothed, in cotton pants and a long sleeved shirt. I
was naked.

"First, look in the mirror, Jay."

There was a full-length looking glass on the wall and I stared at the
white skinned creature with the burning face. Embarrassed, I tried to
avert my gaze but you placed your hands on either side of my head
and made me look. Then you turned me around, so my rear faced the
mirror.

"Bend forward and look between your legs."

I did as I was instructed, clasping my ankles, seeing a vista of
crimson buttocks. You say I have a lovely bottom, like one of
Rubens' less corpulent models. It looked rather plump from my lowly
viewpoint but deliciously chastised. It throbbed rhythmically, stung
with the divine needling of a dozen hornets, felt as centrally heated as
if two little furnaces belched out their fire just above my thighs.
Mmm.

"Now, let's exhibit you to the populace."

I groaned, inwardly. I haven't quite decided if I'm an exhibitionist
or not. I can see the attraction but, well, I maintain a modest side.
Really.

You pushed me out onto the balcony, a little cool and breezy on a
west coast summer afternoon. I could feel the fine sea mist drifting in
from English Bay. Above me, to the left, was a tall hotel, its many
windows a hundred voyeuristic eyes all focused upon my trembling,
shivering form.

"Now you're going to show the world your cunt."

The harsh word still jars when you use it. Yes, I like to be treated
like a whore but there comes a point when your humiliation stings as
much as your belt. You gestured to a plastic chair and I sat down,
wondering what dastardly scheme you had devised to torment me.
From your pants pocket you extracted three silk scarves, the ones you
gave me as secret bondage props. One for the wrists, two for the
ankles. You like my hands together and my legs spread wide.
Swiftly, you bound my wrists behind the back of the chair, then you
paused to appraise your captive nude. My burning bottom felt lovely
against the cool smoothness of the plastic chair. High up above us,
faint voices emanated from another balcony on the nearby hotel.
Smiling, you lifted my legs and placed my feet upon the steel rail of
our balcony.

"Spread 'em."

I opened my legs, stretched up and out, an inner city panorama
between my glistening thighs. Quickly, you wrapped the remaining
scarves about my ankles and then tied them, like little silky slings,
around the balcony rail.

"Now, everyone can see Jay's pussy."

My body was a rippling ocean of goose flesh, my nipples full and
firm. I looked down at my breasts, at my belly, my almost shaved
cunt. I could barely wriggle an inch, such was the tension of my
bondage, my legs stretched straight and opened wide, exposing me to
an urban world of restaurants and clubs and bars.

"Perhaps I should charge. A peep show. Now, there's an idea. But
there's something missing."

Suddenly my world became dark and I realized that you'd slipped a
blindfold over my head. Your voice continued, calm and
conversational.

"That's better. Now, I think I'll get my book."

I strained to listen as you stepped back into our room, but could
hear nothing but the distant hum of the traffic, a faint clattering of
pans from the open kitchen door of a nearby restaurant. Voices
drifted upwards, every juvenile hoot seemingly directed at my plight.
But how visible was I? To someone with binoculars, very much so.
To the average Joe in the street, I could be sunbathing in pink. Most
likely, he wouldn't even see me, oblivious with his own concerns.

"A fascinating vista, is it not?"

Your voice issued close to my right ear and I jumped, startled by
the unexpected warmth of your breath. You must have been
crouching down by my chair. You kissed my naked shoulder and I
shuddered, feeling my nipples harden at your soft and sensuous
caress. Then, nothing.

"What shall I do with you?"

It was agony. Pure, unadulterated torment. Brimming with
frustration, I clenched and unclenched my hands behind the back of
the chair, but there was no way I could loosen my bonds. You had
tied them tight. A tiny pulse throbbed in my wide, open pussy and I
felt a drop of moisture dribble down its exposed cleft. In my mind's
eye, I could picture myself quite clearly, see my helplessness, my
openness, my cunt like a mouth, waiting and watering for your kiss.

"Make me come. Please! You have to make me come!"

I couldn't help myself. As soon as I had uttered the words, I knew I
had merely invited further sadistic acts.

"Getting desperate are we?"

I could well imagine the satisfied smirk on your face. Briefly, you
traced the soft inner contours of my thighs with the very tips of your
fingers, as gently as a butterfly alighting on a flower. My orgasm
began to rise, a warm, elusive fluttering, somewhere deep inside me.
My bottom still felt hot against the smooth plastic of the chair and, far
below, down on the sidewalk, two young men argued over a taxi cab
fare.

"Oh, please!"

Under certain circumstances, I don't object to begging. I know you
enjoy it too.

"A little louder, Jay. I want the world to hear you."

You really can be a bit of a bastard. My orgasm subsided and I felt
like grinding my teeth. Tears began to form beneath my eyelids and
my heartbeat accelerated.

"Please make me come, sir!"

My voice sounded strained, harsh, a little shrill. You snorted with a
swallowed laugh.

"Louder."

Beneath the blindfold, my cheeks were burning, rosy with
humiliation. Well, it was do or die. I shrieked:

"PLEASE MAKE ME COME, SIR!"

You laughed outright and I hated you, but not in a way that was all
that bad. Strong emotion makes for powerful sensation. Below us,
somewhere in my fuzzy gray world, the young men laughed. I
loathed you with a purple passion and wanted you with an equally
potent desire.

"So you want to come, eh?"

"Yes, sir. If you please."

It had become a game of mental chess. I waited, shivering
violently, as you mused. Your hair brushed against my breasts and I
knew you must be kneeling beside my chair. Lasciviously, you
flicked the very tips of my nipples with your tongue as your fingers
stroked the contours of my pussy lips. I wanted to scream, feeling my
orgasm begin to build a second time, terrified you'd make me suffer
again. There was nothing I could do, however. I was your captive for
the day, my pleasure completely at your whim. Your mouth was hot
and wet around my nipples, the faint roughness of your tongue
massaging their swollen buds. My pussy tingled and throbbed in time
to the racing beat of my heart. I ground my hips, urging you to move
south, to suck my juicy peach and give me release.

"You're so funny when you beg."

You murmured the odd endearment with a mouth full of my tit,
then I felt your hair tickle my belly and your lips fastened on my clit.

"Oh, Jesus!"

It was incredibly, unbearably intense. I needed to hold your head,
to entangle my fingers in your hair. But I couldn't move, beyond
grinding my hips against the seat of my chair, fucking your wonderful
face. You opened your mouth to envelop my cunt in moist heat and
you sucked, drawing my fully ripened, sweet and syrupy fruit against
your rhythmically dancing tongue. Several seconds of pure heaven
passed, then I convulsed, throwing my head back, arching my spine,
crying out in unadulterated pleasure. A series of little aftershocks
made me jump and quiver as you released me, kissing me softly on
my mouth. Again, I heard you step into our room and there was the
faint, cheerful fumble and pop of a bottle being opened. Your voice
returned to the doorway.

"Would you like a glass of wine?"

"I'm speechless, darling! Yes, I'd love some wine. That was
amazing."

Soon, we'd have to return to our everyday lives. But we have our
wild weekends, you and I, like so many others who cannot live the
BDSM life 24/7. We have "vanilla" partners, unmet needs. There are
plenty of reasons for weekend kink. It's a compromise, I suppose, but
many of us realize our darker proclivities fairly well on in life, after
other choices have been made.

You raised my blindfold but didn't bother untying my hands.

Carefully, you put the glass to my lips and I took a sip.

"Well, um – bottoms up!"

I snorted at your witticism and the luscious Burgundy surged up my
nose, rushed down my chin and spattered my breasts.