My mouth welcomed the victor, sliding his warm, firm cock between my lips. I sucked; I’d practised on my girlfriends dildo as we knew the rule changes in the league for this year, but nothing prepared me for the real thing. I licked the soft ridges as his foreskin slid back and his glans became exposed, sucking in his masculinity and swirling my tongue over his sensitive head.
I had Rosie Marshall on my books and I had to try and get young Rosie through her probationary period without re-offending. I was told that this was impossible, and she was the reason there was a vacancy: the last probation officer quit. The one before that had a nervous breakdown, and the one before that tried to kill her. It was a long list of failures, but it was easy to see why.
Her firm grip on the base of my back as she arranged herself into position, rubbing the hair that lined my masculine bum. I know she glanced at my testicles hanging underneath or traced the line of my body from my taut calves to the arch of my back. She does these things, because I do those things. The admiration of the sub is part of the game.
I knew what would happen; we both did. Encouraging sadists was a dangerous game and one squeal was all it took. Suddenly there was an unspoken competition between them: who could make her squeak the loudest. Every spank got firmer, louder, more painful. I would see her fighting back the tears, and screwing up her face as trainee dominant after trainee dominant sized up her gorgeous arse with battering hits.
Or so I thought, my impossible dream was vividly real as my exposed rear waited for her. I was ready, desperately wanting the show to begin, yet filled with trepidation. My heart pounded on the soft bench as I frantically replayed the songs in my mind. I’d seen the videos: Melanie was intense, as the poor abused men desperately pleaded with the sadist on the vocals. It was sheer depravity.
“And what sort of boyfriend wants to share his girlfriend?” She asked. “What sort of man would get off on seeing his girl used or felt up on the dancefloor?” I squealed as her hand made contact with my suited trousers for a second time, wriggling. I could have wrestled myself free with ease, but I didn’t want to: I wanted to see how far my diminutive girlfriend would take her games. “Eh?”
She used her strap-on like she promised and it made for some great pictures; the part of his beaten buttocks sucking the big, black veiny cock of the petite Russian. It had to be a black cock, a realistic black cock: the contrast of his milky-white skin and the darkness of the dildo was pure circulation pornography.
“I’m going to slap that flesh. Hard. Give you the spanking you deserve, throwing my hand over your body and pelting it. I’m going to ignore your pleas for mercy and enjoy your cries. I’m going to spank you so hard, you won’t be able to sit down for a week without being reminded of your gluttonous indiscretions. I’m going to make you cry, which is going to make me fucking hard, as you beg for mercy.”
“No,” she panted; my hand rubbing her peachy arse with delicate strokes and spanking her flesh for a third time; I wanted to fuck her senseless not spank her, but I needed her attention. A squeeze of her nipple with my left hand through her dress had her squealing expletives while my right hand delivered a volley of smacks to her exposed rear.
Fingers roughly tugged at my skin as clamps were applied, biting angrily into my nipples and sending pain tearing through my consciousness. My body boiled with sheer agony; it was unlike anything I had experienced. It was intensely overpowering, hearing myself yell with desperate cries. “Get ’em off, get ’em off,” I pleaded.
Renee Rose, the author, has suggested a Spanking A-to-Z Challenge for June (sign up here). So I will try this one, after completing the A-to-Z Challenge in April, the FebPhotoFest in February.
All my posts will be tagged spankatoz and I will (try to) post every weekday, and once at the weekends, with a different flash fiction story starting each title with the required letter!