Best of the Best Lesbian Erotica (36 page)

The cold night air cleared my head and my normally talkative self returned. “Gosh, I've always been into boy-on-boy stuff, but I never really thought of
daddy
and boy until you mentioned it. And I must say, it certainly sounds appealing.”
I continued on in a quick ramble of words and you smiled indulgently at me, you, my teacher of so many things, now guiding me into a new lesson.

I chattered on excitedly until we got to your place, but my voice quieted as soon as the door thudded behind us. Again I felt that pained, embarrassing inability to articulate anything of sense. “Uh, uh...”

“What's wrong? Can't talk?” You smiled, secure in knowing exactly what it takes to shut me up, what it takes to give my overly active mind something to wrestle with and impede my power of speech.

And I was mind-wrestling with this daddy-boy image of you and me, which crowded my thoughts in enclosed spaces with you so near. So close that your breath grazed my cold face as you tilted your head up and pulled me toward you. Your lips deliberately, smoothly pressed into mine as you eased me slightly open, open enough for you to dart your small, sweet tongue into my mouth. I breathed in your taste deeply and you pulled back, smiling wickedly at my thoroughly dumbstruck self.

 

Now it is the heady scent of your wet, well-marked leather boots that I breathe in, savoring the taste, savoring the end of my wait.

“Boy,” your soft voice triggers my heart and mouth, both overly eager to work their way around you over and over. And you let me try by saying, “Show me how much you want Daddy's cock.”

I move back, stretch my body flat on the floor, and reach out to you with my hands. Then I begin pulling myself toward you, slowly, dragging my belly, and my breasts with painfully stiff nipples, across the cold floor. As I close the distance between us, my mouth seeks out blindly, by taste, where you begin and your boot-tips end. Lightly skimming over the spit-shined
boots with my lips and tongue, I move up to the tops of your laces. Then I angle my head up to look at you. With the slightest nod you encourage me to continue. I pull in a deep breath and clasp my hands around the backs of your legs and slowly follow with my grasping, hungry lips. The dull, dry texture of your jeans fills my mouth, making me want your dick, slick with my spit, even more. I suck and pull myself hand over hand, lip after lip up your firm thighs to where they join and your jeans try to hide my destination. As my hands squeeze your ass, my mouth tests and begs softly and then harder as I press my teeth and tongue against your bulge. Your hands rest on your black leather-belted hips as you watch me work, as as you watch me try to show you how much I want my daddy's cock. And I
really
want it, as my escaping whimpers testify.

“Boy, tell me how much you want it. Beg me.”

“Sir,” my voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “Please, Sir, let me suck your cock. I need it so much.” You gaze down at me, weighing my request. “Please, please, Sir!” I plead.

“Well,” you answer, “I'm not sure if you really deserve it.”

“Oh god, Sir, Daddy, please. I'll do
anything!
Just let me taste you.”

“Hmmm...” Your serious face twitches slightly with a smile, letting me know how much you are enjoying this. “Well,
if
you need it that badly. You're not done proving to me that you really deserve my dick in your mouth. But I'll deal with that later.” And with that you signal me to unbuckle your belt with my suddenly poorly functioning fingers.

“Take it off, all the way,” you instruct when my fumbling finishes and I've managed to disengage your buckle. I halt in my eager reach for your button fly, and resolutely pull your belt out carefully, loop by loop, until it rests freely in my sweaty hands.

“Set it over there,” and you motion to a corner of your room. As I move to get up, you shove me back down. “I didn't say stand. Crawl.”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir,” I mumble, as heat travels up my body, flushing my face with embarrassment. I carefully place your folded belt in my mouth. I crawl to the corner, wincing with the pain of bony knees pressed to hard floor. After I return, you motion me to continue.
Finally,
I think. I grab the tops of your jeans and painstakingly begin unfastening the thick denim that covers your pale skin peeking out over your black harness. I pull your pants down and your thickly veined black rubber dick slowly emerges. This I move to cover inch by inch with my warm, wet mouth after its brief exposure to the cool night air.

Until you stop me, again. “Boy, aren't you forgetting something?” and you pull away from my mouth. Concealing a sigh of disappointment, I look in the direction of your finger-snap, to a stack of condoms resting on your nightstand.

“Of course, Sir, sorry, Sir.” Again I painfully crawl off in in the direction you've indicated. After grasping a single foil-wrapped, unlubed condom in my teeth, I come back to you and then open the package. I place the condom between my teeth and lips and then lean forward to push it down over you, slowly, carefully, so that my teeth don't tear the latex. When your dick is bulging in the taut rubber I pull back.

“Well...” your voice drawls out and then summons me to work in a staccato burst: “Get to it, you little cocksucker, you little fag. Show me how well you can suck dick!”

My desire, which I've tried to hold back all night as if I were a thirst-crazed animal, propels my mouth forward. I draw the tip of your cock into my mouth and then circle the rim with my tongue. Licking sideways down the shaft, I trace each vein until my mouth meets your harness. Then I travel down to the tip. I continue my slow savoring to the rhythm
of your shallow breathing and then pull back. Your hands cradle the back of my head, fingers splayed, twitching with tense anticipation. Again I suck only the tip of you into my mouth, humming with satisfaction, and I linger, my tongue licking around and around, loving every second of serving you. Finally I plunge my mouth down your shaft, swallowing as much of your thick seven inches as I can, till your cockhead nudges the back of my throat. There I stay, pulling, feeding on you. Your fingers have stilled and now you grip me tightly and ride my mouth, grinding against my lips, your low moans telling me how much I am pleasing you. Finally your grip relaxes and I draw my swollen mouth off.

“Good boy,” you say, smiling, causing the hairs on the back of my neck and arms to rise. “Now work up and down the side like you did before. Daddy really likes to watch you do that.”

And so I do, teasing you with soft lip glides, moving into rough and sloppy licks, sliding my tongue down and around you, occasionally slipping and letting your dick slap me across the face. Then I concentrate on one side at a time before settling on your right and increasing my mouth's pressure in a desperate, fierce grip, bringing from you, “Oh yes, that's right, you little cocksucker.”

Not stopping my work, I look up to see you gazing down at me, you absorbed in the vision of me mouthing your cock.
Right here
—I think—
this is the only place I want to be, on my knees, serving, sucking off my daddy
—and I am completely happy. Until you jerk your dick out of my mouth, leaving me to pitch forward, thrown off balance as any boy would be when separated from the source of his life's blood. As I steady myself, I can't contain a moan of disappointment, which soon trails off into a pitiful whimper.

“What do you say?” your harsh voice catches me.

“Thank-you, Daddy. Thank-you for letting me suck your dick.”

“That's better. Don't worry, we're not done yet.”

My heart lifts in expectation until you tuck your cock back into your pants. Then you lift me up by my chin and lead me to your bed, where you throw me down on my belly, and bind my hands.

“I'm not sure, but I think you enjoyed that just a little too much, so Daddy needs to punish you,” you say.

First you use your hand, then you graduate to harder and meaner instruments as my ass pushes off the bed to meet your blows. Finally I am pulling and trying to twist away from you until I am pleading for you to stop. And you do for a bit, sending jolts through my body by running the tips of your fingers over my bruised and swollen ass. Your touch is soothing. My tense body slowly relaxes its tight hold on itself, and I let the bed fully support me.

“Just a little pink,” you murmur disappointedly as your hands continue tracing my ass. “Well, we'll have to fix that.” And with a hard slap you shock me back to you, making me squeal like a girl. You laugh and then say, “But first Daddy has to blindfold you.” You tie a bandanna securely around my eyes and then push my head back into the bed.

As your finger strokes continue, I begin to relax again. Your hands travel up my ass toward my shoulders. Then you lower your mouth to the nape of my neck. Pressing your body down until I feel your entire weight, you kiss my neck, building into a teasing bite as your hands slide under my breasts and lightly cradle me. Instinctively my ass rises up to meet the bulge in your crotch, and you begin rubbing against me. Soon we are grinding together and I am begging you to fuck me.

You murmur into my ear, “You'd like that, wouldn't you, little boy, Daddy's big cock sliding in and out of you?”

“Mmhmm,” I moan, pushing harder up into you, and then just as I remember that my hands are tied, you squeeze and twist my nipples hard and slam down on me. My whimper of
frustration rolls into a wail with this new sensation, this pain, this taunting pleasure. But you force me with your body's weight to lie still, to absorb the twitches and shudders of my body.

“But we're not there yet,” you whisper as you pull away. The cold of your room hits my bare skin, followed by a long pause and then the much harder hit of your hand. Again and again your palm comes down on me, warming, reddening my ass. Then I feel the meaner cut of a leather strap, causing me to yell and jerk with each blow. I lie tensely, expecting the next blow, and am surprised by the cold, lubed wetness of your latex-covered hand, prodding between my ass cheeks.

“Come on, boy. Open up now. Open up for me. This is where daddies get to go.”

Your soothing words allow my muscles to go slack, and you slide a finger slowly into ass. It hurt at first, but as you gently maneuver inside me, rubbing and lightly prodding, I find myself moving into your hand, helping you to go in further. But then you pull out, making me whimper, making me almost cry with disappointment.

“Shh, shh...you've been so good that Daddy has a little present for you.”

I feel you push the smooth rubber of a medium-sized ass plug into me, and I moan with the sensation.

“Now can you hold that in for a while?”

Bleary, I whisper, “I think so, Daddy.”

“Good,” you say “Good boy.”

Again you caress my ass with your hand and then with a harder, thinner instrument that I don't recognize. As you trace the stick-lick thing lightly on my ass and back you ask me, “Do you think you can take Daddy's cane now?”

And at the word “cane” my head pulls up “Wha...?”

“No, no,” you push me back down. “Only a few times, and it would make your daddy so happy.”

And of course, right there you've got me, because at this point I would do just about anything to make you happy. I nod and you push down on the plug in my ass, and then you wait.

The whistle of the cane cutting air seems to come long before the crack on my ass. At first the hit feels surprisingly mild and my body relaxes, for about a millisecond. Then a deep burn, the entire length of the cane trail, scores across my skin. I yell in shock, in pain, “Oh Daddy, no!” and this time I really mean it.

“Poor baby,” you murmur sympathetically while you softly stroke my ass. And I believe you really mean it until I hear the second whistling cane descent. In the long moments that roll out between that sound and the hard clench of sharp pain that rides my body upon the cane's impact, I have forever to consider the coming blow, forever to shrink and try to pull away. But of course I can't, even in the involuntary spring of my body, because your shackles surge me down.

“Good boy.” Your hand again touches my ass; the contrast of your soft skin after the hard whip gives me shivers and I whimper.

“Shhh. Such lovely marks on your ass. MmmHmm. But I think you need just one more.”

“God, please no, Daddy. I can't take any more. It hurts too much,” I plead.

“But I would really like you to take at least one more. Just for me. It would make me so happy. And I would reward you very well.”

And once again, you've got me. “Okay,” I raggedly breathe out. “Okay, one more, for you, just for you.”

This time the cane seems to shriek through the heavy air of my waiting, waiting for you to mark me as yours. And the cane hits hard, forcing a rough groan out of my body as my senses begin to scream, giving into the noise in my head that
finally escapes through my mouth in small cries. Now with my body quivering in pain, with barely suppressed sobs, I'm still concentrating on keeping the slippery ass plug inside of me.

You lower yourself onto me and hold me tightly. “Oh what a wonderful boy you've been,” you whisper in my ear. And we stay that way for a few minutes while I calm down. Finally you pull away. Next you roughly push my legs apart with your knee, making the ass plug's position even more precarious. I cling to it like the small bit of hope I've been hoarding all night, like forbidden candy, that you still might actually fuck me. “Please, please, Daddy, fuck me. I've tried to be so good.”

I hear the snap of a fresh condom and you say, “Well, yes, I think you've been very good.” You push the plug farther inside of me with a gloved hand and then you guide your big cock between my splayed legs. Rubbing the head against my cunt lips you taunt me slowly. Then in one movement you push your way in until you are buried deep inside my cunt. Grasping my hips, you begin to stroke in and out, building tempo until you are pounding, slamming into me, and my body is rising and pushing into each stroke.