The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies (19 page)

He slipped down a little in his seat and I stroked him harder, keeping an eye out for an usher. Boone sat up suddenly and I withdrew my hand, startled. He zipped himself up and grabbed my hand,
pulling me to my feet. He drew me to the rear of the theatre, behind the scarlet velvet curtains draped along the back wall.

“What are you doing?” I whispered ferociously. It was dark and dusty back there, and I had a sudden mental view of big, fat spiders hanging at the end of their webs, just waiting for
a couple of tasty morsels such as ourselves.

“Secret passage,” he whispered. He was feeling along the wall with his hands, and I heard his hand make contact with wood, then the rattling of a knob. Boone swore. There was the
jingling of keys, then the sound of a key slipping inside a lock, turning, and the snap as the tumblers ceded to the key.

Boone pulled me inside the door and closed it behind us. It was pitch-black in there, and I was starting to wish I hadn’t stayed up and watched all those midnight monster flicks as a
child. There was the sound of a lighter igniting and a small flame lit up the tiny room. Boone held his lighter aloft with a smirk of triumph on his freckled, bronzed face.

“Where are we?” I asked
sotto voce,
looking around me at the empty wooden shelves, barren wooden desk, and plaid cloth couch, its two seat cushions looking a bit dusty, but
none the worse for wear.

“This is the old storage room. They used to keep special stuff that the owners managed to purchase from the studios back here. The former owner was quite a collector. We used to come here
and smoke and grab a beer or sometimes a thermos cup of coffee and something stronger when I was a teenager.”

“Did you used to work here?”

“Yeah. Long time ago. My dad owned the place and made sure I was gainfully employed as usher, janitor, ticket-taker, you name it, to earn my keep.”

“And you still have the key to the door?” I shook my head in amazement as I looked around at the room.

“Well, I have a skeleton key to some of the doors in my bistro. Dad owned both places and I remembered while we were sitting out there that he used the same locksmith for both joints. It
figures that the key would fit some of the doors here.” Boone rummaged through the desk drawers.

“Hah, here we go,” he exclaimed, holding up a couple of stocky red candles with a waterfall’s worth of drippings frozen along the sides. “We used to smoke some stronger
stuff than cigarettes back here, so we had to have something to cover the smell.” He lowered the lighter to the wicks, and after a protesting dust-choked crackle and spit, the candles lit up
with a rosy glow. He placed them on the desk and turned to the couch. Boone picked up the cushions and slapped them together, knocking off the gathered dust of the past, and replaced them.

“Come here, Miss No-Panties,” Boone ordered, plopping down on the couch and crooking an index finger at me.

“Who, me?” I asked innocently. I sashayed to the couch and arranged myself on the cushion next to him.

Boone put an arm around my shoulders and drew me to him. He kissed me softly on the lips, mouth closed. He touched my breast through my blouse, then began to unbutton me. I felt like I was
eighteen again, the thrill of a boy’s hand on my breast and his lips on mine making me tingle down below. He broke the kiss for a second, ridding me of my blouse. His lips returned to mine,
pressed harder this time, more urgent. Our lips parted, and I tasted the minty sweetness of his breath as his tongue reached in and snaked around mine. I curled up, kicking off my shoes; I heard
his loafers hit the floor at about the same time.

I pulled away and unbuckled his belt, unzipped him, and tugged at his pants. He raised his hips and I yanked his pants off. I hunched down on the couch, backing up until my arse hit one of the
cushioned arms. I kissed him on the hip, on his flat, lightly furred belly, on the head of his swollen cock. He played with one of my breasts while he urged my head down onto his phallus. I licked
the shaft, licked his balls, and took them into my mouth.

“Oh, yeah, girl, don’t stop that,” he hissed. He pinched my nipples; the sensation walked the tightrope between pain and pleasure.

I rolled my tongue around his balls, feeling how packed they were. Yes, it was certainly going to be a wet night. I moved on to the shaft of his cock, thick, solid, veined with throbbing
channels of heated blood. The skin was marble-smooth. I lowered my mouth onto him, taking his length into my mouth until the tip of his dick entered my throat. He shoved it deeper into me, wrapping
his fingers in my hair. My tongue glided up and down the shaft, my lips suctioning him in, savouring his humid flesh. He was starting to exude the fluids building up in those swollen balls at the
base of his cock.

“Not yet,” I heard him whisper breathlessly. He took his dick in his hand and pulled it from my mouth, rubbing the head against my lips and cheeks. I flicked out my tongue and tasted
the tiny droplets of come leaking from the tip.

“Turn around,” Boone directed me. “I want you from the rear.”

I complied, curling up into a tight ball, displaying my arse to him. I was still clad in my short skirt, and Boone shoved it up until it bunched around my hips. He still wore his shirt, but the
buttons had been undone, and it flailed on either side of me like wings as he mounted me. He drove his cock into my pussy slowly, then withdrew it. He did this several times, teasing me with his
instrument.

“Give it to me, Boone,” I begged him, wanting his length inside my valley of wet, swollen, pink flesh.

He relented, ramming the entire shaft into me up to his root. He filled me completely this way, from the rear. He reached around my hips and played with my pussy lips, played with my clit as he
rocked within me. God, it felt so good, the pressure of his fingertip against my swelling bud. My wetness lubricated his shaft and the sucking sound of him riding my inner shell filled this tiny
room. I arched my shoulders as he drove into me and pumped my ass back into his crotch.

He slapped my arse cheeks, softly at first, testing the waters and my reaction. I gasped, but with pleasure at the brisk
crack
of his hand contacting my white flesh. Realizing I welcomed
the touch, he grew bolder, spanking my arse harder and harder until the flesh burned red and heated, almost unbearable, but
just
bearable. His breath was loud as he flicked his tongue into
my ear. It drove me fucking wild and the combination of his tongue and his finger tips and his punishing palm bringing me to orgasm. I mewed and cried and bucked, crazed with the stimulation and
friction against my sensitive sensual spots. Explosions of black and red and brilliant white fireworks filled my sight as he slammed into me. He shuddered and shook, thighs trembling against my
arse cheeks.

He came, the white froth of his heated cauldron a shotgun blast into my pussy, overflowing its small encasement, dripping down my thighs and flowing up into the crack of my ass. Boone cried out,
a teeth-clenched rasping howl of ecstasy. His ramming eased back to short, stabbing pokes into my hole as the last of his jettisoned spume escaped his cock.

Finally there was no sound but the harsh, oxygen-deprived gasping of our combined breath. Boone withdrew his cock from me and sat on the couch, pulling me into his arms. He kissed my lips gently
and smoothed back a lock of my hair that fell over my perspiring brow.

The candles were guttering – had we been there that long? We pulled on our clothing, racing the failing light of the dying candles. They died out almost simultaneously, and once again I
heard the rasp of the lighter as Boone flicked the starter. He relocked the door behind us and we cautiously retraced our steps back along the curtain and out into the theatre. The music was
swelling as the credits rolled and the last of the patrons were already filing out the exit.

“Come on, let’s take the back way,” Boone said, heading for one of the exits that led us out into a back alleyway.

It was raining again, a gentle drizzle that made my silk blouse cling to me. Boone looked down approvingly as the fabric stuck to my breasts and my nipples extruded through the thin cloth. We
ducked under awnings and into doorways as we headed back to the bistro.

“Why don’t you come on in for a nightcap?” Boone asked hopefully as we arrived at the bistro. The lights were out; Tommi had closed up for the night, but her flamingo stood
gaudy guard in the window above us.

“Not tonight,” I answered, kissing him briefly on the cheek. “Let me take a rain check on that invitation,” I added.

He grinned that perfect-toothed smile and waggled his fingers in farewell as I headed down the emptying streets to my home.

For now, the curtain has come down and my characters are silent. But all I have to do is change reels, flick that sensitive pink switch, and another mental manuscript flickers to life within
me.

Jenny (Lumberton, USA)

I’ve always dreamed of getting spanked by a lover. I don’t doubt I’d hate it if it happened in real life, but in my dreams . . .

As we sit together after dinner one evening, my lover looks up from reading and smiles at me. “I love you, Jenny,” he says. “You are close to perfect, but . .
.”

Hell! The eternal “but”! “But what?” I ask.

“You’re undisciplined and need a good spanking!”

My mouth goes dry. My stomach clenches. My heart races. I look him in the eye. Rather lovely eyes, as it happens. “I don’t think so!”

“That comment, my dear, proves my point!” He gets up and crosses the carpet to stand in front of me, his knees almost touching mine. “You are in dire need of discipline. An
over-the-knee spanking is what you need!”

“You have to be kidding!”

He isn’t and I make the mistake of jumping to my feet. His hand closes around my wrist. “Jenny,” he says, his voice soft, with that little tinge of anticipation that always
sets my heart racing. Works the same now, but not in anticipation of a nice bout in bed! “You know I don’t kid around. You need a little attitude adjustment, and as your lover
it’s my job to see it comes about. Don’t argue with me, or you’ll get double!”

I’m scared, angry, indignant, astounded – and turned on! Against every commonsense notion, I nod, accepting his right to punish me. Why? I don’t know! Curiosity perhaps, or
secret excitement that an unrevealed fantasy is about to come true.

“Follow me!” he says and marches out the door. Towards our bedroom.

I can’t believe I’m following him meekly, but I am. My mind too caught up in arousal, fear and anticipation to argue. My mouth too dry and my throat too tight to speak, even if I
wanted to. He’s obviously planned this ahead of time. One of the mahogany dining room chairs stands in the middle of the bedroom carpet.

“Come on!” he says, his voice stern as he sits down on the needlepoint cushion and looks across to where I hesitate in the doorway. “You’ve imagined this happening to
you, haven’t you?” I nod, mute. “We both know it’s exactly what you need. Don’t keep me waiting!” He pats his knee invitingly. Only it doesn’t invite. It
scares. But yes, it’s true, I have always wondered what this would be like. Must have told him sometime when I’d had too much wine. Why was I hesitating? He was right, I had fantasized
about getting spanked, but the looming reality fills me with dread.

Slowly I put one foot in front of the other and approach him. When I get within touching distance, he grabs my wrist and pulls me close. I swallow. Twice. Unable to take my eyes away from his. I
bite my lip until it hurts, thinking I’m perhaps dreaming and it will wake me, but I’m not dreaming. He reaches up his other hand to stroke my cheek and lip. “Don’t bite
your lip like that, Jenny, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“And you won’t hurt me?”

He smiles. “Oh! Yes! You’ll be crying and begging me to stop.”

At that I pull back but his grip is tight and he yanks me towards him. “Better not resist, Jenny, or I’ll add extra.”

“You keep threatening to add extra!”

“And I mean it. You’re getting a thorough spanking, whether you like it or not.” By now, I’m convinced I won’t like it. “It’s up to you how long it will
be. Each argument, each effort at resistance adds another six spanks.”

If I had any sense, I’d be running, but he’s gripping both my wrists and pulls me until I stand between his open thighs. “I’m scared,” I say. It comes out as a
hoarse whisper.

“I know, darling.” His voice is soft and warm as a caress. “Of course you are. You’re wondering how hard I’m going to spank, how long it will last, and if
it’s going to hurt as much as you fear. You won’t have long to worry. You’ll soon find out. Anticipation is all part of it. One of your worries I will answer: It’s going to
be on your bare bottom.”

Now I really do panic and wrench an arm from his grasp and try to run, but quick as a whip, he grabs me by the waist, hauls me back and before I know what has happened, I’m face down over
his knee, arms flailing and legs kicking. He lets me struggle until I realize it’s useless. He’s so much stronger than I am and has me at a total disadvantage. I shudder as I realize
how completely helpless I am and how inevitable my spanking.

To think I used to get wet fantasizing about this! But I am wet. Already.

“Stop fighting me!” he orders, smoothing his hands over my back and down my waist to stroke my admittedly ample butt. “Relax.” I almost laugh at that but it’s hard
to laugh doubled over, my nose just inches from the Berber carpet. “If you relax and accept the inevitable, it will go much more easily. If you resist and tighten your muscles, it will hurt
more. You decide.”

Great choices! But I believe him and make a conscious effort to relax. It’s not easy and I don’t do a very good job. Even if I could relax my muscles, my mind is whirling, my stomach
churning against his strong thigh, my heart racing and I don’t want to think what my cunt is doing.

I give a big sigh, feeling my boobs rise and fall against his legs, and wonder why I hadn’t gone out shopping after dinner. I could be happily strolling the mall now, instead of face to
the carpet, waiting for a whack on my posterior.