97 - 98 - 99 - 100. A glance in the bathroom’s mirror shows a boyfriend watching her brush her blonde tresses. Never exactly knew why he enjoyed watching her hair being brushed. Was not totally certain why he told her to brush her hair twice a day with one hundred strokes. But she normally did as she was told. She set the brush down on the bathroom counter and gently turned her head left and right, watching the blonde tresses move in the bathroom's bright light. She knew he did.
"Sit down please. Spread your legs." Words interrupted the reverie. Boyfriend had put a folded towel on the toilet lid. A saucy smile on her lips and she sat, legs spread, her sex on display, only clothing a pair of red stilettos.
She watched him trim that little patch of blonde curls at the apex of her thighs. A little shaving gel, and his razor, still wet from his morning shave, scraped at the short hairs there.
She looked down at your crotch, now a bare as a girl’s. A head shake, what thoughts were in that man’s head. Reaching down, she ran her hand over the smooth, hairless skin. A look up at the boyfriend, a sassy smile curving her lips, and a finger slid between female folds. Holding the glistening finger up, she gave it a delicate taste before presenting the finger to her lover. He sucked on the finger, enjoying her flavor.
She gracefully got up. Putting her hands under her full breasts, she lifted them up as if offering them to her boyfriend for his attention. Then dodged his hands and walked back towards the bed swinging her hips.
"Bitch," a word growled.
"You betcha,” she said laughing.
Ink, Inc.
Breakfast had been three hours before. And the mid morning coffee break had been her bent over the trunk lid of the car. It was time for a break. The sign for a diner five miles ahead meant that lunch would be hot food, not Nabs and a Royal Crown.
Car parked, parking brake set, engine off. She waited until her boyfriend opened the door for her. A stretch to relieve discomfort in the lower back from sitting in a car seat too long. A stretch that pushed full breasts against her tee shirt. She knew the driver was watching, he was a tit man and kept his eyes on her D-cups. The same guy that had bent her over the trunk lid and used her. Fucking her hard.
"You want a new tattoo," a baritone voice.
"I did," he grinned. "Same thing." A large hand in the small of her back guided her across the street to a tattoo shop in a little strip mall. Ink, Inc., original name, she thought. He opened the door for her and waited until she walked into the air conditioned room.
"Yes," the man, no boy, behind the counter said. He looked young enough to card at the bar. And he was working at a tattoo parlor. This did not look good.
"The lady wants a tattoo."
She now remembered what had been discussed over beers a couple of nights ago. Fuck. Her getting a tat in a very intimate place. "Yes," she said licking her lips. "How much experience do you have?" If the tattoo artist didn't have much experience, maybe the idea could get dropped or postponed.
"Five years," he said from behind the counter. "A year of class work, two years of working under somebody else. And now here."
She resigned herself to getting inked. "I want a Old-English 'S' tattoo."
"OK." He pulled out a book of drawings, leafed through it, and found a page of letters. "Like that?"
"Yes," she glared over at her boyfriend. The bastard just smiled. "Yes. About an inch . . . no, inch and a half tall." Fucking Bastard Boyfriend. She glared at him. The smile just grew. "On my mons."
The tattooist thought for a moment. "If you would feel more comfortable, we have a woman artist who will be here tomorrow."
"No, we're traveling," Bastard Boyfriend said. Looking over at her, he smiled. "You know we have to make time to visit your parents."
It wasn't her parents they were going to visit. It was a Dom's dungeon. She had a date with a flogger. She smiled, "Yes, Honey." Turning to the artist, "Paperwork?" They were in the land of the Free and the Brave, there was always paperwork. A few moments, and her passport were photocopied, forms were signed, and Boyfriend handed over his credit card.
The tattooist locked the door. "Not too much business this week." He led them back to a room with several booths. He put a fresh sheet over a dentist like chair and looked suddenly uncertain.
He looked cute, she thought. "I'll push my panties down, and pull the skirt up," she volunteered.
The tattoo artist smiled, "That will be fine."
"Honey, you need to pee first." Fucking Bastard Boyfriend.
Now that he had said it, she did. Has he been trying some of his training? She hadn't had to go and then. . . . "Restroom?" she asked. The artist pointed out a door with a unisex bathroom sign on it. A nod of thanks, and walked over to it and opened the door. Door closed, she looked around the tile-floored room. It was OK, clean at least. She pushed down the pink panties, pulled the skirt up and sat down.
"Stop," a male voice intruded in the simple pleasure of emptying her bladder.
The stream stopped. "You know that stopping peeing is not good for the urinary tract." She looked up at him. He was leaning against the wall, restroom door closed. Like he owned the place and everything in it. Her included.
"You may continue."
"Thank you," she said curtly. The stream continued and finished. She looked up. Fuck, he had a wad of toilet tissue in his hand. "I'm a big girl. My mother taught me how to wipe after a piss. Front to back to cut down UTIs. I really don't need your help."
"Spread your knees," She colored a little as her knees spread and turned her head so he could wipe her dry. "That's better."
"Thank you," she said quietly, head bowed. She got up, straightened her clothing while he washed his hands. He opened the door and let her lead him back to the tattoo artist and his chair.
The skirt came up enough so she could get her thumbs under the thong and push it down so it fell to her feet. Her boyfriend helped her into the chair, and pushed up her skirt, exposing her up to her belly button.
The artist stood for a moment pulling on a pair of purple gloves, then bent over the canvas offered. "Good job shaving."
She looked pointedly up at the boyfriend. He just smiled. So that’s why he shaved her that morning. She reached for her boyfriend's hand when the buzzing started and the sharp little needle started jabbing her sensitive skin, pushing ink under her fair skin. It was there, waiting for her, a hand well known to her. One that had grabbed her hair to control her, one that had slapped her face when she sassed. But now, open, letting her hold it through the pain of the tattoo, the humiliation of a stranger touching her at her boyfriend's bidding.
The buzzing stopped, the tattoo needle set down. A wipe of tissue collecting a little bit of blood, and the artist picked up a mirror so that she could see the permanent mark. It was well done, mostly black with a little touch of red. Pretty, but nothing that she would have picked.
"Nice job," the boyfriend said.
She nodded her agreement. It did look nice. Just would have rather seen it on somebody else.
"Thank you," the boy replied.
"You know something," the boyfriend said. He kissed her hand and set it down.
She looked up at her boyfriend. What was he thinking?
"She's aroused." He walked down to the foot of the chair were her knees dangled over the edge.
Fucking Bastard Boyfriend. Yes, she was a bit of a pain slut, the pain of the tattoo needle and the intimate touching had caused a bit of arousal. But not that much. And not to fuck anybody at that moment. Not even her boyfriend.
And he touched her nether lips. "Yes, she's wet. You touch her," he said turning to the tattoo artist.
"I really can't." the kid stammered.
Maybe she could get out of here with a shred of dignity.
"She likes being touched down there," boyfriend said. "Don't you?"
Or not. She pasted a smile on her face, "Yes I do. Please touch me down there." A soft intake of breath as nitrile gloved fingers touched. She smiled back at the kid. A lick of lips.
"Go ahead, slip your fingers between her folds."
Fucking Bastard Boyfriend. "Oh, yes," she said in a breathless voice. And another intake of breath as the boy's fingers slipped along her folds. Fingers grazing the clitoris got a gasp.
The boy looked up at her, a bot of concern in his eyes. "She's OK, that was her clit that you touched." His fingers replaced the boy's for a second, intimately stroking her. "Let me show you something."
This ain't the place for sex ed, Bastard.
"Slide your middle finger into her vagina," he said demonstrating. "And a couple of inches is all, and gently crook it towards you in a come hither motion. There's a soft, spongy spot. Take off your gloves, you'll be able to feel it better."
Fuck, she thought gasping, her hands grabbing the sheet, as his fingertips brushed her G-spot. He knew what doing that to her. He'd made her cum with that little trick once. Twice. Hell, she didn't remember how many times. It was one of those buttons he knew how to push.
". . . a little rubbing of the girl's clit . . ."
I'm a woman, you prick. A thought interrupted by a gasp as FFB hit both G-spot and clit. The pleasureable pressure was building as fingers moved inside her. She looked down, the boy's bare fingers were buried in her.
"You're doing a great job," the boyfriend said walking up along the chair, fingers trailing along her hip and side. "Let me show you something real pretty."
What was the fucker thinking, she asked herself, looking up at him as he stood at the top of the chair back. She pushed up a little with her elbows as her boyfriend pulled up the hem of her tee shirt up and over her bra.
"Aren't those tits pretty," FFB said looking down at breasts wrapped in red lace.
"Yeah," the kid sounded confused for a moment. "Real pretty." A hand came up and squeezed her right breast.
"Let me," FFB said reaching down, and pulling the bra up exposing her soft breasts and the pencil-eraser nipples.
Fucking Bastard Boyfriend, she thought glaring at the source of her humiliation. It wasn't bad enough that he got her tattooed and fondled, let's just strip her naked too.
"I think she wants something more personal now. Don't you, Dear?" Boyfriend cupped a breast and pinched a sensitive nipple.
Fucker knew her buttons, didn't he. And if it didn't give her so much pleasure, she'd tie that Bastard's prick in a knot. "Yes," she said gasping as Bastard pinched both nipples.
"Yes, what?"
You know, she shouted in her head. Don't make me beg. "Please. . . Fuck me."
"Ask the young man, the one who did such a good job on your tattoo."
"Please." A gasp as a finger probed her, a nipple was pinched. "Fuck me please."
"You sure?" the kid asked.
"She's sure," boyfriend added.
"Condoms," she gasped as two fingers violated her. It was his rules, no penetration with out protection. One she agreed with. "You don't got in unless he's wearing a raincoat."
"I've got some in my bag," the kid replied.
She felt strangely empty without the kid's fingers fondling her. A low voice caught her attention.
"You OK with this?" boyfriend asked looking down at her, his blue eyes looking down into her's.
She could tell how much he was enjoying showing her off, imposing his will on her, and the kid. "OK enough," she replied. "Don't leave the room," she added in a stern voice.
"I would never think of it," he replied, his hand stroking her blonde tresses. The kid's noisy return with a strip of foil squares in his hand got everybody's attention. The boyfriend squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.
She grabbed her boyfriend's hand to pull herself up. "Let me see those," she asked reaching for the strip of foil squares. If these weren't good enough for her, the kid got a handjob. They were OK, a name brand and in date. "Pull out that bad boy and let's get him dressed for his big night," she said to the kid. And looked up at her boyfriend when the kid did exactly that. The kid was well hung. Will that fit? she asked herself looking at the telephone pole and thinking of her cunt. Only one way to find out, she thought opening one of squares and pulling out the lubricated protection inside. It rolled down easy enough, thank God for XXL. She looked up at the kid's face for a moment as she kissed the tip and licked the condom. No blowjob for him, he's too big.
"Let's party," she said to the tattoo artist as she spread her legs and guided the cock to her cunt. "Be gentle with me, you're huge," she said rubbing the cock against her, getting the crown nice and lubricated before she positioned it at her opening. "Push gently, you're bigger than my boyfriend." Maybe it was a bit of a dig, but the Bastard deserved it. It hurt, but the cock filled her up as it entered her. She concentrated on her breathing as she felt her flesh stretch around the intrusion, felt her cunt fill up with hard cock. A lick of the lips, "That's all that I can take." It didn't all fit, she didn't want to think about how it would feel in her ass. "Fuck me slowly, I beg you." She watched the cock slow slide out of her wet snatch, and then slow slide back in, filling her back up. And the cycle repeated. Each thrust felt better, less like it was going to split her in two. Soon the pain morphed into that mixture of pleasure and arousal that a good fucking was.
And there was something else that she wanted, needed, as she laid there, her guts being violated over and over again by that barely legal cock, her mind vague in the sensations of being used. Her hand reached out, flailing for her boyfriend. When she felt his hand in her's, a quick squeeze and she pulled him close, "I want . . I need your cock," she gasped as she felt boy push his cock deep. The sound of a zipper barely registered, but the smell and feel of a cock she knew well at her lips registered, she opened her mouth and started to suck on the tip, her hand wrapping around the base of the cock, holding it still as she licked and sucked it into her mouth. Her head bobbed on her boyfriend's, her lover's cock. She knew the taste of the precum, the musky smell of his patch of curls.
Soon her heels where on the boy's shoulders, his hands bruising her thighs as he sped up the rutting, fucking her hard. Her boyfriend's cock was deep in her mouth, entering her throat as he fucked her mouth. She was nothing but sensation, carnal sensation. And then her climax hit, she groaned around the cock that was filling her mouth, making it hard for her to breath. She barely felt the boy push deep and climax. But the feel of her boyfriend filling her mouth with his cum as he climaxed hit hard, she groaned a second time.
The feeling of a thumb gently squeezing her sensitive throat, and a growled "Don't swallow" cut through the fog and brought her back in a second, all feeling of her climax washed away in a cold sweat. The threat wasn't empty, he'd choked her once when she had disobeyed him. She'd passed out and her throat had been sore for days. Days he'd forced her to deep throat him each morning. Each night. She didn't know if he had forced her because he enjoyed the feel of his cock down her narrow throat, or it was punishment for disobeying him. Some questions she was afraid to ask. She opened her mouth letting him see the pool of white in her mouth.
"Good girl." He bent down, one hand holding her head still with a handful of hair, the other possessing a breast. His mouth pushed punishingly hard against her's, his tongue invading her mouth, tasting his essence. Ravishing her mouth as his cock had done moments before. Then gently lowered her head down to the chair, gently brushed her hair with the same hand that had held the same tresses. "Swallow," he said. She obeyed. "Good girl." She felt his forehead rest on her's and smiled.
"Ich," the kid said.
She looked down at the young kid. Her boyfriend may not have a cock as . . . magnificent as the kids, nor have the stamina of the much younger man. He was a card carrying member of the AARP. But he knew that sex was a messy pleasure, and did not hesitate when it got messy. She hoped that the kid knew GIRLS in this area, no matter how well hung he was, if she had anything to say about it, he wasn't EVER going to get in her WOMAN's pants again. "Hon, help me up," she asked her boyfriend with a smile.
A quick, private trip to the restroom and she was ready to see the world again. Thanking the boy again for the tattoo and the good time, she quickly led her boyfriend out of the parlor.
They walked across the street hand-in-hand. "Did you leave your thong as a memento for the kid?"
"No," she replied. A single word that ended any discussion of the subject. They walked a couple of steps closer to the HoJos. "Corazon, can I ask you for something?"
"Anything," was a quick reply.
She stopped walking, looking at him with open eyes. She knew what he meant by that word. When he said "Anything," he meant exactly that, “Anything." No reasonable. No maybes. She wanted something. She'd get it. A new car. Her freedom for a day. Him being inked. If he could, he would get or do it for her. She knew in her heart, that she would do the same for him.
He had stopped walking when she had, and now looked at her, a smile on his lips, he gently squeezed her hand.
She took a deep breath. "When you reach for me for your pleasure this evening,": she started. He nodded. "Let me pleasure you with mouth and hand. Not my cunt and ass."
He smiled, "Sure."
She laughed with joy, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Thank you. Thank you." She felt relief. After the assault by telephone pole cock not even an hour before, she was still sore. Not a good situation to be in when you were to pleasure your lover in a few hours.
"What about High Tea?"
She stopped laughing. Shit. As he had that morning, he was going to take his pleasure with her that afternoon. And she hadn't asked for that . . .
"Pearl Necklace?" he asked.
She laughed again. She had no problem stripping to the waist and giving him a titty fuck. Or even leaving the clothes on and wearing his cum on them as decoration. "Sure," she echoed his words.
He gave her a quick hug, his arms around her waist. After a quick kiss, he released her and started leading her to the restaurant. "Don't forget, you get the BLT on whole wheat. And I'll chose something else."
She laughed, "What-ever." She'd get the 'something else'. She was with her man. That was the important thing.
Lunch
"BLT on toasted whole wheat. Mayo. Potato salad. Birch Beer." That was what her boyfriend had been telling her to order. He'd order something different from the menu, never the same thing twice. Sometimes she ate the bacon sandwich, sometimes the boyfriend would.
"The gentleman will have the Chef's Salad. French dressing. Unsweetened iced tea," she told the waiter. He hadn't told her she couldn't order for him, just never told her that she couldn't. It was being sassy, and she was risking 20 swats on the ass.
The waiter was looking confused. HoJo's was not known as the place where the host ordered for their date. Hell, it wasn't the sort of place where you took a date. "That sound great," boyfriend said. The waiter visibly relaxed. "And a shrimp cocktail as an appetizer."
Shit. She loved shrimp. And hadn't seen it on the menu. She would have begged for the shrimp. And now as punishment, he'd probably eat it all in front of her. Fucking Bastard Boyfriend.
"Honey, thank you for offering to pay the lunch bill. How sweet of you."
Shit. Second shit. She didn't have any money on her. He wouldn't let her carry any. He'd take care of her, he'd said. What if I want to give you something for a surprise, she'd asked one day. Everyday is a wonderful surprise with you, he replied holding her head gently and looking into her eyes. She knew he wouldn't lie to her. But that still ,. . .
"Sass. Are you listening?"
Shit. Double shit. She hadn't been paying attention. 40 swats and she wasn't going to be able to sit down for a week. Better to be spanked for a truth, then spanked for a lie. "No," she replied in a small voice, looking down at the table.
He gently grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her over and kissed the top of her head. "Silly girl. You know that I'll cover the bill. Don't you?" He whispered, "Pay better attention in the future." He shook her head gently.
Ok, thirty swats.
The shrimp came and they looked all nice and pink and luscious. He took one, dipped it in cocktail sauce and ate it. "Tastes great. Very flavorful cocktail sauce."
Fuck. No little shrimpies dripping in cocktail sauce for her. She watched him eat a second one.
"Sit on your hands." A quiet phrase. She did. And he took one of the shrimp, dipped it in the cocktail sauce and fed it to her with his fingers. "Thank you," he said feeding her a second chilled shrimp dripping with cocktail sauce.
"For what?" She hadn't done anything except disobey and risk a spanking.
"Helping me fulfill a fantasy," he replied. "I've had this fantasy about going to a restaurant with a beautiful woman, ordering food, and feeding it to her with my fingers."
She knew better than try a 'Who Me?' when he made compliments about her. She kissed the back of the hand that held another shrimp before gently, slowly taking the shrimp from his fingers and eating it. "You feed me by hand fairly often."
"True. Which makes it a fantasy that you help fulfill often." He sat there for a second. "Waiter is coming, do not sit on your hands."
They were in her lap in a second. She realized something, she'd been fed the majority of the shrimp. "Thank you," she told him smiling. He returned her smile.
He praised the salad to the waiter when he came to pick up the dirty plates. And ordered a slice of apple pie and two cups of coffee for desert. She left her desert fork on the table and folded her hands in her lap when her boyfriend picked up his fork.
"If you want pie," he said. "You'll have to get it for yourself."
She picked up her fork and took a little piece of apple and a bit of crust on it. She licked her lips, and held out the fork to him, "To you, my love."
He understood what she was offering, took the bite and thanked her. She ate about a third of the slice.
After the bill was settled and they walked out to the car. "There is something that I need to tell you and I'm not certain how to say it, " she said looking down at the car tire.
He leaned back against the car door, folded his arms. "Saying it straight is generally the best and least painful."
She nodded. "Back in the tattoo parlor, I had a phrase that I used in my head to refer to you."
He waited a moment. "You think that I won't like it?" At her nod, he continued. "Say it." A command.
"Fucking Bastard Boyfriend," she said it quickly. "F-B-B for short."
He looked at her for a moment and laughed. "Fucking Bastard Boyfriend. That's rich. We should get t-shirts made. I'll wear the FFB one, and you can wear one of those cute tank-tops with the lace around the neck, with 'I'm with FFB' on the front."
She sighed. Maybe her butt wouldn't glow red.
"We could get a second couple of shirts," he said laughing. "Mine would have 'I'm with FSS' on in, and your tank would say FSS."
"Fucking Sexy Sass?" she ventured.
"Nah. Fucking Sassy Slavegirl," he said. "Kneel," he barked.
In front of the HoJos, in front of anybody in the parking lot, she gracefully knelt. She was in SOOO much trouble.
"Each of the items you pulled today push the envelope, and each taken separately doesn't make me think that you are seriously misbehaving. But the nickname and the ordering for me on the same day is a bit much."
"Yes," she responded quietly.
"Yes, What?"
"Yes, Boss."
"OK. Tonight, after you have pleasured me with mouth and hand, you will sleep on the floor without benefit of blanket, mattress, or pillow. I will allow a towel between you and the carpet."
"Thank you, Boss." It could have been worse. He wasn't going to beat her.
"Get in the car," he told her.
When she looked up and started to rise, she saw her boyfriend's hand in front of her, palm up. She smiled up at him, reached out and grasped the hand, using it to balance her as she got up. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he replied and kissed her.
