A sex story with spankings, porn, and stranger sex
"Thursday at Four," erotica by Elizabeth Coldwell
Classic Presentation by China Hamilton, available at Obsession Art
Evie hesitates for a long time before ringing the doorbell. This might be the most important appointment she keeps in her life, yet she’s already on the verge of turning back, getting on the train and forgetting she ever agreed to come. She is clutching a piece of paper she has folded and unfolded so many times it’s beginning to wear into holes along the creases. It’s torn from a memo pad with the words, “WHILE YOU WERE OUT” printed across the top in a font designed to resemble handwriting. On it, she has scribbled his address and “Thursday at four”. They had agreed on a day which was good for her. He is expecting her; if she lets him down, she lets herself down.
He answers the bell so promptly, she wonders whether he was waiting by the door. The photo he e-mailed her gave an impression of a blond handsomeness, but it didn’t really do him justice. In the flesh, she can appreciate his height and breadth, and the dimples that punctuate his cheeks when he grins in welcome. Ideally, she would have liked someone slightly older, closer to forty than thirty, but in every other respect he is perfect, she thinks. Her nerves receding a little, as she follows him inside.
The basement flat is a little shabby and clearly hasn’t been decorated in some years, but it feels homely. If they were friends, and she was visiting his home for the first time, she would be eager to examine his bookshelves, his CD collection, the little knick-knacks on his mantelpiece. Instead, she settles down on his sagging sofa and accepts his offer of a cup of tea.
He chats to her from the kitchen as the kettle boils, asking about her journey. They’re skirting round the real reason why she’s here, but she’s happy with that for now. She needs to feel truly relaxed and at home here before they can begin.
The tea is just as she likes it: strong but milky, without sugar. Another point in his favor. He sits down opposite her, in an armchair that’s just as worn as the sofa, giving her the time and space to grow comfortable. They don’t need to discuss what’s about to happen; they’ve talked of very little else in the e-mails which have pinged back and forth between them since she first saw his profile on the fetish dating site. A site she only visited because she’d been out drinking with friends after work and came home a little tipsy and more than a little horny. About to take some of her favorite one-handed reading to bed, she had instead been struck by a powerful urge to discover if there really were men whose fantasies matched hers. That was when she found him.
He called himself Daniel, though she still didn’t know whether that was his real name or not. He claimed to offer strict but loving chastisement to naughty girls in need of the same. He declared up front he didn’t charge for his services, unlike some of the advertisers on the site. He didn’t use crude language, or decorate his advert with an off-putting close-up photo of his cock. She liked his approach, and liked his picture even more. Liked it enough to send him a message, which she regretted in the morning, until his reply came back and she realized just how sympathetic he was to her needs.
Eventually, they began to discuss the scenario she wished to act out. He told her of the parts he’d played in the past: the strict headmaster, forced to give a misbehaving pupil six of the best; the department store security guard whose unorthodox method of dealing with a shoplifter was a bare-bottomed spanking.
She noticed that his bedroom is just down the hall. How many different uniforms and costumes might he have hanging in the wardrobe there? However, she didn’t need him to dress for his role today. He’s fine as he is, in the baggy khaki shorts and white t-shirt, showing off his prominent pecs and brawny arms. Clutching her mug in hands which no longer tremble, she thinks back to the night which has brought her to this point, and the man she needs the stranger opposite to be, if only for an hour.
It had been the long summer vacation between her first and second years at the University. She had settled in well, and made a couple of friends she has kept to this day. One of them, Sarah, had invited her to spend a few days at her parents’ home in North Yorkshire. Sarah had her own car, and she intended to drive them to York and Whitby for some shopping and sightseeing. She also had surprisingly young parents, barely into their forties, who welcomed Evie into their home and told her to treat it as though it was her own.
Sarah had smuggled a bottle of Irish cream liqueur – sickly-sweet stuff which Evie won’t even touch now, though in those days they considered it the height of sophistication – up to her room one night. They had laid on the bed, discussing the lads in their hall of residence they fancied and the tentative, slightly unsatisfactory sexual encounters they’d had. Neither of them was a virgin, though they might as well have been for all the enjoyment sex had given them to this point. Giggling, Sarah had revealed that her father had a collection of porn videos of which he thought she was unaware. They were hidden beneath the china cabinet, in cases designed to look like old book jackets. They were the proper stuff too, smuggled back from Amsterdam, rather than the watered-down films which were all you could get in the sex shops here. Evie was curious to see one, but Sarah’s parents were downstairs, watching television, and though Sarah had a TV set in her room, she didn’t have a video recorder.
Though the conversation moved on, the thought of those illicit tapes nagged away in Evie’s brain. She hadn’t admitted it to Sarah, but she had never even seen one of the “watered-down” tapes her friend had talked about. Despite all the alcohol they had drunk, she had found it impossible to sleep, and when she was sure that everyone else in the house was in bed, she had crept down to the lounge. The tapes were just where Sarah had promised. Evie retrieved something labeled “Back Door Beauties” from its faux-leather case, slid it into the recorder and pressed the mute button on the TV.
Her eyes widened at the sight of a black girl with outrageously large breasts lying on a sun lounger while a muscular hunk whose skin gleamed with oil buried his face between her legs. He was licking her there, and even with the sound off, Evie could tell the girl was loving it. No one had ever tried to use his mouth on her like that, and she wondered how it would feel to have a wet, muscular tongue slithering over all her most intimate places. Almost without being aware of it, she slipped a finger down into her pajama bottoms and began to stroke herself. She had never imagined watching people having sex could get her so excited, so wet. Completely forgetting her surroundings, she rubbed harder, faster, focusing on her pleasure bud.
She was close, so deliciously close to coming, and that was when she heard the stairs creaking. Somehow, a little part of her brain had been listening out for any sign that she was being disturbed. Showing a presence of mind she had never known she possessed, she flicked off the video recorder and feigned waking up, just as Sarah’s father came into the room, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and boxer shorts. When he asked whether she was all right, she made some excuse about being unable to sleep and coming downstairs to watch some television, which wasn’t so very far from the truth. She must, she said, have nodded off after all. He went to get a glass of water from the kitchen. Hastily, she shoved the videotape back where she had found it. She was sure he hadn’t realized what she was actually watching, but nonetheless there had been a distinct bulge in his striped boxers as he wandered past.
The image of that bulge has stayed with her ever since. She relives that night in her memory over and over, but now, when she uses it to masturbate, Sarah’s father always catches her with her hand in her pajamas and the porn film still on the TV, and he always punishes her for playing with herself. She usually comes at the point when he pulls his cock out of the fly of his boxers and orders her to suck it.
And now, thirteen years since the event which inspired it, she has come to this man to make that fantasy a reality. Perhaps it will be a disappointment; perhaps it will ruin the fantasy forever, so she can never use it again. But she has to know.
Her mug is almost empty, and Daniel invites her to go into the bathroom and change. She has brought her favorite pair of pajamas, soft cotton with a pink three-quarter sleeve top and pink polka dot bottoms. The bathroom is tiny, the tub screened off with a thick transparent plastic shower curtain. She peeks in the cabinet over the washbasin, finding little except razor blades, deodorant, toothpaste designed for sensitive teeth and a bottle of aspirin. No prescription drugs for exotic illnesses, nothing to alarm her regarding the character of the man to whom she is about to trust her body. Quickly, she shrugs off her sweater, jeans and underwear, piling them neatly on the closed toilet lid, and puts on the pajamas. She feels more vulnerable than she did a few moments ago, even though her nightwear covers her almost completely.
When she returns to his living room, Daniel is nowhere to be seen, but there is porn waiting for her on the coffee table. Instead of the illicit tape, there is a hardcore DVD in its box, bought perfectly legally from a shop on one of the West End’s main shopping streets. But even though much of the stigma has been removed from its purchase, she still feels the guilty thrill she recalls so well as she slides it into the player.
A menu pops up and she selects a scene at random. She is treated to the sight of a busty blonde in a basque and elbow-length gloves who has a man secured to a St Andrew’s cross. He is naked but for heavy biker boots and a collar round his neck, and he has been blindfolded. With an expression of undisguised lip-licking relish on her face, the blonde is whipping him with a many-tailed flogger, leaving red marks across his chest and flanks. The whip is moving dangerously close to the submissive’s semi-hard cock, but with the blindfold on he has no way of knowing where the next stroke will fall.
Lying sprawled on the sofa, Evie doesn’t need any encouragement to sneak her hand into her pajamas and start fingering her clit. This is one of the horniest things she has ever seen. She wants to know whether that flogger will actually land on his big, veiny dick, and how he will react if it does.
She’s so engrossed in the action on screen she doesn’t hear Daniel come back into the room. Suddenly, his voice barks out, asking her what she thinks she’s doing. She is under his roof, enjoying his hospitality – how could she think this is a decent way to behave in return?
As she struggles to a sitting position, stammering out an excuse, it really does feel as though the years have rolled away. In reality, Daniel may be only a couple of years older than she is, but now, as he stands in his t-shirt and underwear, hair messed up as though he’s just got out of bed, she believes completely that he could be the father of her teenage friend and she the gauche, sexually curious student.
He stops the DVD and ejects it, waving it in front of her face. Some things are private, he tells her; she needs to have respect for other people’s possessions. He wishes there were some other way to deal with this, but he is going to have to teach her a lesson she will not easily forget.
Evie doesn’t resist as he hauls her over his knee. He is wearing a very masculine brand of aftershave, laced with vetiver. It’s underlaid with his own scent, musky and aroused, and she knows he finds this scene just as exciting as she does. She has to admire his performance; he is pitching it perfectly between outrage and barely-suppressed desire for this girl who is supposedly his daughter’s friend and therefore strictly off-limits.
They have already negotiated what he will use to punish her: first his hand, then his bedroom slipper. It will hurt, but she is prepared for that. Even so, she can’t help but blush as he takes hold of her pajama bottoms and slowly, deliberately pulls them down, leaving her half-naked. His hand smoothes over her skin as he tells her what a beautiful ass she has, and how nicely the creamy white flesh will mark. He cups her cheek, gives it a possessive little squeeze, then the caresses cease abruptly.
The first couple of smacks are gentle, just to warm her up, then he increases the force he is using. Short, sharp upward strokes on each cheek in turn. As he spanks her, he keeps up a running dialogue, telling her what a bad girl she is to do something so dirty as to play with herself. She wriggles and squirms, but he holds her firmly in place, pressing a hand in the small of her back to prevent her from rising. He has taken complete charge, just as she hoped he would, and she loves it. The stinging in her bum cheeks she doesn’t enjoy quite as much, but soon the pain is underlaid with the sweetest undercurrent of pleasure, like the bassline beneath the melody of her spanking.
He varies the pattern, so the slaps are no longer predictable and rhythmic. Two on her left cheek, then a pause, then one on her right. They’re a little harder, too, so that she gasps with every one. Trapped beneath her, she can feel his cock, hard and ready to be freed from his boxers, but that won’t happen for quite a while yet. There’s still the slipper to come, even though her bottom is already as red and tender as she has ever known it.
Finally deciding to give his palm a rest, he slips a finger between her legs. There is wetness there, plenty of it, and he slicks it over her clit. She is wriggling once more, but this time with pleasure, as he teases her. Pushing a finger up into her hole, he fucks her in earnest, until she knows it will only take a very little more of this treatment to have her coming her brains out. That’s precisely when he stops, and shrugs the slipper off his left foot.
She glances over her shoulder in alarm as he flexes it, letting her know how much give there is in the thin rubber sole. He has told her she has the option to call a halt whenever she reaches the point where she no longer feels comfortable, but she is determined to see this through.
Again he holds her in place, readying her. His voice is soothing as he tells her how brave she’s been already, and there’s only a little more for her to take before this is all over. Even this doesn’t prepare her for the moment when the slipper makes contact with her flesh. The yell which comes from her lips is full-blooded and frighteningly loud in the small room. Too late, she wonders, about the possibility of neighbors. And then he smacks her again, on the other cheek this time, and she stops thinking about anything but the pain in her punished backside.
His hand soothes her, taking some of the sting away. This is what she hoped for, this mixture of cruelty and tenderness. No wonder so many women come to Daniel to be chastised, to have him play whichever dominant figure pushes their buttons – teacher or doctor or daddy. To be broken apart so he can put them back together. With four more hard whacks, he takes her right to the limit of what she can physically stand, even with a pause after each one to rub it better, as he so quaintly puts it. Then he lets the slipper drop to the floor.
Now his attention is all on her bottom and her pussy, pulsing not just with pain, but with need. Two fingers push into the pocket of her sex, sliding up inside her almost indecently easily. As they set up a steady, pumping rhythm, his thumb rubs her clit. Should she really be wired this way, taking so much pleasure from being spanked and fingered and treated like a delinquent girl? She doesn’t know, cares even less. Not when she is so close to what threatens to be an orgasm so intense she can barely take it. When Daniel pulls his fingers out of her cunt to brush, only for a moment, at her anal rosebud, she loses it completely, thrashing on his lap so violently he has to hold her still for fear of falling. Sensations build and burst with her, like bubbles rising to the surface of champagne, but more potent and intoxicating. When the last of them dies away, she is left feeling weak and boneless, pummeled into surrender by the force of her climax.
Daniel gives her time to recover, but there’s still one last act of her fantasy to perform. Obediently, she rolls off his lap. He adjusts his position, spreading his thighs widely. Between them, his cock is poking out of the opening in his boxers, demanding attention. She wraps a hand around it, bending her head to take it between her lips as he urges her on. Glancing up, she sees his eyelids fluttering shut as he registers the feeling of being in her wet, sucking mouth. Reaching into his underwear, she finds his balls and rolls them gently in her fingers. He doesn’t guide her with words, but when his grunts become harsher, more guttural, she knows he is almost there. As her head bobs faster, tongue slurping and swirling around his shaft, she hears him mutter something. It takes a few seconds to realize he’s calling her a good girl, praising her for her technique. Then her mouth is filling with his come, salty and with a bitterness that reminds her of walnuts. Should she swallow it all, or let a little trickle down her chin, the way some men like? Daniel seems so lost in his own bliss that it doesn’t really matter. So she lets her head nestle in his lap while his cock begins to wilt and he strokes her hair softly, thanking her even though she is the one who should be thanking him. He has given her everything she hoped for, something which will last long after the bruising on her ass has faded, and she has settled back into her regular routine.
Dressed once more in her street clothes, patting her coat pocket to make sure she has her return train ticket, she feels less awkward than she expected. Daniel, of course, is completely at ease in the aftermath, having guided so many women through similar scene before. He hugs her at the door, a hug filled with genuine affection, and though she had only ever thought this would be a one-off, she knows it won’t be too long before she is back in this shabby room, offering herself up to be spanked and soothed by his expert hand. Thursdays have always been good for her. From now on, they will be even better.
Originally published May 2010