Scary Lady
By Brian
Houlihan
Copyright@1980 by Brian
Houlihan
"I wish I had a whip to whip
you."
Had that been the turning point? Paul wondered.
Yes. If there everwas any discernible line being crossed, in the kinky
S&M realm, that was it. At least that's the one that stood out in his
memory.
They had been living together about three months.
Carole Bork was atall, slim blonde in her early thirties. She was a
knockout, with thick blonde hair that caressed her shoulders, large perky tits,
a slim waist, a perfect ass, and long, long legs that almost always ended in a
pair of high heels. She had piercing blue eyes and straight white
teeth. She was truly gorgeous and he felt very lucky to be with her.
In fact, lucky was an understatement.
Paul Conway was used to dating
pretty girls over the years but she was exceptional. If he hadn't been
half drunk when he met her he never would have had the courage to speak to
her. Fortunately he was and he
had.
"Excuse me, is your name
Pat?"
"No, it isn't. Why?"
She was looking at him and
smiling. It was Friday night, happy hour at The Trattoria, a fashionable
New York watering hole in The Pan Am Building. The place was mobbed with
Madison Avenue types getting tanked up before catching the train to Scarsdale or
beyond. Because of the crowd they were close together and Paul's eyes kept
straying to the inviting cleavage exposed by her gauzy white blouse.
"You
look like a woman named Pat. That I met here. I'm sorry."
"It's
okay. Pat's probably younger."
"What makes you say that?"
"Looking
at you. You look younger."
"Ha. I'm probably older than you
are.
He couldn't believe he was actually holding a conversation with this
gorgeous creature.
"I'm thirty-two."
She said it as if expecting to shock
him.
"That's how old I am."
"Bullshit."
When he took out his driver's
license and proved to her that he was thirty-two, she laughed and
laughed.
She'd probably had several drinks too. Although she didn't seem
drunk. Just happy. It turned out that she was older than him, by one
month. He kidded her about being an older woman, but admitted that
he looked a
lot younger than his age. When he admitted there was no
Pat, that he had made her up, Carole laughed harder.
"Geez, what turned
you on? You sound like a hyena!"
It was Carole's girlfriend, Angie,
who'd been talking to someone else.
"How old do you think he is?"
"I
dunno. Twenty-five?"
Carole was laughing again. As she laughed
her tits seemed to bounce and heave under the blouse. Paul was getting a
hard.
He got her phone number and they went out the following
weekend. She had a nice one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn Heights.
When she let him in she was wearing a bathrobe and her hair was in a
towel.
"You're twenty minutes early!"
"God, I'm sorry. I wasn't sure
if I said eight or eight-thirty. I could come back?"
"No. Come
in."
He knew that he had said eight-thirty. He was just
over-anxious. He sat on the couch and watched her iron a sweater.
When Carole fixed him a drink and then handed it to him on the couch, she bent
over and he got a direct view of her yummy tits. When his eyes finally
looked up she met his gaze and smiled knowingly. Paul's dick stood
straight up in his pants.
He was glad he came early. This was more
intimate. Carole walking around in her robe, with only her bra and panties
on underneath. He fantasized about living with her and getting to see her
in her underwear all the time. And secretly smelling it behind her
back.
The sweater that Carole Bork wore was low cut and he spent half the
evening staring at her tits. They had dinner in the neighborhood.
She worked as a foreman at a small printing plant in downtown Manhattan.
She had begun work there as a secretary but soon decided there was more money in
production. Paul explained that he was a copywriter for a cereal company
at one of the smaller ad agencies.
"A writer! I'm
impressed."
"Good. I wanna impress you."
Paul noted that Carole
caused heads to turn, in the restaurant and on the street. She was a
looker and he was proud to be with her.
"You're very pretty. You must
have lots of boyfriends."
"You'd be surprised. Sometimes an attractive
woman puts men off. Like they're afraid of her or something. I've
spent too many nights alone in a bar with a bunch of men just staring at
me.
Paul understood that. Had he been sober that night he never would
have gone near her.
"Ooh your dicky bird's all hard!"
A chill ran
through him. She had "accidentally" dropped her hand into his lap.
They were on their third date, in her apartment. She had pulled this trick
before. After "accidentally" hitting his rock hard dick, she'd look into
his eyes and say, "I'm sorry." Or "Excuse me."
It turned him
on. Carole had an intimidating quality, especially when she looked into
his eyes, as if she knew all his dirty little secrets and fantasies. Only
this time she kept her hand on his dick. She was squeezing it.
Hard. They had smoked a joint earlier and that put her in a sexy mood
immediately. She was wearing a very sheer blouse, see through, with a lacy
black bra holding her pointy tits, skin tight black pants and sky high
heels. She was still squeezing his dick!
"Why don't you give it some
air?"
He wasn't sure that he heard her right. Their eyes met and
Carole looked annoyed.
"Didn't you hear me?"
"What?"
"I said, 'Why
don't you give it some air?' Take your dick out Paul.
Now. I
want to see it."
In a trance, he slowly pulled down his zipper and eased
his hard prick out of his underwear and into her view. His underwear was
wet with precum. Paul was very excited but also a bit scared.
Suddenly Carole
was bossy.
"That's better. See, you can hear me,
can't you?"
"Yeah."
Carole smiled and wrapped her slender hand around
his pulsing dick, her blood red fingernailsl contrasting with his burning
flesh.
"I was starting to get angry. And you don't want me angry, do
you Paulie?"
"No."
"No, Miss Carole."
"No, Miss Carole."
"That's
better. I like you calling me Miss Carole. And I enjoy seeing you
with a hard on. But I don't like you pretending not to hear me. The
more we communicate, the more fun we're going to have.
Understand?"
"Yes, Miss Carole."
Paul had never been so sexually
excited. Or nervous. He could feel the cold drops of sweat falling
from his armpits.
"Now take our drinks out to the kitchen and freshen them
up. And leave your dick out."
"Yes Miss Carole."
He picked up
their drinks and made his way into her kitchen. He looked silly with his
hard dick sticking straight out of his pants while he poured more wine into
their glasses. The whole thing seemed like some weird sexy dream.
Did she do this with all her dates or just him? Who cares? He
glanced into the living room and saw her casually smoking a cigarette. She
smiled at him.
He looked down at his prick. A large drop of pre-cum
fluid had formed at the top of his piss slit. He thought about touching it
but was afraid that Carole might not like that. Picking up the drinks, he
returned to the living room.
"Put them down on the table."
He obeyed and
then faced her.
"Aw, your dickie's getting all wet. Let's just spread
this around."
Carole squeezed his dick and took her thumb and spread the
fluid all over the head of it.
Paul felt like there was an electric
current running through his dick.
She looked up at him.
"Do you like me
playing with your dick, Paul?"
"Oh God yes, Miss
Carole."
"Good."
Suddenly she was standing next to him. In her
heels, she was taller than Paul.
"Undress me."
"Yes Miss
Carole."
The dream just seemed to get better and better. Her milk white
tits were sticking right in his face. He was actually taking her clothes
off!
"Why, Paulie, you're shaking. I like that. I like you
excited."
"Thank you Miss Carole."
He sounded like an idiot. He
didn't care. He was a very lucky idiot.
"Leave my bra, panties and
heels on. Then get naked and sit down on the carpet. In front of me.
Another chill ran through him.
Carole produced another joint and they
smoked it with her sitting on the couch, in heels, panties and bra. Paul
sat naked on the rug in front of her. The air was charged with sexual
tension.
As they smoked, Carole questioned him about how
often he masturbated, what his sexual fantasies were, what he liked to do
sexually. And Paul found himself opening up, telling her things that he
never told anyone. How he got hard-ons on the subway, how he dreamed about
smelling certain women's panties.
Suddenly Carole was running her fingers
through his hair. He felt like he could cum just from that. He could
feel more drops forming at the end of his prick. She was stroking his
head, petting him like a dog. "Paul, I like sharing secrets with you. I've
dreamed about you eating me. But I want to take it slow. Now I want
you to put your nose here on my panty crotch. Just put your nose right on
top and smell."
"Yes Miss Carole."
Her hand was on the back of his
neck and pulled him into her panty covered crotch. Paul inhaled her
womanly musk and swooned inside. He lay his nose on her pussy panties and
sniffed the sexual aroma of a mature pussy. It was wet and the smell
seemed to surround him. Time stopped. He closed his eyes and inhaled
her. Carole was ever so slowly running her hand thru his hair. The
smell got stronger and stronger. He could feel the tip of her high heeled
shoe toying with his stiff dick.
Pain. She was pulling his
hair. She pulled his head back and their eyes met. It hurt.
Tears were forming in his eyes. "Eat me."
Paul pulled the panties aside and
dove his face into her sopping wet cunt. Carole's pelvis lifted off the
couch and jammed itself into his face.
"Yeahhhh! That's good. Eat
it. Eat that pussy, Paul!"
He felt like the top of his head was
coming off. He had never been so happy or excited.
"Yeahhhh! Oh
God yess. Fuuuuukkkk."
Carole was multiorgasmic. She seemed to be
cumming nonstop. Her slender hands had incredible strength. Holding
his face in a vice grip. She would alternately pet him then pull his hair.
Hard. Constantly
moaning and screaming. "Good. Good, Baby,
good. Suck it. Suck that pussy. You love it! Eat my cunt
you little faggot. Eat it! Ahhhh!"
His face was drenched in cunt
juice.
He ate her for about an hour and a half. Then they
fucked. With Carole on top. Paul came like he had never cum
before.
Everything changed after that. He moved into her
apartment the next month. He loved being around her. Besides being
lovers they were good friends. All week they would act like a normal
couple, talking about every day problems, calling each other Paul or
Carole. Then, maybe on a Saturday afternoon, Carole might suddenly say,
"Feel like smoking a joint?"
His dick got hard immediately.
Trained.
"Okay."
They would smoke and make small talk about the past
week. Until the joint was finished.
"Paul?"
"Yes, Miss
Carole?"
"Go into the bedroom. Get my black panties out of the
hamper. The ones with my cunt juice on them. Put them on."
As if
programmed, Paul would undress in front of her (one of Carole's many rules for
him) and then go and retrieve the soiled panties and don them and
return.
"Good boy. You look very pretty. Turn around. Let
me see your cute little asshole. Good. Now come kneel down here and
smell it."
Paul would obediently kneel in front of his mistress and place his
nose on her panties. She might place her high heeled shoes on his
shoulders while he did this, or she might not.
They both soon
discovered that Paul completely lost it when his face was in that stinky
pussy. He would begin moaning and rubbing his face in it until his face
was sopping wet with her juice.
One night while Paul was moaning
loudly and immersing himself in her wonderful, intoxicating cunt,
"I wish I
had a whip to whip you."
He didn't hesitate.
"We could use one of your
belts."
"Go get one."
He ran into the bedroom and brought back one of her
belts. Carole began running it over his back. Then hitting him with
it lightly. It seemed to encourage him, to drive him harder. Later,
after they both came and
he had shot his load all over her legs, she lifted
up his chin and looked into his eyes.
"I want you to buy me a whip."
"Yes
Miss Carole."
He bought her a short braided leather whip the next
day. When he presented it to her that Saturday she was very happy.
Paul was scared but excited. They smoked two joints. Then she
ordered him to strip. He undressed and Carole removed the wet panties she
was wearing and placed them over his head. She adjusted the smelly crotch
band so that it was directly over his nose.
"Now I want to whip you while you
smell me."
Paul felt like he was in a fog. A sex fog. She ordered
him to stand in the middle of the living room, still sniffing her panties.
The first hard CRACK! Of the whip traumatized him. He screamed and jumped
at the excruciating pain. It really, really hurt. His back felt like
it was on fire.
"OW! Hey, Carole! No. That
hurts!"
"Don't move, faggot. Don't make me chase you!"
CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK!
She beat him unmercifully. He was a blubbering,
screaming, crying mass after about 30 very hard whip strokes. There were
ugly welts all over his back, ass and legs.
He had assumed the whipping
would only be symbolic. He was in extreme pain. He couldn't stop
crying. He remembered her holding his head and petting him, her very wet
pussy in his face.
"I know. I know it hurt, Baby. But that's what
you NEED. That's what Momma NEEDS. See, your dickie bird's all
hard. I know, I know, hon. It's going to take some getting used
to."
Later he got to fuck her. For being "mommy's good boy". She
shoved her finger up his ass and he went crazy.
It progressed
quickly. Severe beatings. Enemas. ("You can take more. I
know you can. Hold it in.") Spankings. Eating her out during
her period. (Which Paul secretly loved. That wasn't a punishment
for
him.)
Tonight he sat on the couch slowly working on
his second wine since he got home from work. He was scared again.
Tonight Carole was supposed to brand him with her initial "C". He had told
her that he wasn't up
for that. They had a big fight about it.
But Carole put her foot down. If he didn't love her enough to accept her
brand then he could move out.
His entire world revolved around
her. He knew that if given the choice of this or never seeing her again,
there was no choice.
Carole would be home in 20 minutes. Probably
chuckling to herself. With some branding device for his ass.
God his
dick was hard! He wasn't going anywhere.
[comments? feedback? bhoull@ameritech.net]