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Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: Jay Lawrence is one of the reigning masters at creating captivating tales of bondage and submission. Her novels and collections, Slave of Fortune, Miss Frobisher Bends Over, Shadow of the Master, Ensnaring Susan, and others, have earned her a unique reputation for quality and style. In this giant new collection, she has gathered together more than a dozen stories previously published as electronic chapbooks, as well as two new Bonus Stories, written especially for this volume, the title story and At Dead of Night. In this heaping helping of Jay Lawrence's blistering tales of discipline applied, you will find such unforgettable stories as Making Her Pay, My Bare-Bottom Whipping, Well Reddened, Girls, Thigh Boots and Whips, Spank Me!, Collared, Your Slut, Over His Knees, and many more. Cover art t. L. Balmer.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: November 2010

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [256 KB]
Words: 56303
Reading time: 160-225 min.

MAKING HER PAY

The young man sat in the bus shelter, hunched over a pornographic magazine. Glossy images of incredibly well-endowed models made him lick his lips. It was a filthy night and freezing rain blew against the glass walls of the shelter. He muttered, wondering when the fuck the last bus would turn up then turned his attention back to Linzi Mellons with her 38-F bra-busters. What wouldn't he give to slide his cock between that pair and pump frantically until he shot his load all over her humongous mounds of tit flesh?

"Do you want a ride?"

The woman's voice was faint, blown about by the wind. The young man looked up, surprised. He hadn't heard the car approach ... too absorbed by the boob-fest. Embarrassed, he thrust the magazine into the outside pocket of his rucksack and jumped up.

"How far are you going?"

He approached the car, a sporty little German model, and leaned towards the driver's window. It was a middle-aged woman, forty-something with peroxide blonde hair cut into a short bob, quite good looking, obviously kept herself in shape. She smiled and shifted her thighs against the expensive leather seat. He noticed she was wearing a rather short skirt for someone his mother's age. Was that a glimpse of stocking top?

"I'm going to Little Haven. Will that do? Jump in."

Something about her tone made the young man think twice then he dismissed his concern with a wry smile. What could a little lady like that do to him? Lock him up in her en suite powder room for a bit of kinky hanky panky? Hmm, the thought wasn't unpleasant. Grabbing his rucksack and keeping his head down against the wind and rain he got into the passenger's side and they moved off into the murky night.

"What's your name, dear? I'm Julia."

"It's Simon."

"Well, that's simple to remember." She laughed, as light and easy as a summer afternoon, and Simon relaxed. What on earth had he been thinking? She was just a friendly lady--reminded him a little of his Auntie Maureen.

As she shifted gear Simon caught another glimpse of stocking top, this time with an inch or so of lacy garter. Their eyes met in the rear view mirror and he looked away, mortified to discover his cock had grown hard. He couldn't get excited about a woman who reminded him of his Auntie Maureen, with her bleached blonde curls and passion for playing bingo on a Friday night.

Desperately, he tried to make conversation.

"Have you lived at Little Haven long, Julia?"

The blonde smiled and Simon thought he saw her briefly flick the tip of her tongue over her glossily painted lips.

"Not long. Though it feels like forever. I travel a lot. And you?"

Simon sighed. "Forever. Don't you find it boring? There's nothing to do. That's why I go into town on Friday nights."

Julia smiled, enigmatically. "Oh, I don't mind a spot of peace and quiet. Do you have a girlfriend, Simon?"

He shifted uneasily, thinking of Sandra Cassidy's big tits and how he'd fantasized about treating them the way men did in porno movies. She'd called him a tosser when he texted her asking for a date.

"Not at the moment. Too busy for girls."

His arrogant-sounding remark sounded thin and high in the claustrophobic interior of the car. It smelled of soft leather and a hint of aromatic tobacco. Or was that Julia's perfume? It wasn't a sweet and feminine smell. It made him think of an old cedar box his granddad had kept his war memorabilia in. Another vehicle passed them on the road and its headlights illuminated Julia's face. She half-turned her head to smile at him, her full lips parted, wet-looking, predatory. His cock was like an iron rod. There was nothing he could do. At that moment he realized she would do whatever she wanted with him and there was nothing he could do about it except submit.

They sat before a blazing fire in a comfortable sitting room. Simon had been rather over-awed by the long driveway and sprawling imposing house that greeted him at midnight. They had passed through a vast marble-floored hall that reminded him more of a museum than a house to live in. The aromatic scent was stronger in the house. It almost made him feel giddy. Julia had taken his damp clothes and given him an oversized fluffy robe. She sat in a chair and he sat at her feet, mesmerized by his reflection in the highly-polished patent leather of her high-heeled pumps. Her short skirt rode up to reveal several inches of smooth white flesh beyond the black band of one stocking top. Simon had a powerful urge to kiss her feet, her ankles, her knees. He thought about her pussy. Was it wet? Did she want him to lick it, stick his tongue between her nether lips and massage her clit until she screamed? Or was she just being hospitable to a young lad on a dismal November night?

"So, my dear. You like looking at pictures of pretty young women with extremely large breasts."

It was a statement rather than a question. How did she know? Mind you, what young guy didn't, unless he was gay? Of course, she'd spotted his magazine before he hid it away. Simon wriggled uneasily.

"Do you object?"

A stupid thing to say. She laughed and ran manicured fingernails through her hair.

"Do I look like the kind of woman who'd give you a tongue-lashing for vicariously indulging in the pleasures of the flesh? My dear, I couldn't help noticing the publication you were reading at the bus stop. May I have a look?"

Simon blushed. Reluctantly, he removed the magazine from his rucksack and handed it to her, feeling like a naughty schoolboy, although he was in his first year at college. Scarlet, he stared into the fire as she turned the pages of the magazine.

"Oh my god, would you look at this girl! No wonder she calls herself Mellons. I'll bet you'd love to put your head between that pair--wouldn't you, Simon? After all, with no annoying girlfriend to answer to, you're a free agent, a man of the world. Aren't you dear?"

There was no discernable hint of sarcasm in her voice and Simon turned his head to meet her gaze. She had laid down the magazine on a side table and was beginning to unbutton her shirt. Fuck, how had he not noticed she had a chest on her like the girls in Double D Delights? Her cleavage swelled from an expensive-looking crimson lace bra--vast, beautiful ivory breasts, round and firm. Had she had implants done? They looked so fucking perfect but softly rounded. Nothing artificial about them. He felt a few drops of pre-come ooze from the head of his cock. Would she let him achieve his fantasy--thrust hard and fast between her fantastic tits until he creamed all over her lovely smooth skin? Or was she a cruel bitch who liked to kidnap young guys on wild nights and tease them to distraction?

"Don't worry, darling. I won't bite. Not unless you want me to, of course." Julia laughed, melodious as bird song. She slipped off her shirt and leaned forward, pressing her cleavage into Simon's face. She smelled like pure unadulterated sex--warm sweet skin and that perfume, woody, vaguely spicy.

He opened his mouth and thrust his tongue into the heat and faint moisture of her cleavage. He inhaled deeply, drawing the scent of her over his palate and into his lungs. Surprisingly strong fingers pushed through his hair, wrapped tendrils of his thick dark curls about themselves until tears sprang to his eyes. He wanted to fuck her. He needed to get her on her big fancy bed, spread her stockinged legs wide open and shaft her with his big thick cock. And it was a big thick cock, not just a fantasy of his post-adolescent libidinous mind.

"Nice tits."

Julia laughed again, throwing her head back and pushing her magnificent chest against Simon's mouth as if to stifle his inane attempt at conversation. He placed his hands on her thighs, savoring the textural contrast between silky skin and the dry roughness of nylon.

"I want to fuck you, Julia."

His words were smothered by her breasts. He wanted to see her nipples, lick them, suck them. His hands moved from her thighs and reached behind her back. Julia pushed him away, a sudden forceful gesture that took him by surprise.

"Naughty Simon. Do you think I'm going to let you go too far too soon? Five minutes of this and you'll have come in your pants and be snoring on the hearth rug like my Golden Retriever. I want you to go all night for me, keep me satisfied. Do you understand?"

She traced the outline of her breasts through the expensive lingerie, a slender white finger caressing blood red lace. Simon clenched his teeth. So she was a prick tease. No doubt she'd giggle about this with her fancy friends over afternoon tea or cocktails. I picked up the funniest young lad last night, my dears! Nice cock on him but such a simpleton. And his name was Simon--what a hoot!

He sat back on his heels and watched her warily, the urge to fuck her just as strong but tempered by caution. Why were women so fucking complicated?

"Come with me, dear."

Julia stood, her ridiculously skimpy skirt rucked up over her stocking tops. She looked like a very expensive tart. Short skirt, high heels, vast boobs bulging from the fancy bra. Her eyes were an expressionless grey, her teeth predatory between glossy scarlet lips. For a few seconds Simon crouched at her feet, looking up at her. Another wave of submission washed over him. She placed the sharp end of one stiletto against his thigh and he shivered violently. Again, his cock hardened, in helpless response to the stimulus.

"Get up."

He rose and took her hand. It felt cool and smooth beneath his perspiring palm. She led him out of the sitting room and through the opulent entrance hall, her high heels clicking on the marble floor. They reached a broad curving staircase and Simon felt giddy as he looked up, as if the huge stairwell was a kind of mahogany paneled vortex.

"I'm taking you to bed now. Do you object?"

He shook his head, unable to speak. The treads of the stairs were partly carpeted and it felt warm and luxurious beneath his bare feet. Julia's bottom swayed as she climbed the stairs, the skirt still indecently pushed up around her hips. Now he could see a glimpse of the matching panties, coating her squirming ass with fine red lace.

Anything for you, he thought. Anything you want. Anything at all.

They reached a landing, a long dark corridor with various closed doors like something out of a dream. Simon closed his eyes. A potent sense of unreality descended upon him. He let Julia lead him on, heard a door open. He stepped into a room, felt an abrupt change in temperature. The door closed behind him.

"Lie on the bed, Simon."

Her voice had changed, become harder, colder. Simon opened his eyes. They were in a large bedroom with an ornate four poster bed carved from a wood so dark it almost looked black. A fire blazed in the grate and the window was concealed by heavy velvet curtains, creating a decadent but vaguely unsettling atmosphere.

"Lie down."

She was treating him like her gun dog. Something in him responded to that. Trembling with anticipation and nerves he approached the high bed and did as he was instructed, feeling small as he stretched out on the thick soft quilt.

"Don't pose. You're not auditioning for a skin flick for girls. Stay completely still."

What was she doing? Simon lay flat on his back, his arms by his sides, painfully aware of his erection pushing insistently against the front of the robe. Julia stood by the bed, staring down at him, her arms folded, the stance accentuating her cleavage all the more.

"Good. Now remove that robe."

Shaking, he unwrapped the belt and slipped out of the outsize garment. His body felt strange and he desperately hoped she liked what she saw. He wanted to please her.

"You do have the most magnificent cock, Simon. My god, I hope you know what to do with it."

Simon couldn't speak. He thought of his rather limited sexual history, a handful of frantic alcohol-driven fumblings. How could he satisfy this woman? She might have had a hundred lovers.

"Stretch your arms out to the side. That's it. I want you completely open. And there will be no touching unless I say you may. Do you understand?"

Simon's voice cracked as he answered yes. He did as he was told, blasphemous imagery of Christ nailed to the cross entering his mind as he stretched himself wide, suddenly feeling more liberated and energized than he had ever felt in his twenty odd years.

Take me, he thought. Just take me and use me. However you want. I don't care what you do. Take me.

Julia's hands reached behind her back and Simon held his breath. God, was she going to take that bra off at last and show him her gorgeous tits?

"Do you want to see my breasts, Simon?"

She had unhooked herself and held the bra against her chest, still concealing her nipples.

Simon nodded, aware of his cock pointing at the ceiling. He didn't care. He just wanted to see Julia's boobs.

"Ask prettily then. I don't show my tits to just anyone, you know. What do you take me for? A common whore?"

Simon shook his head vehemently. "Of course not. You're special." He swallowed. "Please show me your breasts. I'd love to see them."

Julia smiled and turned around, revealing an expanse of ivory-skinned back. There was faint marking where her bra straps had cut into her soft smooth flesh. Slowly, like an old-fashioned burlesque dancer, she held the bra to one side and dropped it theatrically.

"I'm afraid that wasn't quite pretty enough, Simon. You'll have to do better than that if you want to feast your baby blue eyes on my tit flesh."

Simon cringed inwardly. Did he have to beg? Something in him didn't care if he did. He just wanted to see her breasts, touch them, lick them, kiss them. He wanted to worship her. "Please, Julia. If you please, miss."

When she turned she was still clasping her breasts, concealing the parts he so desperately wanted to see. Her expression was arrogant, triumphant.

"Beg to see my tits, Simon. I know you want to. Beg like a good boy."

Simon closed his eyes, entering a space where nothing mattered other than being Julia's good boy, pleasing her, gaining her approval.

"I'm begging you, miss. Please show me your beautiful boobs. Please."

"Open your eyes, Simon."

He opened them and gasped. She had raised her arms above her head like a statue and her breasts swung free, vast and lovely with large deep pink nipples. He wanted to suckle on those nipples, lay his head on her bosom and fall asleep like a baby. His cock was so hard it was beginning to hurt. His balls were tight. God, he wanted to come. Too soon, too soon.

"You really must learn to control yourself. Spread your legs."

Simon obeyed, thrilled by the sensation of being completely open to Julia and doing her bidding. The warm air of the bedroom seemed to caress his inner thighs and his cock. He groaned softly, a dribble of pre-come coating the head of his cock and slowly running down the length of its shaft. He thought of Julia's shiny lips, imagined her leaning over him and running the tip of her tongue around and around his swollen prick. He knew she'd never give him that kind of pleasure without exacting a serious price. What would that price be?

"Remember, my dear--if you touch yourself once I'm going to ignore you for the next hour. I have a lovely leather-bound copy of a Dostoyevsky novel that I haven't dipped into for a while. I'm quite prepared to use you as a foot stool as I read."

Something about that mental image made Simon almost want to touch himself. Maybe there was more to sex than simple cock and pussy. He thought of himself handcuffed and gagged, entirely at Julia's mercy. Did she have a riding crop? What would it feel like to have his ass whipped fast and hard, leaving a criss-cross mass of bright red welts?

Julia moved away from the bed, toward a bookcase with a small CD player. She bent to flip through a selection of discs, deliberately exhibiting her lovely bottom. The short skirt rode up over her lace-clad cheeks as she picked out a CD and slipped it into the machine.

"I hope you like Mozart. Rather unfortunate if you don't."

Simon mumbled something vaguely affirmative, thinking he'd appreciate just about any music she selected. The strains of a dramatic mass filled the room, only adding to its claustrophobic atmosphere. Julia began to sway a little from side to side, moving her hips in tight little circles like an exotic dancer. Slowly she unzipped the skirt and wriggled around as if it was just too tight to ease down over her bottom, alternately tugging and smoothing it down then pushing it up again so it formed little more than a broad woolen belt about her waist. Her breasts bounced and jiggled and she cupped and stroked them, her lips parted in a kind of orgasmic gasp.

"I don't need you to turn myself on, as you can see, Simon. You are almost entirely superfluous. How does that make you feel?"

Simon couldn't reply. His entire being was concentrated on watching every little move the beautiful woman made and not allowing his cock to erupt with the large quantity of semen building up in his balls. The pressure was becoming absolutely unbearable. The more he clenched his body it seemed the louder the music became until it rang in his ears, soaring voices and a vast orchestra, echoing as if recorded in a cathedral. Julia's perfume reminded him of incense.

Suddenly he felt a sharp stinging sensation. She was leaning over him, her hand a few inches from his face. She had smacked him one. He raised his head and looked at her in incomprehension. In response she pushed his head back against the bed with such force his teeth jarred.

"I'm tired of playing cat and mouse with you. I think I'll ride your face."

Simon's heart was beating as if it would burst through his chest. The room became a blur as she mounted him and pushed her hips against his face. Was he allowed to touch her? His hands flailed impotently on the quilt, palms upturned as if ready for the inquisitor's sharpened stakes. He had never felt so vulnerable, nor so intensely aroused.

"Julia..."

He whispered her name and felt almost guilty as if he had no right to address her as an equal. Something in him wanted to be utterly subservient, to sit at her feet and suck on her toes.

"Be quiet and eat my cunt."

The harsh word sounded strangely bewitching when spoken in her clear-cut voice. Her pussy pressed against his nose and mouth as she knelt over him, still thinly clad in the fine red panties. Simon thrust his tongue out and it caught on the lace, made moist cloth wet. He hadn't eaten pussy before. He didn't know how, only that it was some complex esoteric technique and you had to get it right or your girl would give you an earful. Julia ground herself against his chin, making rapid movements, pleasuring herself. Impatiently, she pulled the skimpy panties to one side and there was the sound of stitches giving way. She didn't seem to care. Her pussy was wet and satiny smooth as if she'd shaved all the hair off or even had it waxed. Folds of slippery cushiony flesh enveloped Simon's nose and mouth. He couldn't breathe but it didn't seem to matter. She smelled faintly of soap and strongly of sex. He forced his tongue between her pussy lips and pushed it in and out as she fucked his face, too anxious about doing it right to truly enjoy himself. The voices of the choir rose and fell as he lay there, arms and legs spread wide, unable to touch her, nothing but a toy for her to use and abuse.

"Lick my clit."

His face was covered in her pussy juice. It coated his mouth, his nose and cheeks. At her instruction he withdrew his tongue and found the little button of flesh, flicking at it like a butterfly tasting sugar. She seemed to like that and he felt a shudder run through her body. Did she come? Perhaps not--too early. He kept up a rhythm, massaging her clit with the flat of his tongue as she rode him, feeling her grow warm and swollen, as if the area was becoming engorged with blood. He no longer cared about his own pleasure. He just wanted to make Julia come.

"That's it! What a good boy you are."

Her voice was strained, her breathing ragged. Simon gasped into her writhing cunt, the lack of air finally becoming intolerable. For his pains he received another stinging slap to the head then she dug her fingernails into the tender flesh of his scalp. Damn, that hurt. The sooner she had her orgasm the better.

"Don't stop. Keep it up!"

The pain was becoming unbearable. Why was she doing this? Simon surrounded Julia's clit with his lips and sucked hard, feeling the silky nub of flesh grow in his mouth. Her nails felt like burning needles, raking through his hair. Pussy juice ran into his nostrils. She was fucking him violently, her rapidly thrusting hips forcing his head up and down as if he was a rag doll. He had forgotten all about his cock, his own need for release. It was all about her. Desperately he grazed her bursting clit with his teeth and she screamed. He felt a pulsing sensation beneath his lips as she cried out. Was that it? Had he made her come? Thank god. A tiny trickle of blood made its way down the curve of his ear. Julia climbed off him and caressed his cheek as tenderly as if he were made of porcelain.

"I adore the way your hair curls in that spot just beside your ears. Such beautiful thick dark hair."

He gazed up at her, wondering at the calm after the storm. Her face was flushed and strands of her own hair clung to her forehead with a faint sheen of perspiration. He found that he couldn't move. His limbs seemed fixed into the sacrificial position by unseen bonds. Or was it simply cramp? He could still taste her, felt her juices drying on his face. Thirstily, he ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. To his surprise he was ready to do it all again. "Would you like some wine?"

Simon nodded. "Yes, please. I'd love some. My head hurts, by the way."

Julia smiled and eased herself into a sitting position, swinging her stockinged legs over the edge of the bed. The tip of one stiletto snagged the silky cover of the quilt but she didn't seem to notice.

"I suppose it will. My nails are rather sharp. Do you object?"

Simon paused. He should mind, really. He should mind very much. It really wasn't on to pick up a young guy less than half your age, take him to your boudoir and physically abuse him. Why, it was the stuff of tabloid journalism. "My night of hell with a merciless older woman." He could just see the screaming headline.

"I don't know. Maybe."

A stupid response. Julia laughed and he watched her cross the room, her panties askew, looking like a complete and utter whore. Something in him admired her--she really didn't care what he thought. She was taking her pleasure and that was that.

"All right--I liked it. Except for the scratching. That was painful."

She turned and looked at him, an open bottle of red wine in one hand and a glass in the other.

"It was supposed to be painful, Simon. I'm sadistic by nature. I'm afraid I simply can't get really aroused without some element of cruelty. Don't worry--I don't spend my free time pulling the wings off butterflies or pegging stray cats to the washing line."

It was an amusing mental image and it was Simon's turn to laugh. He accepted the glass of wine she offered him and took a deep drink. It tasted delicious, no doubt expensive. He began to relax and his cock twitched as if reminding him it was still present and actually wouldn't mind a spot of satisfaction if any was to be had. It couldn't be worse than his last sexual exploit with Lynn Brookfield, three quick thrusts and that was it. Hardly worth the effort.

Julia sat on the edge of the bed, as comfortable and confiding as a best friend at a teenage sleepover. She crossed her legs and dangled one foot back and forth, occasionally taking the glass of wine and having a sip. Simon tried not to stare at her breasts. He longed to touch them, stroke the firm dark nipples.

"You're not a virgin are you, dear?"

The question was asked without a hint of mockery yet Simon's heart sank. Was his attempt at pussy licking so awful?

"No. I've had a few girlfriends. No one serious yet, though."

Julia took another sip of wine and he watched her swallow, imagining the ruby red fluid trickling down her throat. Her neck was so slender and white, fragile. An odd sensation made him look away and he suddenly took an intense interest in the swirling pattern on the rug.

"You're far too young to get serious about some silly girl, Simon. Actually, I sometimes think it's a mistake to take any relationship too seriously. It so often ends in tears. Better to take what pleasure you can while the going is good, wouldn't you say?"

Simon concentrated on the carpet. A curving curlicue of deep green resembled a breaking wave. Julia sounded as if she wanted to surf through life. Well, she could have anything she liked, being rich. He thought about her slim pale throat and an image of a lily entered his mind. A funereal-looking plant in a glasshouse at the local park. Creamy flowers and a heady, sickly scent. It was then he realized with something of a shock, that he wanted to hurt her.

"What's wrong, my dear? Cat got your tongue? Have some more wine. That'll loosen you up. I enjoyed the way you lapped at my cunt, by the way, and I think I'd like some more of that."

Like an automaton, Simon accepted the glass she refilled to the brim. His head was full of the music which still rose and fell, a sea of sound. Like a Victorian horror story, the room seemed almost to have shrunk, as if the walls were closing in on him. He glanced up at the heavy carved canopy of the bed as if it might silently smother him in the night. The seeds of a strange desire were beginning to germinate. He had ceased seeing Julia as some imperious empress--like Icarus she had crashed to earth and her wings were broken, the fine feathers dusty and poignantly human. He knew he was going to take her, bind her, rape her mouth. He had never been so certain of anything in his life.

"What do you think of the Burgundy? Another year in the cellar wouldn't go wrong but it's palatable..."

Her voice faded into silence, consumed by Mozart. Simon placed his free hand on her throat and pressed, feeling her pulse bound beneath his fingertips. It excited him more than anything he had ever seen or felt. He was going to make Julia his, enslave her as she had tried to bind him. By the time he had finished, she would think twice about picking up young men in the night.

"What are you doing?"

Her voice was as bleached and dry as desiccated autumn leaves. Simon smiled and took a deep draught of wine. He held it in his mouth just long enough to warm it, then he let it dribble over Julia's neck. It ran in a tiny rivulet, looking for all the world like blood, as if he had sliced into the pristine velvet of her flesh. She gasped and closed her eyes.

"Simon--"

"Be quiet."

He lowered his head to lick at the Burgundy, sensing her skin ruffle with goosebumps beneath his tongue. She didn't know what was coming to her, the whore. Wine dripped from one of her nipples and he stopped it deftly with his lips. His head was oddly clear as he placed the empty glass on the floor by the bed. Julia sat perfectly still, her eyes remained tightly shut. She was waiting to see what he did next.

"Take off that ridiculous skirt, Julia. You're not eighteen years old."

A hint of color rose in her cheeks. Humiliated, she stood and wriggled out of the skimpy garment. She stood before him on the rug wearing her red panties, stockings and high-heeled shoes.

"You do look such a slut, Julia. Do you know what happens to sluts?"

A hint of a smile curved the corners of her mouth. She was beginning to enjoy the game, relishing the fact this Simon wasn't as simple as his nursery rhyme namesake.

"No," she purred. "Tell me."

Simon looked up at her. Her eyes were still closed. It was all going to be so easy.

"They have an unfortunate tendency to be used and abused, my dear Julia. Their pretty little painted lips get forced open and fucked deep and hard. That's what a whore's mouth is for, after all. Wouldn't you say?"

Julia wriggled slightly. Simon imagined how wet her pussy was becoming with such dirty talk. He knew she didn't really think he had it in him.

"What else do sluts get, Simon? Please tell me."

Her voice had lightened, become little girl-like. He wanted to laugh at her.

"Well, when their mouths have been thoroughly used, that's when their cheap cunts are plowed. Quite mercilessly. Remember that a whore's job is to give satisfaction not receive it. Who wants to spend their time making a slut feel good? No, you are forced onto your back, legs over your head and you get fucked the way I want to fuck you. And maybe I won't think your cunt is enough. I may want to have your ass too. A real whore has no business saying no to any of her being entered and used. Wouldn't you say?"

Julia's eyes snapped open like a doll's. Simon smiled to himself. Was she an anal virgin? Oh good. Then there was something he could take from her that she had never given to anyone else, something just for him. Perhaps she'd never give it to anyone ever again. He removed the belt from his robe and instructed her to hold out her wrists. Like a sleepwalker, she complied, the pupils of her eyes wide in the dark room. Yes, he was going to make her his whore ... and what a delicious slut she was going to be.

"Just remember to use a condom. They're in the drawer by the bed."

Julia stood in front of him, her wrists tightly bound, still trying to tell him what to do, though her voice sounded softer, almost disembodied. Simon shook his head.

"No, I don't think so, Julia. I know it's politically incorrect but I'm going to come inside you. You're going to feel me come, see it, taste it, swallow it. Now ... kneel and suck me."

Smiling, she obeyed, gracefully lowering herself into a servile position between his open legs. His cock twitched and hardened almost instantaneously, as if it knew exactly what it wanted and an obeisant female with a willing mouth was the order of the day. Her glossy lips paused above the head of his shaft, so close he could feel the moist heat of her breath.

"Suck my cock, you whore," Simon repeated, placing his hands on either side of her head, holding her fast. Her mouth dipped to surround him and the intense sensation almost made him lose his grip.

"Take more of me--not just the head. The shaft too. All of me. Deep throat me you little slut."

He could almost see the little cogs going round in her brain. Obediently, she slid her lips further down his bursting cock until she reached a point where she gagged and bobbed up again like a swimmer breaking the surface of a pool.

"You can do better than that, Julia. Open your throat for me. Swallow it. That's it."

His voice broke as she went down again and the head of his cock pushed insistently against the back of her throat. He could feel her throat contracting then opening, her desperate attempt to take what he was forcing upon her. When she surfaced again her eyes were filled with tears. Twin smears of mascara sullied her lovely face.

"That's better. Don't stop. Down you go."

With sadistic pleasure he pushed her head down on his cock until she spluttered and choked. Her tousled blonde head bobbed frantically up and down, taking every inch of his erection, coating him liberally with a slick coat of saliva.

"Oh ... That feels so good, you little tramp. No, don't slow down. Keep it up. Suck me, you whore, you slut."

"Mm ... Mmm..."

She was loving it, beginning to make pleasurable little mewling sounds as her throat accommodated him. The more he verbally abused her, the harder and faster she sucked, a delicate sheen of perspiration dusting her face and the perfect sweep of her spine. Simon held her head and moved it up and down, suddenly picturing her as a marionette or a ventriloquist's dummy. She was there to get him off and that was her purpose.

"Do you like being my fuck toy, Julia?"

She nodded as she bobbed, a ridiculous guttural assent emanating from her stuffed throat.

"You're a most obliging toy. Now get up and on the bed. On all fours like the dog you are."

Reluctantly her mouth withdrew from his cock and he shuddered with the effort of holding back his orgasm. He was not going to come until he had really used her. Realism told him he wouldn't last much longer, however, and he had to decide which way to take her from behind. Pussy or ass? She clambered onto the high bed, facing away from him, her skimpy red panties still slightly askew. Simon made his decision. He tugged the tiny undergarment down her thighs and caressed the silky ivory curves of her buttocks, tracing their soft contours with the very tips of his fingers until she shuddered violently.

"Please," she murmured, wriggling her hips against his hands. "Please fuck me, Simon. I'll be good. I promise."

Simon stifled a laugh. She sounded so utterly ridiculous, a woman old enough to be his mother pretending to be a coquettish ingénue. His fingers moved toward Julia's anus, a darker pink rosebud above her fragrant slippery cunt. Why take the easy option? Slowly, rhythmically, he began to stroke her ass, drawing tiny circles, around and around, feeling her tense in nervous anticipation. He knew lubrication was necessary for anal penetration, preferably a lot of it. Should he ask if she had some? Yet something in him wanted to force her, make her scream. He slipped two fingers into her dripping pussy and wriggled them around, coating them with her juices as she ground her hips against his hand and moaned.

"Oh yes, Simon! Oh that feels so good. See how wet I am."

Simon withdrew his fingers, pausing to bring them up to his lips. The scent of her arousal was beyond potent. He had a tremendous urge to turn her over and thrust his tongue deep between her swollen pussy lips. But no. Carefully he pushed the tip of one slippery finger against Julia's tight little anus. There was no way he'd get anything in there--she felt closed against him, the ring of muscle clamping down on his attempt to gain entry.

"What are you doing?"

Her voice had changed, the nerviness palpable. Her buttocks tensed and the tip of his finger popped out, forcibly expelled from paradise.

"I want to have your ass. You'd best relax or this is going to hurt."

"You can't..."

Her voice trailed away and almost contained a hint of a sob. Perversely, Simon's cock hardened. He wanted to see her on her knees, begging for mercy, utterly defiled.

"I can and, what's more, my darling Julia, I fucking well will."

Again he dipped his fingers in her pussy, noting that even the easy option now felt tight, as if she was shutting her entire body to his advances. The thought of overcoming her resistance turned him on to a dizzying degree. "Open your ass for me, you whore."

It couldn't have been him speaking. It was all some crazy dream. He abandoned himself to it and slapped her hard on one buttock, making her jump as if she'd been shot. Her flesh quivered beneath the palm of his hand and he felt it grow warm. God, yes. Roughly he grabbed her by the hair, snapped her head back and looked deep into her frightened eyes.

"First you're going over my knees. I'm going to give you the spanking you deserve."

He sat on the bed with his legs stretched out and wrestled her over his thighs. The lacy garter belt and stockings framed her bottom perfectly for a good hard bare bottom session. One cheek was already pink from the first slap. Time to make a lasting impression.

"Ow! Ow! You're hurting me!"

Julia wriggled and sobbed and kicked her heels like a naughty five-year-old. Relentlessly, Simon applied the palm of his hand to her writhing bottom, holding her down with his free arm. She began to put up quite a fight and it took all his strength to keep her more or less over his lap. On and on he spanked, finding deep satisfaction in the way her soft pale skin turned from pink to scarlet to crimson. He knew she had tears in her eyes, could feel her screwing her entire body up against the sharp stinging of the punishment. This was no mild titillating sex play spanking. He really meant it.

"This is what happens to cunts who pick up nice young men at bus stops, Julia. They find out their prey isn't quite as tame as they thought."

"I'm sorry! Please, Simon!"

Her pleas issued in a ragged, hoarse whisper. The fight was beginning to leave her. She clutched pathetically at the rumpled bedcovers, her perfectly manicured nails scrabbling impotently on the heavy covers.

"Cunt. Whore."

He couldn't seem to stop himself. Her fear and growing passivity only served to incite him to further acts of humiliation. Brutally, he pushed several fingers into her open mouth, smearing her lipstick, rendering her a grotesque facsimile of a beautiful woman.

"You look like a clown now, cock slut. All messed up. Get on your back and spread your legs for me. As wide as you can."

"Simon!"

"Just do it, cunt or, by fuck, I really will hurt you. On your back."

Trembling, she crawled off his thighs and lay down, trying to turn her ravaged face away from him. He knelt over her and placed his hands on either side of her head, forcing her to look up at him. As he expected, her eyes were wet, her cheeks deeply flushed. Traces of red lipstick stained her face from nose to ears.

"You're a mess. Spread your legs, tart."

Shaking violently, she did as he ordered and he noticed her fine lace-edged stockings were badly laddered, completing the picture. She looked like a rape victim. Some part of Simon's brain assimilated that knowledge and dismissed it as irrelevant. He grasped her bound wrists and pushed them roughly over her head, making her scream. Harshly, he forced her thighs apart, his cock as rigid as it had ever been in his entire lifetime. He felt exhilarated, liberated. He was going to take her ass, no lube.

A vignette from a hardcore porn video entered his mind, an image of several men spitting on a tied-up blonde before fucking her in every orifice. Viciously he spat on her pussy and watched the saliva sliding down to coat her ass. That was wet enough. He placed the head of his cock against her anus. She tried to move away and he forced her hands down on the bed.

"Lie still or I'll choke you, you little blonde cunt."

He loved calling her that. Cunt. It was what she deserved. She was openly crying now, hot tears adding black mascara rivulets to the clown mouth. Again, he pushed his cock against her ass and the head slipped over the slick mess of his spit. One last try. He grabbed his shaft and forced himself inside her, her body tightening around him like a vise. She screamed in pain and he felt her writhe beneath him, trying to expel him.

"You can't refuse me, cunt. I'm taking your ass."

His words came out as little more than a grunt, the effort of holding her down and forcing himself upon her took every ounce of his strength. Once inside her ass, he began to thrust hard, each movement eliciting a piercing shriek from the sobbing blonde who beseeched him to stop, over and over again. But Simon did not stop. He was enjoying himself. Her ass felt very different to pussy. It was incredibly tight and hot and there was no end to it, no hitting up against a hard cervix. He pushed himself in as far as he could go and pounded away, loving the way his balls smacked against her dripping cunt. He was going to come soon. The most intense orgasm of his existence. He fucked her like a porn star, pushing her thighs apart, opening her wide, taking her, using her to the limit. Her shrieks were softer--could she actually be enjoying it? His cock was wet--with what body fluid he wasn't sure and didn't want to look too closely. On and on he thrust. Julia had ceased to feel human to him. She was as human as one of those blow-up fuck dolls. His balls were tight. He felt his orgasm build. She was becoming quite limp, acquiescing to him at last. He pounded harder--as hard as he could--his shaft becoming a weapon to beat her with.

"Oh fuck..."

He came deep inside her traumatized ass, unloading what felt like a large quantity of semen into the recesses of her violated body.

"Whore. Slut."

The words sounded hollow in the silent room. When had the music finished? He had no idea. Julia lay, completely still, staring up at the ceiling with a vacant expression. A cold feeling came over Simon. Was she unconscious? Surely she couldn't be ... Dead? No--don't be so stupid. There was blood on his cock, traces of blood on her thighs, beginning to stain the ravaged stockings. Her eyes were like glass, like a dressmaker's dummy in a shop window.

"You're not dead, Julia. Stop acting. Wake up."

His voice had reverted to its former self. Whatever demon had possessed him had departed with the shedding of his seed. The bedroom was oddly quiet as if the world had just ended. In a sense, the world had just ended. Shaking violently, Simon scrambled into his clothes. Had anyone seen him entering Mile End House with Julia? He had to leave and quick.

He heard her gasp as he pulled the bedroom door shut. Thank fuck, he hadn't killed her, she had simply passed out with the shock. He clattered down the imposing staircase, slipped on the marble hallway, went sprawling with a hard knock then got up again. As he wrenched the door open and began to run down the driveway he realized he had left his backpack behind. Fuck. They would come for him. The night was freezing cold, bitter rain driving into his face. He pulled up his collar and ran on, vaguely aware of a car engine starting up behind him. Briefly he turned and the vehicle's headlights illuminated his face, almost blinding him. Like a rabbit, he stood there, immobile. The car's tyres crunched on the gravel and it shot forward. Still Simon did not move. The last thing he saw in his mind's eye was an image of the blood stained violated blonde, an oddly elegant over-exposed study in scarlet and white.