Excerpt for Giselle’s Best Adultery Erotica: 10 Tales of Forbidden Love by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.


Giselle Renarde Erotica


Giselle’s Best Adultery Erotica © 2017 by Giselle Renarde


All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.


This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.


This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.



Cover design © 2017 Giselle Renarde

First Edition 2017



Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.


Giselle’s Best Adultery Erotica

10 Tales of Forbidden Love

By

Giselle Renarde


Table of Contents

If You Know Where To Look

I Did You Wrong

The Falls

Suffer

The Therapist and the Whore

Show No Mercy

Artists’ Wives

The Other Other Woman

Burgundy Ropes and Voltaire

Good Neighbours


If You Know Where To Look



I hate being here.

I hate sleeping in this bed, Clark’s marriage bed, sleeping on his wife’s side while she’s away on business, waking up face to face with the knick-knacks and nail polish on her bedside table.

And the baby oil!  Why wouldn’t Clark have put that away before I came?  Why the hell would I want to be reminded that he has sex with her too? 

More puzzlingly, why do I jump at every opportunity to stay the night?

Well, that question has an easy answer: it’s the wake-up call that keeps me coming back.  It’s his arms circling my body before the sun comes up, when I’m still warm with sleep.  He kisses my shoulder, walks his fingers down my belly, and I’m sold.  I’ll put up with any amount of heartache if it means getting fucked first thing in the morning.

My pussy’s never wet when he finds it, so Clark burrows under the covers to turn me on in the most efficient way possible.  Spreading my legs, he situates himself between them and dives at the apex of my thighs.  I don’t know how he finds my clit in the dark, but his tongue zeroes in on it so fast it makes my head spin.

I’m dizzy with sleep, wanting the pleasure without the work, and he knows that.  He licks my pussy languorously as first, careful not to hurl me over the edge too quickly.  Every slow, wet caress makes me moan, mumble, like I’m talking in my sleep.  I’m telling him, “More, more,” and that’s what he gives me.

His saliva drips down my crack, wetting my asshole before dripping against the sheets.  He’ll have to wash them before his wife comes home, but I don’t want to think about that right now.  I wish I hadn’t thought that thought at all, and I close my eyes, focus on the sensation of Clark’s hot tongue against my pussy.

He sucks my clit and I arch off the mattress, gasping, astounded by the depth of pleasure.  There’s no preparing for a sensation like that—you just have to take it.  The outline of his head between my thighs, like a crystal ball draped in bed covers, makes me laugh, and that feels good too.  My laughter becomes conflated with the orgasm sitting like a buzzing weight in my belly. It pushes me closer to the edge.

Pressing my heels into the fitted sheet, I writhe against Clark’s face, against the forceful warmth of his velvet tongue.  It feels good to move, and when he cups my ass cheeks with both hands, I ride his mouth in furious strokes.  His stubble stings if I push too hard, but I don’t care right now, even if I have to pay for it later.  I fuck his face hard, pushing my clit flush to his tongue, making myself come so hard I scream his name.

“Shh!” he says, digging out from under the covers.  “Quiet, Beck.  The window’s open.”

God forbid the neighbours should hear.

Fuck me,” I plead, growling the words. I roll onto my front because I don’t want to do a goddamn thing.  I want him to straddle my ass, plunge his cock inside my cunt, and ram me from behind.

Since I give him no other option, that’s what he does.  His erection flirts with my ass crack as he finds his way down there, searching through all that juice for the warmth of my pussy.  I’m so wet that he enters me in one swift move, an intrepid arch forward.  His muscular thighs clamp down against mine, and I know how tight I must feel to him now. 

I compress my pussy muscles, milking his dick. He moans, collapsing on my back.  He’s hot and hard, covered in a slick sheen of morning sweat. His face is in the crook of my neck.  I feel the heat of his breath trapped in my long black hair.  It’s a curtain across my face and I can’t see a thing, but I don’t need to.  All I need is to feel Clark moving inside me, that fat dick pulsing in my pussy with every thrust.

He’s grunting and yelping in alternation. I know what this means.  He’s going to come soon. I want to be there to greet him, so I push my ass back into the saddle of his hips.  There’s just enough room for him to reach under my body and play with my clit, which is aching even though I had an orgasm not five minutes ago.  I can come until it hurts, and with Clark I often do.

Mashing his finger against my pulpy wet clit, Clark fucks me in smooth thrusts and then jerky shoves.  His cock feels huge inside my cunt, and I tighten every muscle in my body, which makes my clit itch for release.

He’s almost there and I’m close too.  I’m squealing into the pillow, whipping my hair away, trying to see and not see.  I can’t keep still.  I buck back against him while he rams me and scours my hot clit. I’m so close I can barely breathe.  There’s hair in my mouth and I try to spit it out, which seems to make my pussy clamp down on Clark’s dick.  Who knew?

Yeah, Becky.”  He’s whining against my ear, so hot, so wet.  His words are everywhere.  “Fuck yeah, Beck.”

I growl, shoving my ass back against his body, milking his cock with all I’ve got while he squeezes my mound, compressing my clit.

The syllables that tumble out of my mouth don’t make any sense, but I’m sure Clark’s coming too hard to hear me anyway.

My heart is pounding in my ears and his heart is pounding against my back.  He lies on top of me, dead weight.  I’m moaning, more nonsense syllables, but he doesn’t scold me for the noise this time.

I’m dazed and, for the moment, I feel no pain.  Everything is good.  This is what I live for.

Time goes by, and Clark pulls out of me, leaving a hot trail of cum down my thigh.  He walks to the bathroom and I open my eyes and it hits me all over again: the bedside table, the nail polish, the knick-knacks, the baby oil.

Every time I spend the night here, I want to leave something of myself hidden in plain sight.  Maybe a lip gloss or a bracelet or a hair elastic—Clark’s wife has short hair, so she’ll know it isn’t hers.  I want her to find this little piece of me and take it in her hands and look at it, then call out, “Where did this come from?”  And even if she doesn’t ask the question, she’ll know it came from me.  Not me specifically, maybe, but some sort of “me,” some girl that isn’t her.

Mother Bear says, “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?”

The shower hisses on, and I roll out from under the covers.  Sure Clark came not long ago, but if I suck him he’ll get hard enough to fuck me again.  I know this from experience.

As I cross the threshold into the bathroom, I remember all the times I’ve lathered my hair with her shampoo and softened it with her conditioner, all the times I’ve rinsed those products out under the flow of that brushed nickel showerhead. It occurs to me that every time I’ve been here, I’ve left a bit of myself behind: I’ve left thick strands of my long black hair in the drain.  I doubt if Clark thinks to clean it after I’ve gone.

I’m here, Clark’s wife.  I’m here, if you know where to look.


I Did You Wrong



“This isn’t a social call,” I told Antonia. I walked into her house without waiting for an invitation. “Gerry’s not home, is he?”

“No…” She stood beside the open door, slack-jawed. “Imogen? It’s been years.”

“I know. I’m a jerk.”

“I… huh.”

Antonia obviously didn’t know what to say, but, hell, neither did I. Leaning against the wall, I untied my shoes and slipped them off. Years—she was right. I hadn’t been to Gerry’s house in… years.

Wandering into the kitchen, I touched the familiar magnets on the fridge, then the stained-glass bluebird hanging in the window. It was a part of me, this place.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Antonia asked.

I laughed, because I felt so sorry for her. She was a ball of confusion, and I wasn’t helping. So I just came right out and said it. “I slept with Gerry.”

Her expression hardened. She stared right through me, like I blended into the chicken-and-egg wallpaper.

I said, “I’m sorry.”

“When?”

“When did I sleep with him?”

“Yes.”

“A long time ago. Years.”

Antonia opened the fridge and looked inside. “Where?”

“Here.”

“Oh.” She pulled out a pint of blueberries. “Have some of these. They’re washed.”

Antonia brought the blueberries to her small kitchen table and I sat with her. We popped berries into our mouths. For a while, we didn’t talk.

“If it happened so long ago, why are you telling me now?”

Good question. “I still feel bad about it. Feel like I did you wrong.”

“And you think confessing will absolve you of your guilt?”

“Sure hope so.”

A lopsided smirk broke across her lips, and it put me at ease. I watched her gaze cycle from fixed to far, far away, like she was trying to figure out how to react, or what to ask. I ate more blueberries while I waited.

“How old were you?”

“Young,” I said. “Like, nineteen, twenty.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-nine, thirty.”

She chuckled. “Aren’t we all?”

“Yeah.”

Except I really was. If I had to guess, I’d say Antonia was closer to mid-forties. Her husband was even older. He’d been almost fifty when I slept with him, which would make him almost sixty now. Wow. What a thought.

“I don’t blame you,” she said. “There’s something very alluring about Gerry.”

It surprised me, when she said that. Gerry told me his wife hadn’t wanted sex in ages, and that was a decade ago. Could I ask? Would that be too rude? Antonia would probably be embarrassed that her husband told other people such intimate details of their life together.

But I couldn’t help myself. “Gerry said you didn’t sleep together at all. I felt sorry for him.”

“Ah. True. After the first couple years, we just… stopped.”

“I always wondered if you were a lesbian and you just married him for money or whatever.”

Antonia’s expression went blank, and I knew I shouldn’t have said that. Too much. I always did stuff like that, went overboard, said the wrong thing. She rose from the table and walked to the front door. I was sure she’d kick me out. I deserved to be kicked out. But instead of giving me the boot, she flipped the lock.

Stepping up the hardwood stairs, Antonia asked, “Are you coming?”

I crept out of the kitchen, following her voice. “Coming where?”

“Upstairs.”

“Up…” I blinked. “…stairs?”

She ascended like a spectre. She should have been dressed all in white. Then she’d have looked like one of those Fine Lady ghosts who haunt castles in Europe.

“You want to absolve your guilt,” she said without looking back. “So come.”

“Oh…”

My feet followed Antonia, and my legs followed my feet. What was this? Tit for tat? If Gerry gets to cheat, then so does his wife?

“Are you gonna tell him?” I asked.

“Do you want me to?”

“I guess that depends.”

She walked into their bedroom, and then turned to face me. “Depends on…?”

This room. This was the room. It looked exactly as it had ten years ago: same curtains, same trinkets, same poppy-patterned bedspread. Same me. No, not true. I’d changed.

I’d changed, and yet there I stood in the threshold of a married couple’s bedroom. Weakness was in my blood—a sad inheritance, particularly when paired with overwhelming guilt. If I could find a way to absolve my sins, I’d be set for life.

You were right about one thing.” Antonia sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside her. “And it’s not that I married Gerry for his money. I was really drawn to him, when we met. I was. But tastes change, after a time.”

“That’s true,” I said, stepping closer to the bed. “I’m much less interested in guys than I was ten years ago. Hardly ever date them anymore.”

When Antonia nodded, her chestnut curls danced against her shoulders. “Women now?”

“Mostly.”

A dimple sweetened her smile. How could Gerry cheat on such a beautiful woman?

“You’re really not mad that I had sex with your husband… in your bed?”

“Imogen!” Antonia snapped. Closing her eyes, she took a long breath. “Please.”

Fuck. I was ruining everything.

While Antonia clutched her collar, I sat on the squeaky wooden chair by her dressing table. I hadn’t felt truly uncomfortable until that moment. She hadn’t reacted at all as I’d expected. Why wasn’t she screaming at me, or smacking me… or spanking me?

I’ve never…” Antonia’s eyes opened. She bit her lip. “I’ve wanted to. I never knew where to go, or who to ask, how to ask…”

Somehow, in that jumble of words, her meaning solidified in my mind, like a sugar crystals. I told her, “You don’t have to ask.”

I came to her poppy-covered bed, just like I’d done ten years before. Weird. Deja-vu. Except this time it wasn’t Gerry unbuttoning his shirt as I approached. This time, his beautiful wife’s fingers quivered against her buttons.

“It’s okay,” I said, brushing her hands away. “I’ll do it.”

The expression of relief that crossed her face spread like warmth through my body. I unbuttoned her top

“I feel like I shouldn’t be…”

“Be what?”

“Making you do this.”

You’re not making me. I want to.” I smiled, but she didn’t seem to believe me, even when I said, “I want you.”

Her incredulousness didn’t waver until my lips found her neck. That’s when her body gave up being nervous. She melted in my arms as I traced my tongue up her sweet skin. What was I tasting? Perfume? Body wash? Bath oil? It tasted as gorgeous as she looked, and she shivered when I licked her.

“I’ve always wanted this,” she whispered. “But secretly.”

“You never told Gerry?” I asked as I slid her top from her shoulders.

“No.”

Her black lace bra was more than eager to hit the floor. Once I’d gotten rid of it, I bowed to her heavy breasts, pressing my face between them. “He’d probably have a field day if we let him watch.”

Antonia dug her nails into my shoulders. “I’m not sure I want him finding out about this.”

“Okay. I won’t tell.” I struggled toward her breasts. “I never talk to him, anyway.”

She released her hold on me, and my face plunged between her breasts. I held them in my hands, savouring their weight. Her dark nipples pebbled, calling for my tongue.

“What about me?” she asked. “Will you talk to me after we’re done?”

Of course I would—I liked her a lot—but her breasts were too tempting. My words fell away when my tongue met her pursed tits. I couldn’t choose just one. I licked back and forth between the two, making her weak. Her half-dressed body flattened against the mattress as I suckled gently.

Girls always told me how good I was at sucking tits. Some mouths were too eager. Some went at it too forcefully. Not mine. My mouth worked wet velvet magic on a breast. I knew Antonia would like it.

And my wet velvet magic wasn’t reserved just for breasts.

She pushed on the waist of her black gaucho pants, and I pulled them off. Her panties came down her thighs, tumbling past her calves, hanging from one toe. I spread her legs and carved a path between them. Her cunt smelled heavy and hot as I ran my hands through her bush. When I pulled her hair, she whimpered, but she didn’t say no.

Parting her pussy lips, I bowed between her thighs. Her musk took over. I couldn’t think. My tongue found the jewel of her clit, and she gasped. I didn’t mean to start there, but my mouth had a mind of its own.

“That feels amazing.” Antonia cupped her big tits, squeezed them together. “Don’t stop.”

Holding her pussy lips open with my thumbs, I bent lower and licked her slit. “Wow, you’re so wet.”

“Oh.” She seemed pleased. And surprised. “It must be you.”

“You’ve got a beautiful pussy,” I told her.

Her eyes glistened as I held her gaze. Even as I licked her, slowly, I didn’t look away. I wanted to see her pleasure, see her gratitude and her joy. I wanted to watch the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whimpered, running her long fingers through my hair.

I didn’t say a thing, just kept licking her clit. My tongue took over after my jaw hit the wall. I’m not sure how it continued to lap at her cunt when I was beyond exhaustion, but I felt a tad possessed. Some force had taken over to pleasure her. It wasn’t me anymore.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Oh god, that feels so nice.”

Planting my face against her splayed pussy lips, I sucked her engorged clit right into my mouth. It throbbed against my tongue like a drum beat, incessant and determined. It wanted me. It wanted more.

“Don’t stop!” Her fingers curled around my hair, tightening enough to pinch my scalp. It hurt, but I deserved to be hurt.

Pressing her pussy lips together, I crushed her clit. Her body writhed on the bed as her raw bud popped out, looking for more. I pressed my face to her mound, stroking her with my chin, my cheeks, my wet lips. Her juices coated me, like a trail of the places she’d been. Her pussy felt so hot against my skin. Hotter than hell.

“Please, please, please,” she begged. “Make me come. Make me come now. I can’t wait any longer.”

She’d waited long enough—I wanted to tell her that, but I couldn’t steal my mouth away from her cunt. The musky taste wore off, leaving only the sweet. Her pussy was my candy, and I swallowed gush after gush of fluid.

Her belly quivered. Her eyes clenched shut. She was coming in absolute silence. All I could do was encourage the orgasm by licking her, sucking her, rubbing my face against her mound until she’d had too much and pushed me away.

Kneeling beside her on the bed, I watched her chest rise and fall. She tossed one arm across her face and let out a moan that might have sounded pained in any other context. I traced my fingers gently between her breasts. She giggled when I got to her belly.

“I thought you’d never forgive me,” I said.

Without opening her eyes, she replied, “You knew I would, or you’d never have come.”

That was true. How did she know me so well? Or was I just that transparent?

“All these years I’ve been feeling guilty about what happened with Gerry. Now I’ll probably spend the next ten years feeling guilty about what just happened with you.”

“No you won’t.” Antonia opened her eyes as the front door clicked and the hinges squealed. “You won’t have the luxury of waiting ten years to confess.”


The Falls



It was often on my mind.

Often, I asked myself: was it preferable to be the wife who was cheated on and knew nothing of it, or the wife who was cheated on and had her suspicions, or the mistress? It never occurred to me that a husband might be honest about his infidelities. Or that he might not cheat at all. Relationships are, generally speaking, pretty fucked up.

These are the ideas rolling through my mind like water over the precipice while this guy rams me from behind. I realize I don't know his name. I think I asked in the casino, and I half remember him answering, but it's gone now and I don't have the heart to ask again. He might think he's not special. In reality, he's not. But I can pretend.

It’s never perfectly dark in Niagara. Grasping the iron rail, I look out over the falls while he digs my tits out of my strapless satin cocktail dress. All night, I worried it was too low-cut. I worried my boobs would pop out if I bent too far forward throwing the dice. Now this guy fiddles and fondles, and finally squeezes my girls together. He gets my nipples between his fingers and presses them with sharp little nails.

My breath leaps in my chest and I stifle a squeal. There aren’t many people milling around outside the casino at two in the morning, but no sense in drawing undue attention.

Everybody I know is in the casino. My parents already gambled a fortune on this wedding. What’s a few more dollars?

I shake my head to get rid of their image, and the guy asks if he hurt me. That’s sweet. Caring lovers are so rare. That’s why I picked him, I guess.

In the casino, I’d told him I needed air. He didn’t seem to catch my drift, so I grabbed his wrist and dragged him out the door. He talked at me, but I wasn’t listening. When we got to this lookout on the magnificent Horseshoe Falls, I dropped to my knees and dug out his dick. It was smaller than I’d expected. But his cock understood before he did. I took him in my mouth. As I sucked, his erection stiffened and grew. He got big between my lips, until I sputtered and gagged and searched my purse for that one lost condom.

He pushed the hem of my dress up over my hips. The pang when he entered shot through my body like fireworks. I thought he’d tread lightly, but he didn’t. He held my hips with both hands and thrust again and again. He’s slowing down now because he’s distracted by my tits, but in a couple seconds he’ll find his groove. This boy will utterly destroy me. I’ll feel this fuck in my body all through my wedding tomorrow. I’ll feel this fuck forever.

Husbands inevitably cheat. This is a pre-emptive strike.


Suffer



Every Sunday, Rex received his penance.

“I did it again, Sir.” Naked, Rex kneeled in the centre of Mei-Xing’s dark sitting room, his head hanging low. “I did it twice this week.”

“Then you are suffering twice the burden,” Mei-Xing reasoned. She was good that way, astute and compassionate.

Most people wouldn’t understand why Rex classified the woman who punished him as compassionate, but Rex wasn’t like most people. He felt things very deeply. Shame, mostly, and guilt as well. Those were at the top of his list. Love was up there, too. Mei-Xing understood that. She understood that his affair was more than just a fling. He really did love Josephine, every bit as much as he loved his wife.

“I couldn’t keep away, Sir.”

To some, it might seem strange that Rex called his Domme “Sir,” but that’s the way she liked it. Far be it for him to question her motives.

“I understand,” Mei-Xing replied, her voice soft now, a mourning dove’s coo. “Your body is weak. Your mind is weak. You are a weak man, a very weak man.”

“Yes, Sir. I know I am.” He shook his drooping head, clenching his fists behind his back. “If I were stronger, I’d never have started up with Josephine. I’d have stuck by my wife. Eventually, I’d have gotten used to being sexless and lonely—that, or I’d have killed myself. The trouble is that I’m in love with Josephine. If I left her now I’d break her heart, and break mine too.”

“But if you left your wife, same thing,” Mei-Xing added, standing very close behind him. “Despite the sexlessness and loneliness, you love her too.”

Rex turned and looked up, looked way up. He met Mei-Xing’s gaze, though he really wasn’t supposed to.

Some would say Mei-Xing had a horse face, but Rex had never liked that term. And, yes, her face was rather long, but he liked it. The length made her seem stern. She wasn’t a pretty girl like Josephine or a matronly woman like his wife, but maybe that’s why Rex liked her so much. Mei-Xing was different. Her mouth rarely smiled, and it wasn’t smiling now, but her eyes were. At least, they might be. Maybe. Mei-Xing was extremely hard to read.

“And if you left me?” she asked.

The question confounded Rex. “Why would I leave you? I need you. Without you, I’d just be a writhing mass of shame and guilt.”

This time she smiled with her lips—a clear indication she was pleased. He hoped.

“Without you,” Rex went on, “I’d have jumped off a bridge by now. I need my penance, Sir. I need to be punished.”

Good,” she said. The word was like a gust of wind, explosive, and it made Rex’s cock jump. He leaned forward and hoped she wouldn’t notice his erection.

Rex didn’t come to Mei-Xing for sex—he got enough of that from Josephine—but he did find her punishment arousing. The trouble was that his arousal in Mei-Xing’s living room left him feeling even more guilt than he felt coming in. It certainly didn’t help that she wore these striking leather get-ups. Today it was a skin-tight black bodysuit with one zipper down the front and another up the back. Rex wondered how she did up the back one on her own. She was single, as far as Rex knew.

Did Sir ever get lonely?

“How do you choose to be punished?” Mei-Xing asked.

He liked that she gave him a choice, but he couldn’t ask for his preferred punishment. “The crop left marks, just like the whip. My wife would never notice, not in a million years, but Josephine asked about them last time.”

“What did you say?”

“I had to make something up, Sir, and you know what a terrible liar I am.”

“What did you say?” Mei-Xing repeated, her tone noticeably stonier the second time around.

It was so stupid Rex didn’t want to admit what he’d said, but how could he lie to the woman who doled out his punishment? “I said it was the guys at the gym, Sir. I said they were teasing me, cracking towels against my ass.”

Mei-Xing laughed, but her grin remained canine and cruel.

“Josephine didn’t believe me,” Rex went on. “So I had to show her. After we got out of the shower, I dried myself off, then wrung up my towel and whipped her ass. I’ve never heard her shriek like that, and her eyes went so wide I thought they’d pop out of her head! I turned her around and told her to look at her ass in the mirror. She believed me after that. It was red as hell where I’d whipped her.”

Mei-Xing sat slowly on the divan that was pushed up against the wall. It mustn’t be easy to bend in that head-to-toe leather get-up, but she managed.

“Here,” she instructed, patting her lap. “We won’t leave marks today.”

“A spanking, Sir?” Rex crawled to her. “Sounds like just what I need.”

Folding himself over her lap, he ensured his cock and balls hung between her thighs before she could close them. The tightness of those leather legs around his straining erection and full, tender balls made him ache. He wanted to thrust between her thighs. He wanted to fuck that warm, supple leather until he blasted the carpet with cum.

But he wouldn’t do any of that. He’d hold perfectly still while she brought down punishment on his ass. He wouldn’t move a muscle.

“Tell me what it’s for, Sir.” He braced himself for impact. “Tell me why I need to suffer.”

“You suffer too much already. You bring your true punishment on yourself. That little voice in your head never gives you a moment’s peace. What I give you is not penance, it’s pleasure.”

Mei-Xing didn’t usually say this sort of thing before the pain began, and Rex didn’t get to ask what she meant before her hand met his backside with a resounding crack. The first smack never fully registered. Its bark was worse than its bite. All he could feel was the blood whooshing to his head, which was down on the carpet. He felt dizzy already, and suddenly confused. His heart seemed to be pounding in his balls.

The moment he tried to lift his head, Mei-Xing spanked him again. He felt it this time. There was a sting, an unmistakeable bite that caught his ass when she struck it. He hissed in response. Mei-Xing was strong. She could tear right through those lazy layers of flesh that sat in an office chair day after day. She could make him faint. All that with just a smack of her palm.

Another smack. Was this one harder, or was his ass just getting more sensitive? He wanted to look back, see if it was pink yet. It didn’t take long. After a few more spankings, his butt would be red as an apple.

Another and another! Oh god, it was already starting to burn. A slow tingle expanded outward from the point where her palm met his skin. Every spanking was a divine shock to his system. Each one gave him a jolt, propelled him forward. His forehead rubbed hard against the thankfully soft rug.

“Thank you, Sir!”

“Thank you for what?”

Mei-Xing traced circles around his butt, dragging her ruthless fingernails across his flesh while he writhed beneath her. Rex could feel himself squirming in Mei-Xing’s lap, and before he could stop she brought down another clap on his ass.

His cock strained between Sir’s thighs. From his upside-down perspective, he could see a gossamer string of pre-cum streaming from his cockhead all the way down to the carpet. It was miraculous, like a spider web. The very sight made him forget all about Mei-Xing’s simple question.

“Thank you for what?” she asked again, accompanying the question with a harsh smack. Mei-Xing never held anything back.

Rex cringed, grinding his teeth together, tightening every muscle in the lower half of his body. When Mei-Xing spanked him with all his butt muscles clenched, it didn’t hurt so much.

Stifling a tortured yelp, Rex said, “Thank you, Sir, for punishing me.”

Letting out a whiskey chuckle, Mei-Xing cast the most effective slap yet. It burned through him like fire, streaking across the topmost layer of flesh as it soared between his legs. His balls clenched so tight they looked like they’d shot back up into his body. When his cock jerked to the side, whacking his thigh, a drizzle of pre-cum splashed his flesh.

Mei-Xing tightened her thighs around his cock, trapping it in place. She said, “Nothing I do could be worse than the punishment you bring on yourself.”

Rex puzzled over that statement while Mei-Xing traced her fingernails lightly down the backs of his thighs. It tickled when she got to his knee-pits. His cock strained in light of that feathery sensation.

“What punishment, Sir?”

She spanked him and the echo of that clap resounded through the room. Again. Again. Smack, smack. Her actions were measured, deliberate. She never punished him in anger or ire; that wasn’t her style. This was her job, her role in his life: to give him penance, to redeem him.

“You make…”

Smack!

“…yourself…”

Smack!

“…suffer.”

Smack, smack!

His ass burned, truly burned, like he’d been sitting on a stove. His flesh was on fire, and the pain was nothing short of torture. His brain buzzed as he listened to Mei-Xing’s words over and over again, repeating them to himself like an echo in a cavern.

You make yourself suffer.

You make yourself suffer.

His cock ached for release between those two leather thighs, but his body was the least of his concerns. Mei-Xing was right about his mental state, wasn’t she? He made himself suffer, every day, with the guilt he held so tightly.

Suddenly, Mei-Xing snapped her thighs so tight together that they compressed Rex’s balls, making him shriek with pain. When he closed his eyes, he saw stars, constellations blasting across the backdrop of his eyelids, brilliant as diamonds.

“That hurts?” Mei-Xing asked flatly.

“Yes, Sir.”

“More than this?” She slapped his blazing ass, and the stars burst into pieces, streaking across his mind like shrapnel.

“No, Sir.” He always told Mei-Xing the truth. “The spanking hurts more.”

She smacked his raging red flesh, and he jerked forward, writhing, trying to escape. It hurt so damn much he couldn’t stand it, but how could he hope to escape with his cock trapped between Mei-Xing’s thighs?

“What hurts more?” she went on asking, setting her palm down on his burning, prickling, hopping flesh. “A spanking on Sunday or the anguish you suffer every day of the week?”

Blood pumped loudly in his ears as his head rested heavily against the floor. His heart went into overdrive, sending gushes one direction toward his head and the other direction toward his throbbing erection.

He knew the answer to Mei-Xing’s question about which anguish sat heavier on his mind. He told her, “Every day, Sir.”

Sir traced her palm down his thigh, petting him gently while his cock ached for a release that wouldn’t come, so to speak. Mei-Xing only gave one type of release: relief of his sins, temporary escape, a chance to let someone else beat him up for a change. He spent enough time beating up on himself. He did it every day.

“Have you suffered enough?” Mei-Xing asked.

The question surprised Rex. That was her call, not his. “What do you think, Sir?”

His muscles tensed. He was ready for anything. He waited for some twitch in her body that would tell him whether she would toss him to the floor or cast her palm down on his ass.

She sat still as stone, giving him no clue. His cock surged, ached, jerked forward as much as it could, but Mei-Xing didn’t move.

Until she did.

Sliding her thighs open, she spread his legs enough to cast one small hand between them. Everything happened at once. Her hand landed flat against his tight balls. He yelped, trying to escape, but she had some magnetic hold on him. Rex stayed put, head on the floor, legs splayed.

Mei-Xing spanked his balls.

It hurt like hell, and the pain shot through him like an elixir. He wanted to be sick when she slapped him again. He wanted to roll on the floor, curl into fetal position and give up. Instead, he let her smack his balls again.

His muscles clenched, from his calves to his shoulders. When he opened his eyes, he was staring his cockhead in the face. It seemed close enough to suck. That wasn’t the case, but the image fucking his own mouth put him over the edge.

Mei-Xing spanked his balls, just softly this time, and it was all over. His dick surged with cum, spewing white stuff directly at his face, creaming his cheek mere seconds after he’d closed his eyes. Another shot blasted the ridge of his nose, creeping hotly down to his forehead. After that, they struck the carpet. He’d pay for that mess as soon as Mei-Xing noticed.

Somehow, he ended up fully on the floor, rolling from his back to his front because his ass burned so badly. He’d come so hard he couldn’t move, couldn’t open his eyes as his cum turned cold against his face.

“I’ve never… never…” He stammered wildly, not knowing how to complete that sentence. “I’ve just never…”

Mei-Xing took a warm cloth to his face, and then to the carpet. She said, “You needed that, old soul.”

He thought his pain was buried deep enough, but she always found it. She brought it to the surface, and today she gave him every kind of release.

How did she know what he needed before he did? How did she know things he’d probably never have figured out on his own?


Purchase this book or download sample versions for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-27 show above.)