The following entertainment is for adults only, and anyone not an adult is hereby warned to go away.
All comments to the author will be greatly appreciated. Contact me at kt1960@earthlink.net
A repository of erotic fiction by Katherine T. can be found at the following URL: ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Katherine_T
TOPPED
by Katherine T.
kt1960@earthlink.net
She tells me her name is Gail. It's a leather bash at Chicky's and I'm standing at the bar with my second beer and a taco chip. She tells me her name is Gail, and then she says: "You have such lovely hair."
She's very thin, tall, wasted looking, too much dark hair. She says she runs a clothes boutique on Oak Street, but I don't know if I should believe her. Oak Street is swank, chi-chi, one long block of phoniness, and maybe I should not believe her. But why would anyone come to Chicky's and tell a lie like that? No, it must be the truth. I think I've seen her other places too, but I'm not certain. I ask her if she owns the shop and she says yes, she owns it and she runs it. "It's all mine," she says. "Believe me, it gets boring."
What she does for excitement is cruise the bars looking for cunt. Yes, that's how it is. I can see it clearly. She's looking for it. She's looking at me. The only leather I'm wearing is my watchband. I look at her boots. I look at her vest. Well, it's enough, isn't it? That's enough black leather to make the point without equivocation. As if to be certain I understand things, she pulls back one side of the vest to uncover a silver chain dangling from one pocket. I get a rush as I stare at it. It looks like real silver, a dangling silver chain. Why am I hesitating? I have no job and almost no money. My life since Teresa threw me out has been completely stupid. And now Gail is here. She has money, she wears leather, she has that poisoned look in her eyes.
Outside Chicky's, she waves down a taxi, and once we're inside it she puts her hand on my knee and she squeezes it. It's a possession; she already possesses my knee.
She takes me to a hi-rise on the Gold Coast, a building with a uniformed doorman and vases filled with roses in the lobby. "I walk to work," Gail says. "I adore living here."
The apartment is filled with streamlined Italian furniture, leather and chrome and furs on the chairs. It's more luxury than I've seen in a long time. Teresa doesn't have as much as this. Gail tells me to make myself a drink and she leaves me. I don't want to drink anything. My hands are shaking too much. Instead I stand at the window and I look down at the water and the beach.
When Gail comes back, she's wearing the vest and the boots and nothing else. The silver chain is gone, but in one hand she's carrying a riding crop.
Her cunt hair is dark, trimmed to a perfect black triangle.
Ignoring me, she walks to the bar and she pours something from one of the bottles into a glass. "I always use a word," she says. "When it gets to be too much for you, say Claudia."
Why Claudia? Who is Claudia?
She says: "Aren't you drinking anything?"
I tell her no. I watch her as she adds two cubes of ice to the drink. She sips the drink, then she turns to look at me. "Come on, get naked," she says.
There's not a hint of warmth in her voice. Maybe the warmth will come later. Sometimes I get it and sometimes I don't. Usually I don't care, not at the beginning. Right now I'm not here for the warmth, I'm here for something else. My legs are trembling because I know she intends to use that riding crop. I avoid her eyes as I peel my clothes off. I take everything off, get myself completely naked, my bare toes curling into the thick rug.
She looks at me. She can't hide the interest in her eyes. She puts her drink down, and then she walks toward me with her eyes on my belly. When she's close enough, she surprises me by sliding her free arm around my waist and kissing my mouth hard. I feel the leather vest pressing against my breasts, her hand sliding down from my waist to my ass. Then she finishes the kiss and she pulls away from me and says: "First, let's find out what you can take. Why don't you bend over the back of that chair?"
I look at the easy chair. It has a low roll back and no arms. I walk over to it, stand behind it and then lean forward to double my body over the roll. My head is hanging down, my legs apart, my feet on the rug, my hands trembling as I grip the upholstery to steady myself.
She comes to the front first, and then she taps the riding crop against my face, against my mouth.
I kiss it. I kiss the source of imminent pain.
She pulls the riding crop away and she moves behind me. I keep my eyes closed, waiting, feeling the blood in my head, feeling my heart pound.
I hear the stroke before I feel it, a hissing sound, then a burning slash across my buttocks.
She does it again. And again.
And the fire begins in my cunt as I wait for the next stroke.
I don't like the pain that much. If I have a choice between pain and other forms of punishment, I usually choose the other forms. But pain is often necessary because many of the tops like inflicting it. They like watching you get it. I've never met a top who seemed bored while inflicting real pain. They get bored only if they have a need to inflict real pain but the opportunity isn't there. Sometimes the opportunity isn't there because they can't admit to themselves how much they want it. That's the best kind of top. She's always irritated by you, and she finds ways to make your life a constant torment. She never ignores you, because whenever you're there you remind her of the inner conflict she feels.
My goal in life is to find the perfect top, someone who will never ignore me, never mark me permanently, inflict only minimum pain and have enough money to pamper me.
I do need to be pampered.
But now I'm not being pampered, I'm being whipped.
And I'm moaning.
Gail hears me moaning, but the whipping continues.
I lose count of the strokes, but finally Gail stops whipping me. I can't move. My ass is on fire and my body is covered with a film of sweat.
I moan again.
And Gail says: "Shut up, will you? I've stopped."
Then I feel her hands on my ass, her fingertips running over the welts. Her touch makes me wince, but I do my best not to moan; if I moan now, she might whip me again and make the hurt even worse.
She starts probing. I knew it would happen and I'm ready for it. When I feel her fingers in my cunt, I whimper to show my pleasure. I'm wet, of course; the whipping has brought the juices out and her fingers have no difficulty penetrating me deeply. Then I feel another finger pushing at my anus. Maybe it's her thumb. Yes, it must be; I can feel the thickness of the second knuckle. She pushes her thumb deep inside my ass while she holds the other fingers in my cunt. She starts fucking me. She takes me completely, hard, fast, no dalliance at all. I start coming almost immediately, and now I'm squealing with happiness as she makes me her complete slave.
Then suddenly the fingers are gone, my two holes empty.
"Don't move," she says. She backs away and she leaves me. I hear her go to the bar. I hear the ice dropping into the glass. My cunt is tingling, the aftereffects of the strong orgasm not yet dissipated. When I close my thighs, I can feel the wetness.
Gail returns. She knows I want her fingers again, but instead I get the riding crop. I cry out at the first blow. She does it harder this time and the pain quickly becomes excruciating. I'm afraid to use the code word for fear she'll find me unworthy, find me too quick to end the physical punishment, too unsuitable to keep at her beck and call. I don't want to be unsuitable. I sob. I beg her to stop. But of course she pays no attention and she goes on with it.
Finally it's too much. My soul at the edge of destruction, I gasp the word she gave me: "Claudia!"
She has me on her bed on my belly as she soothes me with tenderness and dabs of anesthetic ointment on the welts. "Poor little girl," she says. She kisses my shoulder. She tells me the skin isn't broken anywhere. "Is it still bad?"
"No, it's better."
"I'll get you some aspirin if you like."
"No, I'm fine. Really I am."
She strokes my head and she kisses my shoulder again. Then she leaves me and she walks around to the other side of the bed to lie down beside me. I turn my head to look at her. She's naked now, her nipples like tiny dark turrets at the tips of her small breasts. As she lies on her side, she sees me looking at her breasts and she smiles and maneuvers her body to get one of her nipples between my lips.
She toys with my hair as I suck her breast. Then she murmurs something, her hand pushing at my head, the meaning clear. I turn my body and move over her, slide my face over her belly and down to the perfect dark triangle. With a sigh, she raises her knees, then lifts her legs over my shoulders as I burrow into the wet trough.
At first it's the wetness; the flowing stream is all I experience. The whipping caused her faucet to flow, and the cunt syrup is everywhere. I lick slowly, gathering the nectar, avoiding her clitoris except for an occasional rub with the tip of my nose. My mouth and chin quickly become inundated with her warm juices. Now my tongue probes more deeply, my mouth pressing against the opening as I hold the long lips to each side with my fingers. She starts rocking her knees as my tongue dances in her vagina. Using her hands, she pulls her knees all the way back to her breasts and she lifts her legs to point her toes at the ceiling.
No sound penetrates the room from outside. The only sounds in the room are an occasional moan made by Gail's throat and the liquid sounds made by my tongue and lips as I suck at her cunt.
I adore the wetness. The wetness is an affirmation of her interest in me, this wetness caused by her excitement when she hurt me. I scour the hole, cleaning it, sucking at it, still avoiding her clitoris that now protrudes like a tiny animal seeking to be stroked. With a groan, she pushes my head further down, and immediately I attack the smaller opening, licking it, applying my lips to it, pushing my tongue inside her ass as once again she rocks her knees in her pleasure.
"Oh, you little bitch," she says. She hooks one leg around my neck to hold my face in place, to keep my mouth sucking at her dark little hole. I lose myself in it, unaware of anything now except her anus, her thighs, the wetness of her cunt against my face. Then I feel one of her hands touching my forehead, and the next moment she begins rubbing her clitoris while I continue sucking her anus. That's how she comes. She rubs herself off as I work my tongue in a frenzy. Her legs rock, she groans, and still my lips remain fastened to the twitching ring of her anus.
Later she says: "Have dinner with me tonight. I know a place on Clark where the Spanish chicken is marvelous." Then she questions me about my life in the city. "Where are you living?"
I give her the name of a women's residence near Lincoln Park. "It's ugly."
"Do you have a job?"
"No."
"But what do you use for money?"
"I scrounge."
"Oh dear." She goes to her purse and she pulls out some money. "Here, take this. Do you have anything to wear this evening? Take taxis, will you?"
She hands me five twenties. The bills are brand new. Everything is so easy when you have money.
I go home to shower and get dressed for dinner. A girl I know sees me walk into the lobby after leaving the taxi.
"Hey, what happened to you? You get rich?"
"I'll write you a letter."
"All right, I won't ask."
She won't ask where I got the money or she won't ask to borrow some? When I get to my room, I lock the door and I strip my clothes off. I feel good. I feel like something will happen with Gail. A shiver passes up my spine as I remember the whipping. I climb up on the bed and I look at my ass in the dresser mirror. The stripes are red and purple, five or six across both cheeks. There's no pain now, nothing at all, and when I run the flat of my hand gently over the stripes I don't feel any hurt from it.
After a while I put a robe on, grab a towel and some soap and leave my room to hurry down the hall to shower. I hate this place. The halls are dingy and the bathroom stinks. Sometimes the pipes in the bathroom are broken and it's a filthy mess. I heard someone talk about a girl on one of the upper floors who killed herself a month ago.
When I'm finished in the shower, I hurry back to my room to dress. What should I wear? Now I'm sorry I didn't ask Gail if she wanted me to wear something special. What does she like? I try to imagine what she likes as I pull the clothes out of the closet. There isn't much anyway, but I do my best to throw together an outfit that doesn't look too freaky. I don't think Gail wants me to look too freaky. I think what she wants is an all-American girl type who just happens to be a sick masochist willing to have everything done to her, even the worst of it. I've had the worst of it, and let me tell you while I'm having it I love it. It's only afterward that I feel horrible. Afterward I feel like crawling into a dark hole.
"You look lovely," Gail says.
The restaurant is cozy, chic, the lighting dim enough to be like candlelight. Classical guitar music can be heard in the background. Is it Segovia? We both order a chicken dish. Gail has a bottle of red wine brought to the table, and after the wine is poured, she lifts her glass. "To Marcy and Gail," she says.
When our eyes meet, I remember how I was bent over that chair in her living room with my ass under the riding crop. I remember the taste of her flooded cunt, the warm juices sliding over my teeth. I listen now as she talks about her business affairs, the fashion shows in New York, her travels in Europe. What I want to know is who was her last slave, but I'm afraid to ask. Instead I sip the red wine, think about her, hope that she's thinking about me and what she'd like us to do later on.
Then she wants to know when I came out. "In college?"
"Yes."
"College is always a great transition for people."
"Yes."
"You're lovely."
Does she mean I'm lovely as a slave or lovely period? Is she remembering things? Her eyes tell me nothing; I want so much to know everything, but her eyes tell me nothing.
When we leave the restaurant and stand on the sidewalk waiting for a taxi, she takes my hand in hers and she holds it. I suppose anyone looking at us would think I'm her niece. It's amusing, isn't it?
"Can you stay?"
She says this the moment we enter her apartment. It's now nearly eleven o'clock and I've already planned to stay the night, packed the necessities in my purse because I'm desperate to stay here. The idea of going back to that dreary hole I've been living in puts a knot in my chest.
When I tell her I can stay, she smiles and she takes me in her arms. She says: "I wouldn't let you go anyway. I was just asking."
Then she kisses me, and as she presses her mouth against mine, I'm feeling the red wine and my legs are unsteady. She pushes her tongue between my lips and she gives it to me in and out, in and out, her wet tongue sliding like a living thing while she puts her hands on my ass.
When she pulls her mouth away, she says: "Does it still hurt?"
"No, I'm fine."
She takes me to the living room and she makes me stand in the center of it while she undresses me. When she has my breasts uncovered, she takes my nipples with both hands and she says: "Let's try this." She starts pinching. She pinches hard, and the sudden pain is too much and I cry out like a wounded animal. She laughs and releases me. "All right, finish undressing yourself."
She leaves me. She goes to the bar to pour some brandy into two glasses. By the time she returns to me, I'm naked, and when she hands me one of the brandy glasses I want it in order to fortify myself. Tonight it will be bad with her. I sense that. I can see in her eyes that everything will be bad. We sip the brandy awhile without saying anything, and then she takes my glass and she puts it down on one of the small tables and she puts her glass down beside it. Then she turns to me and she takes my breasts in her hands again, but this time she's gentle, fondling them, lifting them, then bending her head to take a nipple in her mouth and bite it gently with her teeth. Then she wants to look at my ass and I have to turn my back to her so she can see the marks on my buttocks.
"Much better," she says. She makes me turn around again to face her. She laughs and says: "The marks turn me on."
She sits down and she has me stand in front of her. Then she wants one of my legs raised to make it easier to see my cunt. So I do that; I put my left foot on the edge of the sofa beside her and swing my knee to the side to expose myself.
She touches me. She separates my labia with her fingers to look at my clitoris. She looks at me a long time, tugging here and there, touching me in various places, the examination more clinical than casual, and of course before long my syrup is flowing in abundance and that amuses her. She toys with me, stroking me with her fingers, a light feathery stroking designed to make me want more. I moan and move my hips as her fingertips graze around my clitoris. Then she pushes two fingers inside me. She curls the fingers and she lifts her hand, the fingers acting as a hook to pull me forward.
She looks up at me. "Hello, darling."
My knees tremble. "Hello."
"Move your ass some more. Yes, that's better." Then suddenly she pulls her fingers out and she says: "Turn around."
I do that, and in a moment I feel her hand gliding over my thighs and then between them to find my cunt. Without her asking for it, I move my legs apart and bend forward a bit. She slides her fingers inside me again and she tells me to move my hips as she begins fucking me. "That's it. Go on, come if you want."
It's like a dam breaking open. I hear the grunting in my throat, feel her fingers thrusting in and out of my wet hole as my body shakes from head to toe.
After that she takes me to her bedroom. She undresses while I lie on the bed and watch her. Is she wet? I imagine her cunt is dripping on the insides of her thighs and I want to sniff it and lick each drop with my tongue.
Before long she's on the bed. Naked, she straddles me with her knees under my shoulders, her hands gripping the headboard, her cunt grinding against my face.
"Yes, like that," she says.
She pushes down, the hairy mouth possessing me, swallowing me, her syrup gushing. She rocks back and forth. She moans. I hold her buttocks in my hands as I drink from the fountain.
Afterward she says: "There's a spare bedroom down the hall. You don't mind, do you? I never like sleeping with anyone."
I don't care one way or the other. After all the wine and brandy, and then her juices flowing in my mouth, I'm drunk with happiness. The spare bedroom is really a maid's room, but it's better than the hole I live in at that women's residence. In the morning Gail has breakfast with me, but then it's clear she's had enough of me and she wants me out. The hundred is sufficient, isn't it? I tell myself the hundred she gave me is fine, so why complain? When I walk out on Lake Shore Drive, it's a new morning and I can pretend I actually live here. What I decide at this moment is that I'm not taking any more punishment. Am I lying to myself? I'm not sure one way or the other.
End