April 03, 2015

Free Smut Friday—The Poetry Edition


Check me out! I not only remembered the day of the week, I recalled that I wanted to create a regular (or at least semi-regular) feature: Free Smut Friday.

I mentioned the story "A Loose Interpretation" recently. I wrote the piece back in the wee early 90s. And I've yet to come up with the original version. However, I tweaked the story for publication in 2002, and I tripped over this one in my travels.

Believe it or not, April is National Poetry month. And since this story is based (yes, loosely) on a Sir Thomas Wyatt poem, I thought this was be appropriate for Free Smut Friday—The Poetry Edition.


A Loose Interpretation

They flee from me that sometime did me seek,
With naked foot stalking in my chamber.
—Sir Thomas Wyatt

The phone rings at 1:33 a.m., tearing me from sleep. I fumble for the receiver, knocking over a stack of books on my nightstand. In that haze between sleep and wakefulness, I finally find the phone beneath a t-shirt and mumble something that almost sounds like hello.

“I know exactly what you want.” Your whisper in darkness over the telephone line has me fully awake in a heartbeat, yet I don’t respond. I’m sure if I remain quiet, you’ll keep right on talking. “I know what you need.” The urgency in your deep voice makes me tremble. I clutch the receiver so tightly that the muscles in my hand begin to cramp. “You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?”

I can’t answer. Not yet. But my breathing, heavy, frightened, tells you that I understand.

“Be over here in twenty minutes,” you say, “wear a dress without panties, put your hair in a ponytail, and be natural. No makeup. Got it?”

I nod, although I know full well that you can’t see me, and then I manage to choke out, “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

I hang up the phone and look at the digital clock on the nightstand. 1:35. I get out of bed, flick on the overhead light, and stand naked in front of the mirror on the back of my closet, checking myself out. I run my fingertips lightly over my slim body, cupping my small, firm breasts, circling my waist. After a moment, I move even closer to my reflection, pushing back my blonde hair with one hand and observing the reverse image with the calculated look of a beauty pageant judge: high cheekbones, large green eyes, pouty lips.

I can hear your voice in my head, complimenting me—nice—and I turn in front of the mirror and look myself over one shoulder, an approving smile touching the corners of my mouth. I have slender hips, but a round buoyant ass.

Nice.

I can imagine you admiring my curves, the contours of my muscles, the sleek lines of the bones beneath my skin. Seeing myself through your eyes, I lift my right hand and spank myself once, hard, watching intently as the purple-outlined print appears on my ass like a brand.

Ten minutes late will be ten strokes.

I open the closet and regard my wardrobe for a moment before choosing a prim pale blue sundress with a lace collar. It’s something a librarian would feel comfortable wearing, something left over from when I was a different sort of girl. The severe style makes my lack of underclothes all the more sexy, and the color of the fabric brings a glow to my eyes, a feverish light.

I twist my silvery curls into a loose knot and capture the ‘do with a tortoise-shell barrette. Then I grab my wallet and car keys, turn out the light, and hurry out the door.

I have seen them gentle, tame and meek
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themself in danger
To take bread at my hand, and now they range
Busily seeking with a continual change ...

I picture you waiting for me. You’re kicked back on your worn leather sofa, watching an old Bogart film on TV. Every so often you look at the clock, judging the time. Then you gaze back at the television, watching Bogie light a cigarette before you glance back at the clock.

It’s easy for me to picture your every move. At 1:59 you’ll realize that I’m playing with you. You’ll rub one hand over your whiskers, starting to show now even though you shaved after work. You think about the way your beard will feel against my skin when you kiss me.

2:02. I’m in for it now, and that thought makes you harder than hard. We both know full well that the drive to your place takes me ten minutes. But here I am, a full seven minutes late. You’ll have my pretty bottom over your lap the instant I walk through the door. You’ll give me a good, thorough spanking, one that will warm my ass and heat my pussy.

2:04 Now, I’m testing you. And we both know it.

Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better, but once in special.

I sit in my car, one block away from your apartment, watching the numbers change on the dashboard clock. I know that you’ll be mad, be angry enough to give me exactly what I need, just like you promised over the phone. Penance. I shift around in the bucket seat, growing more excited, and especially aware of the wetness because I’m not wearing underpants.

Ten minutes late will be ten strokes.

Maybe you’ll use your belt. God, I want it so badly, to be punished, to be overwhelmed. My heart races as I start the ignition and drive down the street, pulling into your driveway and cutting the engine. Then, trembling slightly, I get out of the car and walk to your studio. I haven’t even knocked on the door when you open it, and you grab me high up on the arm and drag me into the room.

“Naughty girl,” you say. I can hear the smile in your voice, but that doesn’t make you any less severe. In fact, you look particularly stern this evening. Your thick, black hair is combed back off your forehead, and your normally soft brown eyes regard me coldly. “You’re in for it,” you hiss, gripping me even more tightly. “You’re due for a proper hiding.”

To me, this sounds more like a sexy promise than any sort of threat. Still, I know better than to speak, and I wait silently for your command. Will you do it to me on the sofa or take me into the bedroom?

“Put your hands flat against the wall,” you order, surprising me. I turn my back to you and place my palms on the smooth, cool wall, supporting myself. You set one hand firmly in the small of my back, causing me to arch forward, to offer my ass to you like a wonderful gift. You slowly lift my dress, dragging the material along my thighs, taking your time to unveil my body. You gather the fabric high up on my waist, so that the blue silk falls to either side, framing me.

“Ten minutes late,” you say softly, close to my ear.
I nod.
“Ten.”
I nod again.
“Bend over further.”

I lower my hands on the wall, arching even higher for you, feeling deliciously exposed. You go down on your knees behind me and you bury your face in the split of my body, drinking in my heady scent. You hold me open from behind and lick the drops of my honey that have already dampened my inner thighs.

You use your thumbs to further spread the lips of my pussy, and then without warning, you thrust your tongue deep inside me, making me moan and buck against you. You swirl your tongue in dangerous circles, then pull back and slide two fingers inside me. My muscles start to contract, letting you know how close I am to coming. But before I’m able to climax, you withdraw your fingers and stand up. Gently, you take one of my hands and place it where it will give me the most pleasure.

“Touch yourself,” you order. “Like you do when you’re in bed alone, thinking of all the things you want me to do with you. Or to you.”

I blush that you’ve read my secrets so well, but I do as I’m told, caressing myself, slipping my fingers over and around my pulsing clit. “I want you to keep touching yourself while I punish you,” you tell me. “Understand?”

I nod.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Better.”

You pull your belt free from the loops of your jeans, staring as I undulate my hips and continue the rhythm that you’d set with your tongue and fingers. You suck in your breath, watching me. It’s like I’m your own personal sex show—I can feel that. I’m putting on a performance, and you’re getting hot. My head dips down, and my eyes close. I am already breathing hard, my fingers increasing their speed, faster and faster, hips sliding back and forth, head dropping further forward, back muscles tensed, entire body poised on the brink.

For one instant, you give in to me, pressing forward so I can feel your hard cock against my ass. But then you back up again. We have unfinished business.

Ten minutes means ten strokes.

You double the heavy leather belt in your hand and stand back from me to give yourself room. After a moment’s hesitation, you tell me to take my dress all the way off. I do as you say, pausing to kiss you quickly before returning to my set position.

In thin array, after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulder did fall
And she caught me in her arms long and small;
Therewith all sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, “Dear heart, how like you this?”

Just kissing you makes me want more, makes me want you to be inside my mouth, to feel my lips around your throbbing cock, suckling you, devouring you. Feeding from you.

“Ten,” you say again, and I shift my weight nervously from one foot to the other.

Anticipation beats inside me. But then we’re starting, and you swing and connect, once, twice, three times. I bow my head toward my chest, but I don’t make a sound, nor do I stop caressing myself. In my mind, I hear your voice again, as you sounded on the phone: “I know what you want. I know what you need.”

Four. Five. Six.

It was no dream; I lay broad waking.
But all is turned through my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;

Seven. Eight. Nine.

I let out a low moan. Tears spill from my eyes, and even though you can’t see them, I’m sure that you know that I’m crying, know that I’ve been silently crying since you first made me take off the dress.

“People think you’re such a good girl,” you say quietly to me, stroking my hot ass with one hand. “But we both know what you really are.”

And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also to use newfangleness.

Ten.

With the last stroke, you give in. You rip your fly open and free your cock. Then you grab me around the waist and force me back onto you, force the entire length of your cock inside me with one long thrust. I come almost as soon as you enter me, keep on coming as you pound into me. I lean forward again, hands on the wall, while you hold on to my hips and fuck me with everything you have. It’s as if you’re still disciplining me, using the rod of your cock to more thoroughly punish me.

I’m crying and laughing at the same time, lost in how good it all feels, how whole I feel with you inside. You hold me even tighter for the last part of the wild ride, bucking with me, pulling me hard against you. Then, lifting me completely off the ground, you kiss me, your lips sliding in the downy softness of the nape of my neck. You come in a series of shattering explosions, and then, still holding me, still inside me, you carry me to the sofa where we collapse together. Damp, exhausted, and satisfied.

But since that I so kindly am served
I would fain know what she hath deserved.
“You give me what I need,” I whisper.
“I give you what you deserve,” you respond, and I nod in answer, unable after all of it to speak.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. If you enjoyed this story, please check out my latest collection: The Spanking House.

2 comments:

Annie Anonymity said...

Very hot story and well chosen words - yay Free Smut Friday!

Miz Angell said...

Excellent story! Hot and steamy and sexy. Thanks for sharing.