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Brooke_ray
New member
Username: Brooke_ray
Post Number: 13
Registered: 05-2005
| | Posted on Thursday, May 19, 2005 - 11:33 pm: | 
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(Hello everybody...this is a first story I will be posting here...I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it....Brooke)
Confessions of a Barracks Floozy
***
Can Brooke come out and play?
No italics, no cutesy, smiley faces, just that one, simple question burning out in bold print from her computer screen. She blinked her eyes slowly up and down, and then raked her hands through the stick-straight strands of auburn that shadowed her face. Then the smile began to slip, stretching her mouth. She had to nibble at her bottom lip just to contain it.
Fingers performed a delicate dance along the keyboard…naturally massaging her favorites of shift and enter….hmmm…shift and enter, that was interesting. So was Control.
Even though she was completely alone, with legs scooted beneath her comfortably on the sofa, laptop balanced on her knees…she still felt paranoia come to hiss a blistering breath against the back of her neck. Oh temptation! How truly sweet it is! She pressed reply and felt a tingle take her all the way down to her toes. She typed three words that claimed a syllable apiece… Yes I can.
Send.
Now wait…Smoke cigarettes…have a glass of that new Claret she got from the winery… ‘Kay…about that time…check mail…
You have one message…
Hmmm….surprise, surprise….
"Brooke, Very well. Here are your instructions... Leather belt…(your choice) Lace and garters…blindfold…Short dress….powder blue panties…bikini cut…..Do NOT wear those boots! Navy Barracks, Bldg. 321…Third floor, rm 240….Six o’clock. Tonight."
She did not try to control the smile this time, a sin-filled, closed lipped smile that told of fun that was to be had. Rest assured, there was a method to her madness. With eyes bright with anticipation, as well as stimulation, which of course his instructions had conjured, she glanced to her left.
Tossed beside her on the couch, lying face up, was her journal. Fifty States, was embossed across the cover of black, the title spinning in silver thread....
Another unsuspecting recruit was about to make a journal debut…a one time only performance, because wasn’t that one of the rules? With an absent minded flutter, she reached out to flip through the journal and in seconds she had it open in her lap, leaning against the computer screen like canvas propped on an easel. How long had she been playing the game? The first entry had been what—she squinted at the date—six months ago?
Christ, had it really been that long? Then she registered the weight and thickness of the filled pages and winced a little…sure were lots and lots of entries.
This recruit would be slightly different. After all, he knew her real name….he also knew her email, as well as her phone number. Most times they were lucky if they got her real name at all. Her favorite aliases were names like Kelly, or Tabitha…..Sometimes she’d gone the “hippy trippy” way and told them her name was Sunshine, Summer or (giggle), Rainbow…it all depended on her mood. Each leaf of paper was crammed with her small, looping scrawl, no paragraphs amidst the description, then one blank line, and then the “stats”.
There were several elements involved as to how one racked up points. Enough points added up to stars…The highest rating was five stars, unless the recruit was the epitome of a downright mind blowing lay, and then they were honored with what she and her friend had dubbed, “A Gold Medallion”. So far she’d only handed out one of those. However, she was in the lead….
As far as the spankings went, well she had come to regard them as bonus par for the course…Her friend, her opponent, did not share her zeal for the fetish, so Brooke saw no reason to elaborate on that venue of risqué. She kept that little, extra secret of spice between herself and her journal. She was starting to believe she had “spank radar” or something…for it almost seemed as if they came looking for her, for her spankings were multiplying along with her escalating, sexual prowess.
The game was fun and sneaky and wicked bad! So what, yeah technically it was “Whorin’ around”, or as mama would say, “Cattin’ about.” But really, why cheapen it?! She liked to think of it as not only a game she had invented, but also an art. She’d raised the bar and dramatized the fact that she was finally free and independent! You’re getting your maiden name back, dammit! You’re getting away from him! Just a few more months of him trying to sabotage the inevitable, and then you shall be free! Free at last! Free at last! Good, God, Almighty you’ll be free of Turd at last!
She’d decided to start celebrating a wee bit early…hence her game. So why cheapen it, indeed! This base, as well as the one a few miles to the south, was a perfect place to play, ‘twas a virtual smorgasbord for picking up` lays and spanking partners, heck, it was like shooting fish in a barrel!
The ring of the cordless phone nestled beside her blue-jeaned hip made her jump a little, up and out of the gutter that was her head lately and into the world of phones and computers and….
“Hello?”
“Heeeyyy, girlie!”
Her friend’s voice, filled with laughter. Behind the greeting, Brooke heard the unmistakable roar and commotion of loud, male voices, glasses clinking and music blaring, which meant that her friend was calling from the NCO club.
“What’s up?”
“Guess what?!” Her friends tone was slick with sin and gossip. “Guess what just landed through the lobby doors!”
“Tell me!” She found she was chuckling as she prompted.
“Two Australian, Army paratroopers, fresh in from Sydney! Whoo-hoo!”
“Really?” She smirked. She still had the journal wide open on her laptop.
“Yeah, and sista’, they look thirsty! So are you comin’ down or what?”
“Nah…I got other fish to fry.”
“Oh C’mon! Foreigners are extra points, remember?”
“Have at it, friend. I’ve got plans.”
“You’re gonna lose!” Her friend taunted in a child-like singsong. “And I’m gonna win! C-ya’.”
A giggle, then a click, and Brooke found herself alone again. Australian Army paratroopers?…slobber….hadn’t had one of those yet!
She flipped through the pages….Jack from South Carolina…Army. Chris from Michigan…Air Force. Matt from Texas…Air Force. Red from Kentucky,(never got his real name)…Army. Anthony from Jersey….damn Scorpio!. Army, as well. Oh yeah, he’d been slick as eel shit! Had worn that gold ring that said “Tony”…He’d gotten a five star rating!…Brent… California…Marine. Hot, hot, hot!…..Cowboy Jimmy Dean…from New York...
He sure hadn’t acted like he was from New York! He looked just like James Dean and loved to country line dance. Always wore that Stetson Hat…Mmmmm…he’d really been a sweet soul, as well as a bona fide jackhammer in the sack…too bad he’d gotten deployed and was now off on the water…damn sailor! Too bad. He was a lot of fun. His real name was Patrick. Her solitary, Gold Medallion. He’d liked to spank too.
A while later, she found herself encased in her favorite, little slip dress. It was black and almost exactly like the one Audrey Hepburn had worn in Sabrina. This had of course made her want to sweep her hair up into a sleek twist. Then she’d peeled on the thigh high black stockings….the garters and belt. She felt, “Uptown”, swanky. Like she was going to a posh party, a gala event, instead of—.
What are ya’ doin’, Brooke Ray?
Well hello there, Mr. Conscious…Funny how you always seem to show up at moments such as these…What’s that? Well, yeah, you’re probably right, this probably isn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had, but…..Gawd what’s a girl to do, you know? We’ve been dancing around this for months! Its Showtime! Time for the lights to go down and the curtain to rise.
She moved, listening to her heels tap against the floor of the Base Exchange. She got several looks from well— almost everyone! It was four thirty in the afternoon, and she was dressed like she was going to a cocktail party!
Into the men’s section she ducked, past the slacks, and oxfords, smelling the cologne of spice and pipe. Into the accessories, where her hand touched the leather. Mmmmmmmmm… . Like Goldilocks, she began a type of process of elimination….Too hard, to thin, to wide, too soft…Mmmmmm, just right. The leather, just like butter, she felt it give underneath the pad of her thumb.
As she pressed, she felt her stomach began an impulsive series of flips. Half excited, half scared out of her mind. Still, she purchased the belt, and made her way outside. She could see the barracks in the distance…bland, that distinct government building color of “almost brown” With the number stuck to the side. Building 321. Her eyes squinted against the glare of descending sun and caught her car sitting there in the Exchange parking lot. Leave it, she decided. Leave it here and walk over…that way if anybody drives by and sees your car, they’ll think you’re inside shopping…or that you’re at work….
Yeah, she worked there…had for over two years. That’s where they had met. The man she was going to let spank her tonight. She’d been walking through the Exchange, once again. Sometimes she felt she was in there so much she should just get a P.O box with the building’s address. Jeez, she’d grown to hate the place! Despise her job! As far as she knew, they only had two CDs they played over and over again over the PA…..A patriotic, Country CD that made her homesick as soon as Alan Jackson started crooning and for some reason, a Belinda Carlisle album, that by it’s fifth time on rotation was enough to make a nervous tick grow just beneath the pocket of her right eye.
“‘Scuse me, Mam’, could ya’ help me?” She’d just been strolling through, on her way to meet with that dickhead who was suffering from the delusion that he was her supervisor, when she’d looked up and saw green eyes, and heard a decidedly American, southern accent that sounded a little too close to home.
He’d been holding out a handful of ski gloves. “Do you know which ones are best?”
“I have no idea,” She’d told Green Eyes, “I don’t work in this department and I don’t ski, so….”
“Oh, alright, sorry…thanks anyway.”
He had started off, and for some reason, she’d called him back. “I could page someone for you.”
“Could ya’? I’m at a loss…I’ll admit I’m ignorant. I’ve never had a reason to ski before…then I get here, and I reckon it’s the thang to do.”
Oh my, he was a cutie!! Emerald eyes flashing and a smile that could’ve melted Attila the Hun! And that accent was sooo sexy…Familiar….a small pinch of Andy Griffith, and a big, heapin’ spoonful of Matthew McConnaughey!
“I’ll call someone,” She'd beamed, then added, “Where ya’ from, sailor?”
She could tell he was a sailor from his hair cut. Hang around military folk long enough and it’s easy. Of course there are always exceptions, but Marines are usually more or less “crewed” or high and tight, with thick, beefy, necks. Airmen have that “inch above the ears” rule. Army… bald or crew. Sailors? Well, let’s just say they sometimes lack in the haircut department. Not all of them, mind you…but if you see a line of servicemen and one of them needs a visit to the barber, you can bet your pretty penny he’s a sailor. Mr. Green Eyes had a shaggy bang thing going on, and was in immediate need of the buzz on the back of his neck.
“Newnan, Georgia, Mam’…Don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of it?”
Her face had lit up like a Christmas tree, “My father was born there!” She'd beamed. Ah, so that explained the accent, why his was so familiar. Real lazy, winding, sweet as sugarwater inflections…the soft, almost animated drawl. I’ll give ya’ a quawta’ for a glaissss a’ wawta’...
She’d told him where she was from, just a little piece across the interstate. And then she’d called someone about his gloves, then had gone about her day and hadn’t thought anymore about the Southwest Georgia Hottie.
It was five thirty….time to slip into mission mode…time to be inconspicuous and invisible. The black, leather jacket helped…but the heels, um, not quite base fare….Just keep your head up and your pace deliberate, confident!
She strode through the theater parking lot, which was just beginning to clutter up for the one and only show of the evening. She eyed the line already congregating outside the doors. Anybody familiar, anybody who might call out her name, and scare the bejeezus out of her? She made it past the thoroughfare in silence. Her heart however, was beating like a kettle drum, thumping out an internal soundtrack that blended perfectly with her anticipation. Finally, she arrived at the barracks.
Through the glass of the main entrance, she could see three or four sailors corralled behind the desk. Crap, she knew one of them! Kevin from Missouri…Mr. One and a quarter stars/AKA Speedy Gonzalez…Shit! Can’t go in the front…hmmm…
Side door, around the back….right next to the laundry and the vending machines. Creaky, heavy, rusting door, ice cold in her hand. She held onto it as she entered, so that it would not slam and bang that tell-tell clank. Stairwell to the right…GO!
It’s not what you know—its what you look like you know! Ain’t that what Mama always said? Look like you’ve got serious business, it might even be official!
Up the stairs, clickety click-clickety click…. Third floor…. “almost orange” carpet….music filtering, muffled through rooms with their door’s shut. Some doors open….People having conversations, yelling back and forth…laughter…the pungent smell of vomit and dirty laundry and spilled alcohol and God only knows what else.
240…Hmmmm…awfully quiet here. Three times knocking….quick glance back and forth…somebody in the hall, smile. “Hello, how are you?”…please don’t puke on me…thank you…
The door opened. Lord Have Mercy! She swallowed a fine seep of spit. He was wearing low hanging jeans and nothing else… except his dog tags. Mercy….Uncle…..Good lord, was that really a toothpick in his mouth?
“Hey,” He drawled. “Yer early, that’s good.”
“Hello,” She smiled, as a twinkle of impending, carnal mischief blazed from her eyes.
“Come in, Mam’,” Still calling her mam’…well, wasn’t that cute?
The room was lighted by the shine of a soft lamp, and a duo of fragrant candles. The room was neat, orderly…how refreshing! What was that playing low on the stereo? Was that really Van Morrison? Oh, man, she loved this song!...Into the Mystic …. Yum! He had a sixpack on his stomach…very uncommon with Sailors…usually reserved for the Marines. And he was tan, which was also a rarity around these parts. Tan like copper and caramel. A shock of black hair hung in his summer grass, hued eyes, as he twirled the toothpick around his mouth with the help of his tongue, then took it out and flicked it straight into the wastebasket, that hugged the side of the desk…never taking his eyes off her as he watched her look around his four corners.
“Did ya’ follow my instructions?”
“Yes.”
He had her chin in his hand in the next second, almost before the affirmative had tumbled over her lips, jerking it up so that she was forced to look him in the eye.
“Yes, what?”
“Um…yes, sir?”
He gave a grunt of approval. Released her chin, only to grab hold of her hair, yank it roughly back, just enough to sting. Then he had her mouth, latched and muffled, kissing her deep. Dirty, delectable kisses. He tasted like cinnamon and cigarettes and ….
He slammed her up against the wall. God he was strong. God he was muscular. Whhhheeeeeee!!!!
Her brain sprinted, with a spasming flurry of thought. After her acceptance of his invitation, a couple of more emails had followed. She knew very well what was going to go on behind this door, inside this crackerbox of a room. Well, at least she had an outline. They had never even kissed before….in fact, the extent of their physical contact had been limited to that first meeting in the Exchange, a drink or two at the club among a mix of acquaintances, and an out and out “cuss fight” in the base theater whenever he’d pitched popcorn in her hair one too many times. The first four or five flings had been humorous…but after that, she’d lost her temper! She guessed it had been kind of funny, she must have been in a bad mood on that particular evening…Either way, they’d had a nice go at it, a crash course lesson in creative cursing! She’d felt like she was in junior high again, like when the boys would pull her pigtails. Then he’d gotten her email address…and she knew just how! Her name had been in the base paper as a contact for information concerning the theater troupe in which she was a member….beneath her name had been her email…Nope, didn’t take Scotland Yard to link the pieces together.
At first, the emails had been clever and had made her laugh; “Hello, this is Mr. Popcorn Tosser…is this Miss Hissyfit?” More bantering, more sparring. Then she’d seen him again…this time at the club and she had been alone, and they’d slow danced to “Midnight Train to Georgia,” and then he’d phoned her at home a couple of times, where they had proceeded to partake in filthy, little conversations…she’d found him quite creative! She’d admit he had intrigued her six ways to Sunday, would confess that she had used him as kind of a musing, mental fix whenever she needed to hear “the words”.
There are certain men who have a talent for inspiring the mind, as well as tantalizing the pussy…Mr. Green eyes, she’d discovered was one of them. Back and forth….dark and twisted conversations, their own, special brand of phone sex…more like phonespank. More like telling stories to each other, immensely intoxicating, “very much bad” fun.
Never of course, had she called his dorm room and never had she emailed him unless it was to reply to a letter he’d previously sent. Then finally, finally, he’d tossed the invite and she’d called his bluff. It had worked like a charm, reeling him in, hook anchored securely in the flesh of his proverbial upper lip.
And now…
His hands began an exploration of the territory that was her flesh. He had her trapped against the wall, and she had little choice but to gnarl her legs around his waist, and secure her heel-clad ankles against the butt of his spine. She heard the scratch her stocking made against his denims…His hands were toast warm, she could feel the heat through the scant nylon, gripping, massaging…a slow, yet deliberate dance ascending higher, could feel him pressing between her legs….Rock hard and ready.
“This is very…bad…what …you’re …doing….Miss Brooke…”
His staggered lecture came between lusty kisses.Her neck was positively glazed with his cinnamon burst of saliva. His hands, in her hair, the sleek twist giving way, tumbling to unravel and weave a vehement trail of auburn fire all the way down to the small of her back. It coiled around his fingers and fists, like fresh flames lapping, consuming. Burgundy nails scratched and dug over and into toned biceps and tattoos. A dragon on the left…with Kanji etched beneath…”Lost Boy”, he’d told her it said. On the right, USN, complete with anchor …a faded mixture of soft blue and gray and mustard yellow.
“Yep, I reckon it is,” She huffed back. Her tone let him know that she couldn’t care less. She jerked as if she’d grazed against an electric fence, as she felt his fingers travel and crawl into the lace edge of her panties and disappear beneath the whisper of fabric….strum across the threshold of her shaved “best friend”, where they found the seam of entrance and separated with a skilled slip, then a dip and he was inside, twirling a slow, tormenting, rhythmic plunge. Vowel sounds moaned from her parted mouth. “Ahhh’s and Ohhhh’s and OOOhhhs”. The universal music of pre-orgasmic, feminine bliss.
“I’m not gonna let you cum just yet, Miss Brooke….Nah, ya’ gotta earn that pleasure…now lets get ya’ outta that dress, shall we?”
Suddenly she had both of her feet flat on the floor. The spikes of her heels dug holes the size of dimes into the aged carpet.
“Unzip me, please,” She prompted, using her daintiest voice. She showed him her back, and felt the thrilling frost of chill bumps pop out all over her skin, as his hands came to clutch the zipper and do the deliberate slide all the way down to the swell of her bottom. With her back still to him, she pushed at the garment, until it shimmied past her hips and landed in a glossy puddle, cloaking her heels. She felt his stare burning, and then she heard his voice, low and gruff against her ear.
“Well now, either Miss Brooke don’t know how to follow directions, or she’s color blind.”
Hmmmm??
“In my email, I specifically said, powder blue panties….these are darker. What d’ya’ call that—royal blue?”
Since he couldn’t see her face, she rolled her eyes and thought, “Jeez, a little picky aren’t we?”
“I thought these would be alright,” She drawled. “I mean, don’t you think they’re pretty?”
One hand came to seize a hip, squeeze, glide down and around one globe of her silk-sheltered ass. “They’re fine….but not what I wanted.”
She tried to joke, even as her hands knotted together in front of her in a ludicrous weave of anxiety. “Well, I’m sorry sir, I tried…I mean, I wore these damn, ridiculous heels!”
Speaking of surely man-made forms of torture, these heels were starting to pinch and ache….Lord, she missed her boots! More than a little viciously, she was whirled around and he craned his neck to latch his eyes with hers.
“Did you just cuss?”
Ahem…gulp. “No, I don’t believe so.”
There was a wild glint in his stare. Almost crazy, sparks were starbursting in the center of each pupil like flashes off a livewire. “Yeah, ya’ did! You said damn…don’t lie to me, Brooke Ray! First you disobey my instructions, then you use foul language, then you lie about it!”
“Well, I really don’t think that ‘damn’ is all that bad a word…I mean, hell, I could say—”
He had her jaw clamped in his hand, making her lips pucker like a blowfish. “You sure gotta mouth on ya’! Known that since that night at the theater! You really should work on that…it really cheapens you. Perhaps you need to be taught some manners?”
“Manners?” Her eyes were wide as dinner plates, the blue in them a fragile, ice-thin turquoise.
He let her go, just so the hand could be free and he could point one of its fingers at the far side of the room. “Now, I wancha’ to go over there and stand in the corner.”
“Corner?” She’d never been made to stand in a corner before.“Corner?” She chirped again. P’shaw! She wasn’t a little girl anymore…and grown women did not stand in corners! “Look Sparky, I’m all into hot spankin’ and the like, but if you wanna spank me, be a man about it and spank me like a lady!...Er, let me rephrase that, that came out totally wrong…er—"
“Did I stutter, Brooke? “ He has a look of utter disdain milking his features. His green eyes she saw were a touch cruel and overflowing with impatience. “Now march your fanny over to that corner pronto, cuz you sure don’t want me to have to put you in it myself…now do ya’?”
She produced a noise, kind of like “Hmmmpphh!”…But puttered over to the corner, feeling absolutely ridiculous, more than a tad embarrassed…the blush rushed to swell her cheeks. Hands laced together into one tight, pallid fist. She stood there, feet together, clad in only her lace bra, garters and stockings and those cursed royal blue panties! Behind her, she could hear him shuffling, rummaging, through that little black bag she’d brought along that contained the items that had been on his list.
What was that noise? Nope, couldn’t identify it. She thought of taking a quick peek over her shoulder, but then decided against it. Soon, what they had talked about on the phone was going to be a reality. Everything that had happened thus far was going according to their much discussed plan. He’d said that he wanted to spank her. She’d been pretty much open about what kind of spanking she liked. And thus far, he was replaying their phone scenarios scene by perfect scene.
“Turn around, Miss Brooke. Look at me.”
She felt her feet shuffle and twirl her in his direction. He was perched on the edge of the bed, eyeing her like a famished man who had an all you can eat ticket to the “Brooke Ray Buffet.”
“Over here. Com’ere…right here in front of me.”
She brought one foot in front of the other timid, reluctant foot, heel to sluggish toe, a silent, unsure approach. Her stare fastened onto the tags dangling beneath his pecks, which shifted against the tan flesh with every move he made. God, this was intense! She felt the nerves hemorrhage deep inside, and felt her composure threatening to crumble. Her nerves pinging off the walls of her stomach and brain like ricocheting bullets. This was it…the big number…time to dance!
When she arrived at her destination, harnessed between his blue jeaned thighs, his hands settling on her hips, she found she couldn’t quite stop the curve of her lips, a savvy sideways smile. She didn’t want to show the expression, but it was like a panicked, involuntary reaction. Like those people who laughed at funerals, Brooke sometimes laughed when she was nervous, laughed in the face of danger. She didn’t want to, but she giggled. Outloud.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Uh…er…no, no…Whoop!” Much to her horror, a raucous chortle, erupted from her throat. “I’m sorry, I…” She was biting hard into the soft meat of her inner jaws, praying the outburst would not give a repeat performance.
“You need a spanking,” He said, just above a whisper. “You need a good, hard spanking and then you won’t thing everything is so funny.”
“Ummmm…Hey—!!”
He snatched at her arm and successfully snagged a wrist. She recoiled, and yanked back with all her might, using her legs to gain any possible leverage, releasing the ear piercing screech of a very wet and riled cat as she tried to break free. His other hand shot out, lassoed the twin of the limb he had already captured, and in two seconds flat, he’d flipped her over his lap like she was nothing more than one of those oversized yarn dolls. Ensnared and teetering for balance, she found herself face down across the rough terrain of his denims. Her breath momentarily caught in her throat for an endless second of genuine hysteria. She watched her hair swing back and forth, casting shadows along the carpet. She felt his left palm flatten into the small of her bare back and then the unmistakable breeze of his right hand thundering down to collide with the swell of her upturned bottom.
Smack! Hard!
“Ow! Stop it!!” Smack! “Goddammit!” Smack! Smack! Smack!
She found that the harder she tried to twist, the harder he swatted the flesh encased in the royal blue silk.
“The more you fight the more you make it worse for yourself,” He growled. “Now are ya’ gonna straighten up?”
She growled as well, lifted her head, craned her neck and through the sheath of her scattered hair, she met his eyes. She cussed him out behind her grimaced lips, not making a sound, but her eyes were screaming heinous, fiery verses of eagerly anticipated revenge. She wiggled around a little too much and took great delight at grabbing a handful of his leg hairs through the material of his jeans, while trying to reposition herself, (as well as her dignity), atop his knees. She heard him hiss in protest.
SMACCCK!
“Okay, okay! I’ll be good!” She yelped. “Eeeooww!” She forced herself to lay completely still, save for the stampede like cadence of her heart. Then he was talking above her.
“Y’know from the first time I saw ya; I wanted to spank ya’.”
Once again, her eyes journeyed to the back of her head. “Wow…never heard that one before….Interesting line, bet you say that to all the girls! Whew, a real heart string plucker if I ever heard one!”
“Now ya’, gonna take yer spankin’ like a good girl?”
Ummm…and what are my options? “Yes…Sir.” She panted on a stressed filled hiss of anxiety.
She resolved to sulk, to pout, and stare down at the carpet…the “almost orange”, well tread carpet. Her vision homed in on a paper clip, shiny and silver just to the left of his naked toe. Ingenious really, the design of a paperclip…who had invented it anyway? Had they made a pretty penny, or had they been ripped off? While he smacked away, she theorized, she’d block out his blows by thinking about paperclips and the hopeful success of their clever inventor.
The diversion didn’t work. She gasped, a savage snatch of oxygen, so harsh, it burned her lungs and made a dull ache come and rap its fist against her chest, as his hands slithered down the length of her stockings, to the undersides of her knees, then back up again. She listened to the hiss of friction, whisper and divulge all sorts of hidden secrets into the air. Up and up, over and across her upturned bottom, skating on the silk, fingers spreading, covering. My, what big hands you have sailor!
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Jesus and his momma! That burned like Hellfire!
“Lemmesee…” He mused. “At the theater you called me a—what was it? ‘Punk Smack Ass Smack! Cracka’?! Is that Smack1, right?”
“I really don’t recall!” She squawked back. Up went her bottom twisting, bucking, trying to get away. Oh, how she wished she were taller so her feet would touch the floor! She was bouncing now, and was reminded of one of those plastic humming bird thingy’s that bobbed up and down…the kind that you bought at Garden stores, the kind your grandmother always had sitting in the kitchen window. She scrunched her eyes shut and stitched her lips together, and released a resounding hum of protest as his swats rained down.
She did not take another breath of air, until she felt him cease in his spanks and his thick fingers curled beneath the band of her panties, and peeled down the scant camouflage, that had until that moment, concealed the cheeks of her ample bottom. Now exposed, she tried to imagine his viewpoint. She was sure that her backside was a nice blushing pink by now, perhaps even a light maroon. She squirmed a bit, making sure to lift her hips, grind a little on the way down.
She heard a stressed siphoning of air expel from his lungs and felt his cock as it dug into the soft meat of her belly and beneath her veil of tousled hair, she smiled.
The first slap of his hand against her bare flesh felt like a little zap of heavenly electricity. The charge caused a squeal to bleat from her throat…one she kept repeating with each swat. Over and over again, until her bottom was a roasting, simmering topography of disciplined heat, and she was writhing all about his thighs. Strands of her hair worked their way into the corners of her mouth and stuck there like clinging vines. And still he spanked, until the rush came and the celestial moment of being dominated, controlled, and spanked to the point of sheer and utter submission arrived with a final, resounding POP!.
By that time, she was gripping his left ankle with all of her strength, was unashamedly undulating her hips, not to get away anymore, but to meet his strokes, in a rhythm of dark, depraved indulgence. She, the glutton for his special brand of satisfaction.
Then she was abruptly being hoisted off his knees, dizzy and bleary eyed, as the blood descended from her brain and down to flush her throat and shade her collarbones.
His fingers curled to drag her panties the rest of the way off, she aided the act by stepping out of them and leaving the lace quickly forgotten, on the carpet. Perpendicular again, heels and all for one disoriented blink of moment, only to be yanked down again, this time to straddle the saddle of his lap. She clung to him on the lip of the bed, while his hands explored and traced every crevice. Her bra was ripped away, and for an instant, her breasts hung free, only to be enslaved in the next beat of time and confiscated by his greedy, covetous lips. Rose-tipped nipples disappeared into the void of his wanting mouth, to be treated to an insatiable oral massage.
“What a bad girl you are, Miss Brooke…..”
Her eye sealed shut; she sensed the sensation of being moved again. Scooped up and shifted. Then, gently laid down…flat on her back. Her arms, he took them and raised them high above her head, just as his mouth journeyed south to reunite with her naked breasts. He caught a nipple between his teeth and bit, just enough to tingle, to make her pant …and then he was whispering in her ear, talking about how they were just ordinary sinners committing extraordinary sins…
Click! Cold metal, pinching. Ow! Again, Click!
Her slender wrist encased in metal…This boy was fast!…Who the hell was he anyway, David friggin’ Copperfield? Well he must work with his hands, she decided on the spot, whatever his rate was!
She released a shocked breath and tugged, but to no avail….There she was, handcuffed to the head board! Trapped like a rabbit in a box, clad in her garters, stockings, and yes those heels, with green eyes burning and dog tags dangling inches from her nose. Kodak moment? Well I most reckon it is, Miss Brooke!
“Easy boy,” She huffed, smiled. “You don’t have to restrain me, I’m a willing hostage.”
“You don’t like it?” His smile was apple pie and Fourth of July and baseball and sweet home, sweet home. “Well now mam’, guess yer just gonna have to trust me.”
Squeak!
“Now, let me ask you a question,” He had sat down beside her, leaning over so that his lips were perhaps a silhouette away from hers. His dogtags brushed the stone-stiff tips of her nipples, ice cold, somehow making them even firmer. “Is this supposed to be your blindfold?”
She flicked her eyes to the left and saw he was holding up the scarf she'd brought along, black and silky. So it wasn’t one of those blinder, “let me snooze” blind folds, but it was the best she could do.
“Yep.” She swallowed hard and felt the adrenalin shoot and course through each and every one of her veins. His upper torso stretched, muscles rippling, casting shadows in the candlelight, as he secured the scarf so that it was knotted snug against the back of her head. The blackness covered the blue , bringing the dark, driving away even the most slim of shadows. Just black. A starless night, a windowless cellar.
With all her sight taken, her other senses rushed in to console and compensate. Each intensified, invigorated. Smell, she could smell his cologne, the scent of his skin, the gel in his hair. The candles simmering, wax puddling, melting away on the bedside table. She could hear his haggard breathing. The stereo had switched from Van Morrison to something obscure by Cake. Something cool and funky, a little dark, in that deliciously, naughty “Cake” way. Somewhere along the hallway she heard footsteps thumping, then passing on by. She felt the smoothness of his sheets, felt his hands doing a leisurely roam, the scratch of his jaw as he kissed her softly, then he said,
“Turn over, Miss Brooke.”
She didn’t know if she could, but found that it was possible….with wrists crisscrossed, and body flipped, she found herself flat on her belly, and was all too aware of him hovering behind.
“Up on your knees.”
Some more shifting. Legs bent, back instantly concave, ass naturally elevated. She held her breath, listening to the procession of blood as it marched between her keening ears and she felt him ease off the bed.
Rustling again. He was rustling and plundering in her bag of tricks…and then she heard the jangle. Her mouth went dry, as all the moisture ran away, down her throat and swelled there.
Apprehension laid one of its frigid, hesitant hands, flush against her belly. She could envision in the 20/20 scope of her mind’s eye, the new belt she’d purchased, being retrieved and wrapped around the back of a closed fist. Black, soft as butter…She remembered the sensation of touching it in the men’s department, hours earlier. Wanting it, needing it, consumed by the idea of it biting and stinging her flesh.
“Miss Brooke….Do ya’ know what I have in my hand?”
“Yes..Sir.” It was a mere shell of her true voice, an almost transparent shadow of her usual tone. Jingle, jangle…Gasp! He ran the loop along the contours of her already chastised bottom.
“You need to be spanked with this belt, Miss Brooke?”
Cringe. She was suffocating on her need, on the choke of anxiety and of course, the inevitable smog of her shame. A haze of humiliation, thick as dense fog and black as chimney suit. She inflicted this guilt, this craving, this want, upon herself. For it was her secret weakness. The belt. Leather in a man’s hand. Her favorite.
“Yes sir,” Her breath scratched, just as her nails dug into the sheets. Blackness all around, she smelled him and his candles and the unmistakable perfume of new leather.
It had been her idea to purchase the belt. The very idea of being sent to the store to buy a belt she was to be spanked with, well it just added an extra layer of thrill to the whole submission game.
“Why’s that? Why do you think you need to be spanked with this belt?”
Oh sailor, you just can’t even begin to imagine why! “Because, sir...I’m a bad girl.”
She tensed as the first lash landed. The sensation was exactly as she’d expected. A blink of nothingness, then the burn and the sizzle, rising up from her skin like fresh steam, to swell the void. Pain…Prettypain…sweet leather, and darkness, and the snap and pop, and the rhythm of it swinging in his hand….
...And her wetness….accumulating with each cracking stroke....
Why did she like it so much? She tried to plot out a theory, but each genesis of any sort of plausible assumption, jumped off her train of thought as the lashes tallied. Crying out…the leather striking against her thoroughly reprimanded bottom….pace slowing, severity softening…hushed breath and…Oh! Exquisite breath and throbbing tongue both hot, salving, somehow healing the suffering flesh…Magic hands roaming…searching, finding….inside…. INSIDE!....Impossibly wet, impossibly torrid, tight, tempting pussy! Muscles unrelenting, squeezing his fingers, letting him know what he could have if he would just Come On In!
Another vocal outburst that tip-toed the tightrope of frantic, unabashed, addiction….and then, she was begging him to fuck her…
His zipper hummed as it descended and his jeans were shucked almost soundlessly to the carpet. She was turned over and the heat from her roasting backside, soaked up the coolness from the sheets beneath, then there were other sensations, even more heavenly. Brush of bangs against her tummy, again those lips, and his tongue, probing. Lower, lower, say,that was rather interesting whatever it was he was doing to her belly button….Oh my, CAUTION!, now entering Erogenous Zone!…Caution! Crossing over Erogenous Zone!….Oh, oh, here we go…Everybody, hang on!!
Steel rattled against the headboard as his lips mapped out a course of uncharted territory…Tongue dove deep into the mystery, parting the sea of her searing, dripping sex. Oh, Jubilation!…The touch of that tongue, sweet as honey suckle and firm as sugar cane.
And she wished she was not restrained. Wished her arms and hands were free so that she could latch onto the back of his head and push him, deeper, deeper…oh yes deeper!….Hell, who needed the gift of sight when you could feel, she decided on impulse. To feel the rush and the warmth and the pleasure, and the pain….and then she ceased to think anymore as she climaxed on a wave of almost brutal bliss.
Clang, Clank, Clang! Handcuffs banging out an impromptu number, she didn’t even register. Her wrists were numb, and the only feeling her brain could identify was the pleasure being delivered between her spread and quivering thighs. Seems he stayed down there forever and a day….Good Boy! She thought about asking him if maybe he needed a mining hat or a set of scuba fins….oxygen tank….maybe? Ah, but then he was slithering up the petite length of her body again, and—Oh okay, Hello! Incoming cock! Head nudging, rapping against the wet-lipped entryway of her mouth. In less time than one thud of a rapid beat of heart, its rigid length was allowed passage and welcomed onto the cradle of her tongue, into the lair of her jaw. .
Miss Brooke had a few, nifty tricks of her own, it would appear. She proceeded to do her very best impersonation of a Hoover vacuum cleaner…(the deluxe model!), as her newest acquaintance disappeared past the bubble of her bow lips, down the smooth and contracting cavern of her throat. She stopped only when she felt her tonsils collide with the silken head. By then he was already groaning…Oh, she loved that noise! It was one of her absolute favorites! The grunt and masculine groan of unmistakable male gratification. She pushed him further, deeper, down; sincerely down her throat….the muscles relaxed giving impossibly effortless access. Letting him feel as well as “fill” the orifice, completely.
Words, mixing in with the groans….staggered prose of approval, of nothing less than praise, then one sentence strung together to create one unique word. His accent was so thick, his tone so raspy, if she hadn’t been a Georgia Peach she doubted she could’ve even began to understand him. Luckily she was fluent in his native tongue. The sentence freed his throbbing cock from the gluttonous trappings of her mouth, and then his torso was crawling again, like an animal closing in and waylaying its prey. As his palms skimmed beneath her and traced over the twin globes of burgundy and ripples of leather kissed abrasions, he sent a whine catapulting out of her throat and into the air. Tender nerve endings revisited by the guilty party’s hands, this time gentle and careful, oh so careful. Thighs reopened….cock knocking, first piercing, then impaling….finally taking....to the hilt in one smooth motion.
Kisses again…She tasted the evidence of his recent excavation on his searching mouth. A flip and an artful dip and she felt her body being doubled in half like a fold-up cot, heels flanked on the brace of either of his shoulders, toes pointed north. She felt his thrust to the core of her being. Penetration so obscenely deep, it was as if she could taste him in her mouth. Again. A cry of surrender, she granted….giving into the temptation that is raw mating. Pop of groin into meat of shadowed inner thighs…friction, sweat and the simple, yet hypnotic rhythm of sex…Tied up and tamed….pleasured until the body morphs and you no longer feel human…rather just a machine…an uncomplicated mechanism of flesh and nerve endings and spasming, staggering orgasm…where nails claw into bedding and toes curl and animals are broken...or at least temporarily maintained.
Stars somehow shot continuously behind her blinded eyes, launching her over and into that glorious region of carnal contentment. Otherwise known as the fine art of fucking. He collapsed on top of her, his weight crushing, his sweat salving…his cock buried to the hilt inside her spent sex. Handcuffs unclasped, wrists rubbed with gentle thumb and forefinger, languid kisses and one more quick roll for the helluvit!….
(The paragraphs were already forming, the details jotting down and being recorded in the databanks of her memory).
Goodbye… that was wonderful…See ya…Clickety-click…clickety-click…down the metal staircase, out the side door…Again invisible. Only the slicked-back ponytail instead of the sexy twist, and of course the red indentations “braceleting” the frail skin of each of her wrists…Invisible.
Later…back on the sofa….Instead of the laptop, she clutched the open journal, flipping fast through the sheets, until she arrived at a crisp, untainted leaf. Blank page….Left hand gripping pen….date goes at the top…then…
His name was Joe…from Newnan, Georgia….Navy.
Relive the incidents which transpired behind the locked door….black hair, green eyes, 6’2’’ sixpack, two tattoos…describe… Extra points for the handcuffs and blindfold…extra, extra points for the surprise element and the “bad girl” talk… Tally, a quick practiced computation of points…Big, fat, shit-eating grin!
The phone was ringing, she glanced at the ID. “Hello?”
On the other end was her partner in crime whose voice sounded about as energetic as a deflated balloon.
“How’s your night been?” Brooke coaxed. “How’d things go with the paratroopers?”
“Oh you mean Pete and Repeat?” Her friend croaked. “Hell, I wouldn’t know…they’ve been “partners” for the past three years! Gay as football bats—darnit! Fun as hell to drink with though..knew a lot of good jokes!” She sulked for a second, and then inquired. “And yourself?”
Brooke felt a devilish giggle bubbling and in a top secret voice, she whispered over the wire, “I got’s me a Gold Medallion!”
“Shut up! You are sooo lying!”
“Hey, if I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’, alright?”
“You positively suck!” A beat. “So tell me, every fornicating, filthy detail!”
Brooke complied.
Hang up….smoke cigarettes…have a midnight glass of that wine…maybe accompany it with a shot of whisky. Or two.
The phone was ringing…yet again. She flicked her eyes across the ID screen and saw that it was Joe…surprise, surprise...
She swished the alcohol around in the pocket of her mouth and ignored the noise, letting it ring until the machine picked up. Too bad she would never see him again…but sigh, ‘twas the cardinal rule of this game.
Goodbye Joe…Hello next journal entry.
*END*
BRS2003
There are colors and feelings and emotional terrain that we occupy that are ours and ours alone...
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Naughtybynature
Spanko
Username: Naughtybynature
Post Number: 70
Registered: 04-2005
| | Posted on Friday, May 20, 2005 - 09:34 am: |
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OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!! I will never read one of your stories in the morning again they must wait now for the evening hour. 
The hilarious quips she spoke was simply perfect and the belt Lordy women!!!! (sigh)
How did ya know I love Powder Blue panties. 
Did is a word of achievement, Won't is a word of retreat, Might is a word of bereavement, Can't is a word of defeat, Ought is a word of duty, Try is a word of each hour, Will is a word of beauty, Can is a word of power.
*(Unknown Author)
Don't take life so seriously.....it isn't permanent
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Brooke_ray
New member
Username: Brooke_ray
Post Number: 15
Registered: 05-2005
| | Posted on Saturday, May 21, 2005 - 04:52 pm: |
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LOL...thankyou so much Nbyn, glad you liked it!
I think there is just something about powder blue panties...
There are colors and feelings and emotional terrain that we occupy that are ours and ours alone...
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Wolfie
Moderator/Spanking Aficionado
Username: Wolfie
Post Number: 182
Registered: 04-2005
| | Posted on Monday, May 23, 2005 - 07:15 pm: |
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Ahhhh Brooke, I so loved reading this again! Its even better than the first time, if thats possible. Cant wait for more kiddo! 
wolfie loves Steve more than anything else in the whole world...even more than chocolate and lobster!
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Bethie
Moderator/Spanking Aficionado
Username: Bethie
Post Number: 173
Registered: 04-2005
| | Posted on Thursday, May 26, 2005 - 01:34 am: |
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Wonderful story, Brooke!
I think this definitely qualifies as one of those special stories Nbn was talking about in your intro thread.  |
Smartnnaughty
New member
Username: Smartnnaughty
Post Number: 39
Registered: 05-2005
| | Posted on Thursday, May 26, 2005 - 11:45 am: |
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HOT HOT HOT
Just Incredible!
Thanks, Brooke! |
Brooke_ray
New member
Username: Brooke_ray
Post Number: 18
Registered: 05-2005
| | Posted on Friday, June 10, 2005 - 07:26 am: |
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Thank you so much, everyone!
Trinkets and Treasure
There are colors and feelings and emotional terrain that we occupy that are ours and ours alone...
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Bobbi71
New member
Username: Bobbi71
Post Number: 9
Registered: 08-2005
| | Posted on Saturday, August 20, 2005 - 01:40 am: |
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Very good story you did an excellent job composing it. Loved it. |
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