BDSM STORY – The Case of the Undercover Dick – Part 1
A Dan Diamond mystery by j.
I’ve never thought that basic black is a good fashion choice for me. It makes me look too pale. Mrs. Stern was a traditionalist, though, and she liked her maids in black uniforms, with the usual white trimmings at the neck and the ends of the sleeves. Little white aprons, too, and when Mrs. S. was in a naughty mood, the aprons were all the maids wore.
At the moment, I had on the whole thing, plus high heels and long black hose fastened to a garter belt that kept slipping down on my skinny hips. But the sour-looking broad who’d requested that Mrs. Stern send up a “servant girl” complete with cock and balls under his short black skirt wanted to find out as soon as possible if she’d received exactly what she ordered.
“Hold up your skirt,” she demanded.
I did, and she pulled down the front of my skimpy black panties to check the equipment. My erection wasn’t all the way there yet, but it was on the way, and my dick popped out promptly, eager to make a good first impression. She didn’t look too impressed. She let the elastic band of the panties snap back, leaving my penis with its head poking out.
“You’ll do, I suppose,” she said. “I’m going down to the lounge for a drink, and when I get back, I want to find all my luggage unpacked and my things hung carefully in the closet. I expect you to do an excellent job, and I can assure you that if you don’t, you’ll be very sorry.”
I wanted to use the line from “48 HRS,” and tell her that I was already sorry, but she didn’t look like the kind of broad who appreciates someone cracking wise. So I just kept my mouth shut and took one of the suitcases over to the bed and opened it. She took off, wagging her ass in a little electric-blue dress that probably cost her more than I make in a month, and I began hanging up her wardrobe. There was a lot of it.
I don’t want you to think that I had thrown in the towel as a private investigator and taken up a better-paying career in domestic service. I was working for Mrs. Stern alright, but not really as a maid. She’d hired me to look into a little problem she’d been having with her staff. I guess good help is hard to find these days, even in the bondage business.
I had met Mrs. Stern in Ventura. I drove up from L.A., and she drove down from Santa Barbara — from Montecito, actually. I wasn’t sure at the time why she requested that kind of halfway meeting, but it turned out that she didn’t want me showing up at her mansion until I went undercover. She wanted her other “servants” to think that I was just part of the help when I got there. As for her coming to my office on the edge of Chinatown, that was out of the question. Too much traffic, she said.
I didn’t mind. I like Ventura’s funky little downtown, and I hope the upscale turn that it’s taken in recent years doesn’t go too far. Right now, all those resellit shops attract a lot of punk-rock types, and I’ve got a weakness for chicks with green hair and nose rings. They’re usually way too young for me, but a guy can always look. Besides, the main drag has more bookstores per square block than anywhere else on the Left Coast I’ve ever been, except maybe Seattle, and there’s even a shop that sells bondage stuff and leather fetish wear. I’d never gone in there, because I hadn’t been in Ventura since I got interested in the B&D scene.
I arrived in town early just to check out that shop, but it was closed, so I went on over to the concrete boardwalk along the oceanfront, where I was supposed to meet Mrs. Stern. Incidentally, I’m not using her first name because I never found out what it was. She didn’t offer to tell me, and I didn’t ask. And I never heard anyone at her mansion call her anything but Mrs. Stern.
I walked up and down the boardwalk for a while, dodging the tourists and the kids who were whizzing along on the king-size rental tricycles, and then I got a table at the restaurant across the little plaza from the lobby of the high-rise Holiday Inn. When Mrs. Stern arrived, I didn’t have any trouble recognizing her, even though she didn’t look at all as I expected. She was a lot older, for one thing, probably on the strong edge of fifty. And she wasn’t the sex bomb that I’d come to expect after meeting Suzanne and Spanky and the rest of the big-bucks dom crowd. Mrs. Stern looked really, well, I guess “stern” itself is the right word. She was an attractive woman, but she had a hard edge, as if she had guys like me for lunch. For some reason, I thought of Sister Mary Agnes.
“Hello, Mrs. Stern,” I said when the waitress brought her over to my table. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“How do you do, Mr. Diamond,” she said.
“Just call me Dan,” I told her.
“Mr. Diamond, I’d like to get down to business right away,” she replied.
“That’s fine with me,” I said.
“I’ve been told by several persons whose opinions I respect that you have unique qualifications to handle a delicate matter for me,” she continued. “As I understand it, you are not only a clever investigator but have become very well-informed about my field.”
“If you’re talking about bondage and discipline, I guess that I’ve learned a little about it in the last few months,” I said.
“And, my sources tell me, you have acquired more than a professional interest in such matters,” she went on. “You yourself are now what might be called a devotee.”
“I suppose that I might be called that,” I agreed.
“I’m not sure whether you are aware of this, Mr. Diamond,” she said, “but there are several professional operations, including my own, which provide extensive experiences for customers who wish for more than a session of one or two hours. For those who can afford it, I offer bondage weekends, sometimes even bondage vacations of a week or more.”
“Sort of like summer camp,” I said.
She went on talking as though I hadn’t spoken.
“I regularly entertain a number of distinguished guests at my large home in Montecito, some of them quite prominent,” she said. “In recent months, several of them have been approached by a so-called free-lance writer telling them he is preparing an article on my business and asking for their comments on the piece as former customers. Of course, it’s simply a clever kind of blackmail, and he always promises to withhold the article in return for a payment compensating him for his time.
“The thing is,” she continued, “the only way that this creature could obtain such information is from a member of my staff. What I would like you to do, Mr. Diamond, is find out who is passing along these confidential matters.”
“Do you have a large staff?” I asked.
“No, not counting part-time gardeners and workers of that sort, I employ only a half dozen or so,” she said. “You see, Mr. Diamond, my guests include both dominants and submissives, so I am usually able to pair them off and keep my own hiring to a minimum.”
“I get it,” I said. “The people who pay to beat on people do their beating on people who have paid to get beaten. That’s a great racket, Mrs. Stern.”
“I prefer to think of it as creative management, Mr. Diamond,” she said.
“Fair enough,” I said.
“What I would like you to do,” she went on, “is come to one of my weekend house parties and pretend to be a paying guest. You would present yourself as a submissive, because those who have chosen to play that role actually do a great deal of work in the house and are in much closer contact with the permanent staff.”
“Been there, done that,” I said. “I could handle it.”
“And I hope that you have no aversion to appearing in feminine attire,” she added. “During their stay in my house, all submissives serve as maids and wear appropriate uniforms.”
I had to think about that one for a while, but I finally figured what the hell. If Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon could do it, so could I. So I told Mrs. S. to count me in. She said that she’d expect me the following weekend, and then she stood up, shook my hand and left. She didn’t even touch her lunch, and she stuck me with the bill. Yep, the rich ARE different from you and me — they never spend their own money when they can help it.
I figured Mrs. Stern for a lot of bucks, and two days later when I turned up at her home in the mountains south of Santa Barbara, I found out I was right. The Spanish-style mansion must have had twenty rooms at least, and it was set in the middle of a huge expanse of gardens and natural foliage that obviously got a lot of care from those part-time gardeners. If Mrs. S. could run that place with a paid staff of six, she got a hell of a lot of work out of the poor submissives.
I walked up a wide set of stone steps onto the veranda that ran the length of the house and rang the doorbell. I could hear chimes inside, and before they were done chiming, the giant front door was opened by a maid in a black uniform. I had to look twice, but I decided that this maid was a guy. I hoped that I’d look half as good when I climbed into one of those skimpy little dresses.
He ushered me into an entrance hall that was bigger than my apartment and led me to a desk at the far end of the room. The skinny, sharp-featured woman sitting there smiled at me in a contemptuous kind of way and asked me my name. I told her that I was Samuel Spade. That was the best alias I could come up with on short notice when Mrs. Stern asked me for one she could put in her advance-registration book.
“Yes, Mr. Spade,” the woman at the desk said. “We’ve been expecting you. Please remove all your clothing.”
“Beg pardon?” I said.
“I believe you heard me, Mr. Spade,” she said. “It was a simple request. Please strip. Now!”
I took off my clothes and put them on her desk, and she stuffed them into a large paper bag. She also confiscated the small suitcase of toiletries and extra clothing that I had brought along. She asked me if I had anything else, which was kind of a stupid question, because I was naked by then, but I didn’t point that out. She looked disapprovingly at my penis, as if she expected me to detach it and hand it over, too, but she just shook her head sadly.
“Your uniform is in your dormitory room, Mr. Spade,” she said. “Doris will take you there.”
I figured Doris was the guy in the dress, because he motioned to me and led me down the broad side passage to the left of the entrance hall. From the rear, Doris looked even more like a girl as he teetered along in a pair of very high heels. If I hadn’t already figured him out as a guy, I would have watched his bottom rolling around under that short skirt and thought that he had a cute ass.
“Who’s the Dragon Lady at the front desk?” I asked him.
“Not so loud,” he said, giving me a worried look over his shoulder. “You’ll get us both in trouble. That’s Ms. Davis, and you don’t want to mess with her.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“If you do, you might find yourself spending the night on the front porch, hogtied and naked,” he said. “And it gets cold up here after dark.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
Another hall branched off to the rear of the house, and toward its end was a series of small rooms with three narrow iron beds crammed into each one. The doors had been removed so that anyone passing by in the hall could look in and check out the occupants. There were no sheets or blankets on the beds, just bare mattresses. Doris stopped at the last room.
“You’ll be in here,” he said.
I looked inside. Besides the three beds, all it contained was a row of clothes hooks along one wall with maid uniforms and undergarments hanging from them. Oh, and one other thing. A naked girl was lying on the middle bed with her hands chained to the top of the bed frame and her feet to the bottom. Actually, she wasn’t completely nude. Whoever had put her there had left on her garter belt, silk stockings and heels, which made the rest of her look even more naked. They’d also put a wide leather gag around her head, and her blue eyes stared at me over the top of it.
“That’s Delia,” Doris explained. “Mrs. Stern gave all the maids names beginning with ‘D’ this week. You’re going to be Dorothy.”
“I’m supposed to bunk with Delia?” I asked.
“Mrs. Stern doesn’t separate the submissives by sex,” he said. “She says we’re all just girls to her.”
He showed me which bed was mine and told me to get dressed as a maid and wait until someone came for me. Then he left in a hurry. He probably wanted to get back to his door-answering duties before Ms. Dragon Lady got pissed off at him. I took down a uniform and the stuff that went with it and started getting dressed. I had some trouble getting the hose clipped onto the garter belt, but things went quickly after that. Delia’s eyes followed me the whole time, and I wondered what she was thinking. I would have liked a mirror to check myself out, but I knew that I wasn’t in Doris’ class when it came to legs and ass.
I sat down on the bed and squeezed my feet into a pair of heels. There was nothing to do now but wait and get an eyeful of Delia, but I was embarrassed to stare at her lying there naked and exposed, so I looked down at the floor between my feet. So I was going to be Dorothy. I remembered that Spanky had once told me that Dorothy was one of her dominatrix names. “Like Dorothy in Oz,” she’d said. I figured that applied here, too, because I was pretty sure that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
An hour passed before I heard footsteps in the hall. It turned out to be Mrs. Stern herself.
“Stand up when I come into the room, Dorothy,” she ordered, and I jumped to my feet, almost falling on my face when I tried to stand in the high heels.
“I’m reluctant to start you out with an important client,” Mrs. Stern continued, “but a guest has requested that a fully equipped maid be sent up to her room immediately, and you are the only one available. When you get there, Dorothy, you are to do exactly as the guest orders, and you are not to speak unless the guest asks you to do so. Do you understand?”
I figured that her spiel was partly for the benefit of Delia and partly for me, making sure that I didn’t blow my cover. I gave Mrs. Stern an obedient grovel, and she led me to a large, elegantly furnished upstairs bedroom, where the client (that sour-faced broad you met in the beginning of this story) checked out my equipment and then took off for her drink. I didn’t know why she’d had her tit in a wringer about getting me up there if she was going to leave right away, but I figured that I was a lot better off without her.
I unpacked her luggage and hung up her clothing, being very careful, per her orders, and when I closed the closet door I found that there was a full-length mirror on the front. It was the first time that I’d had a chance to get a good look at myself in the maid’s outfit. My shoulders made the top half look ridiculous, but I was surprised with the effect from the waist down. My legs weren’t that bad. The skirt was so short that it barely covered the black panties, and there was a lot of thigh showing above the stockings, with the garters drawing vertical black lines down the white skin.
Holy shit, I thought, I look like someone I’d like to fuck.
I was a little embarrassed about the whole thing, because I was giving myself a hard-on. I walked away from the mirror and over to the window, staring out across the hills that rolled down to the Pacific. But I kept glancing back over my shoulder to check out my reflection. I pulled a chair over to the window and sat down to wait for Miss No Spring Chicken to return. I wasn’t getting a lot of investigating done, but I was getting five hundred dollars a day for my time, so it was all fine with me.
I’d been sitting there for about an hour and a half, when the broad came storming into the room and ripped off the expensive blue dress as though it was just a little something she’d picked up at Sam Walton’s place. I don’t know if she’d been wearing panties when she went downstairs, but she didn’t have any on now. I revised my estimate of her age. Her sour, pinched expression made her face seem older, but her body wouldn’t have looked bad on a 30-year-old. Probably still in her forties, I decided. No worse than the low fifties for sure. And from her neck down, she was a real golden oldie.
She had obviously been drinking — drinking a lot. She weaved across the room, flopped down on the bed and spread her legs.
“Okay, Miss Dorothy,” she said. “Let’s see how your tongue works.”
I could see that I was going to earn that five hundred bucks after all. I crawled onto the end of the bed and lowered my face between her thighs. I figured that a drunk broad didn’t care about the big buildup around the edges, so I went right for her clit. I started slow though, teasing it with the tip of my tongue until her hips began moving. Some long, drawn-out licks followed, like a kid down to one lollipop and trying to make it last. She began moaning, and my tongue really got busy, and she went, “Oh, oh, oh!” and slumped back on the bed. I sat up and wiped her juices off my mouth with the back of my hand. I don’t usually do that, because I think it looks pretty tacky to the dame, like you don’t like the way she tastes, but I figured this drunk chick wouldn’t care.
“I was going to beat you for a while, but I’m too tired,” she said, not even bothering to open her eyes and look at me. “Now get your ass out of here — but come back and wake me up before dinner.”
She was already asleep and snoring by the time I got out the door. I didn’t know where to go. I wasn’t even sure how to get back to my room. So I decided to go downstairs and check out the place, maybe even do a little detective work. As I came down the wide, winding front stairs into the entrance hall, wobbling a little in the high heels, I saw Ms. Davis — a.k.a. the Dragon Lady — sitting at her desk. Well, I thought, this was probably a tactical error. I was right.
“Where do you think you’re going, Dorothy?” she asked. “Did you have permission to wander around like this?”
“No, m’am,” I said, trying to look contrite.
She stood up and picked up a nasty-looking riding crop that had been lying on the front of he desk. She was wearing a horsey outfit, jodhpurs and a white blouse, so maybe she’d been on her way to the stables for a canter and had brought her whip along just for that. And then again, maybe not.
“Bend over and touch your toes, Dorothy,” she ordered.
Ms. Davis walked over and lifted up that little skirt so that what little it hid was completely revealed. She slashed me once with the crop across the thin panties that covered my bottom, and the burning bar of pain made me gasp. I was afraid that I was in for a real thrashing, but the boss lady walked into the room.
“I want to see Dorothy in my office,” Mrs. Stern said. “I’m afraid that there are some things that she doesn’t understand about her stay here. I will take care of the rest of her correction myself, Ms. Davis.”
The Dragon Lady didn’t look happy about losing the opportunity to work out on my butt, but she just nodded and went back to her desk. Mrs. Stern led me through a doorway at the back of the entrance hall that opened directly into an office that obviously doubled as a sitting room. A large, table-like desk of some dark wood stood in front of the windows and bookcases lined one wall, but a couch and several easy chairs were grouped on the other side of the room. She picked up a broad leather paddle off her desk.
“I need to give you more information about the situation here, Mr. Diamond,” she said in a low voice, “but we need to make it sound to anyone outside as if you’re being punished. Bend over my desk and pull down your underwear. The paddle makes more noise hitting bare flesh.”
I obeyed her, yanking down the little panties until they stopped at the point where my garters clipped onto the stockings. Mrs. Stern flipped up my skirt and swatted me hard on my bottom. The loud smack would have made it obvious to anyone listening at the door that a paddling was under way. It certainly convinced me. She kept smacking me from time to time as she talked, and I found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying.
“You’ve met Ms. Davis,” she said, “and you also saw Delia. She is one of the two submissives I employ in case there aren’t enough submissive guests in residence to meet the needs of my dominant customers. The other submissive is Donna. She also sleeps in your room, which is why I put you there. It will give you more opportunity to observe them.”
“Is Donna — ouch! Is Donna a real girl,” I asked, “or does she have a penis?”
“She has quite an impressive one, actually,” Mrs. Stern said. “In fact, we have several clients who visit us expressly for that reason. One of our ladies whose name might surprise you has developed an odd fondness for whipping it as often as possible. We can’t let her go too far, of course. We don’t want it to be disabled if other guests should desire to make use of it.”
Not to mention how “Donna” might feel about it, I thought to myself, but I stayed in my best investigator mode.
“That leaves three more staff members, right?” I asked.
“That is correct,” she said. “Martha Karr is our cook, but she has little contact with the guests except for the submissives who help her serve the meals. Mrs. Hudson is in charge of the housekeeping staff, which consists, naturally, of the submissive guests. Mrs. Hudson, Ms. Davis and I also serve in dominant roles as required.
“That leaves — ouch! That leaves one more person,” I said.
“Walter is my personal secretary and our accountant,” she said. “He handles all our business matters, client records and so on.”
“So he would have information about your customers that he could pass on to the guy who’s blackmailing them,” I said.
“Yes, but I hardly think that’s likely, Mr. Diamond,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Walter is my son,” she answered.
She punctuated that revelation with a final ringing smack on my rump and told me to get back upstairs to Miss Golden Oldie and help her get ready for dinner. I pulled up my panties, a little surprised to discover that an erection had arrived. I got it squeezed into the underwear as best I could and pulled down the skirt to hide it from Mrs. Stern. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t approve.
My mistress for the evening was still snoozing when I returned to the room. I needed to wake her but didn’t want to make her any crankier than she already was, so I decided to do it with a few well-placed licks between her legs. That kind of thing seems to help folks start the day — or the evening — on the right note. After a few swipes of my tongue, she opened her eyes and actually smiled.
“Back for more?” she asked.
I told her that it was time to get dressed for dinner, but she made me finish what I’d begun, and it took a lot longer this time around. I was about to tell her that we’d have to send out for a replacement tongue when she got off with a lot of groaning and moaning. Then she made me go stand in the corner and look at the wall while she dressed. She didn’t want any help. Maybe she was sensitive about her age and didn’t want me staring at her body, but she needn’t have worried about that. She looked fine.
We were late getting down to the dining room, and Ms. Davis gave me a dirty look as though it was all my fault. You could tell she was aching for another shot at my ass. She was sitting on Mrs. Stern’s right. On the other side was a nice-looking kid in a coat and tie. He figured to be in his mid-twenties, and I assumed that he was Walter, Mrs. Stern’s son. The three of them looked like any of your typical big-bucks citizens sitting down to feast on the fruit of their employees’ labors. But the rest of the people around the table were something else.
The first thing I noticed was that one “client” had his maid stripped down to garter belt and hose and standing close beside his chair. This maid happened to be another guy, and his penis was sticking straight out, where his owner for the night could reach out and tug on it between bites of the salade nicoise. I wondered whether they were both gay — and if the sub wasn’t, how he felt about the tugging. I guess he didn’t have much choice, and I suppose he was worried mostly about having an orgasm, which would definitely be a social blunder.
My roommate Delia, now unchained and back in her maid’s uniform, was also standing next to a same-sex client, a girl who couldn’t have been much out of her teens. She was feeding Delia off her own plate, which seemed like a nice thing to do, except that Delia’s hands were tied behind her back and the other girl was accidentally on purpose having trouble getting the food into Delia’s mouth. Delia stood there looking miserable, with her face smeared and dripping, and the more miserable she looked, the more her tormenter giggled.
The other action around the table was a little more pedestrian — a little grab-assing, a little pinch on the bottom every now and then, a lot of promises of punishment to come for some imagined offense or another. I wondered whether Miss Golden Oldie was going to make things tough on me, but she just sat down and turned her attention to the dinner. I already knew that she enjoyed a cocktail, and now I could see that she liked her food, too. How had she managed to keep that good-looking body all these years?
The dinner went on for a while. The poor guy who was getting his penis tugged couldn’t hold off any longer and shot cum onto his client’s trousers and his own stockings. That got him a first-class cropping from Ms. Davis, and then he was sent off to get cleaned up. So was Delia. The girl who’d been smearing her face with food had gotten bored with that and was amusing herself exploring under the skirt of the maid of the woman sitting next to her. This maid was a guy, and when the girl lifted the skirt and yanked down the front of his panties, a truly remarkable erection popped out. Then it kept growing, and I realized that it hadn’t really been erect before. Everyone around the table looked stunned except for the regular staff. They’d seen it many times, I guess.
This had to be “Donna,” my other roommate, and I wondered why he bothered working for Mrs. Stern. The guy could make a fortune in porn movies. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed in the least, and he grinned and winked when he caught my eye. I guess he knew we were roomies, but the wink wasn’t a come-on. It was more like a we’re-in-this-together wink, an aren’t-these-guys-stupid-so-let’s-humor-them wink. With that kind of attitude, maybe Donna was the leak, the guy who was spilling his guts to the blackmailer.
After the desert, almost everyone went off to a “dungeon” room to see Donna get whipped. With a penis that must have measured at least a foot when it was excited, he was probably used to drawing a standing-room-only crowd. Miss Golden Oldie begged off. She said she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go lie down. I wasn’t surprised. When you’ve wandered into the land of middle age, it’s tough to throw down a lot of drinks and double helpings of everything without feeling a little sick. I trailed her upstairs, thinking I might have an easy night of it.
When we got to the room, though, she told me to take off my uniform and panties but leave on the garter belt and hose. I had to unfasten the garter clips to slide the underwear off and then fasten them all up again. When you’re dressing up as a French maid, I realized, it’s best to put on your panties after the garters are clipped onto the stockings. That way you can whip the drawers right off when the need arises and still continue to appeal to folks who are tuned in to the garters-and-hose fetish. Of course, those tuned-in folks often include the person who’s wearing them.
While I was fumbling with the clips, Miss Golden Oldie shucked off her own dress and revealed that she, too, was sporting a garter belt. The panty question didn’t apply in her case; she hadn’t bothered to put any on in the first place. There we were, both of us naked except for those sexy garter belts and black stockings, but it wasn’t difficult to tell us apart. I was the one with the erection.
She went over to the dresser, and I figured that this was the moment when she pulled out the riding crop or flogger. Instead, she opened a drawer and lifted out a harness of leather straps that held a large dildo in the shape of a very realistic penis, complete with balls. She began strapping it into place. Oh, oh, I thought, it’s time for a little buggery! But she grabbed me by my erection, pulled me down on the bed and began kissing me on the face and neck. That went on for a while. I returned the kisses and moved down to her breasts, licking and sucking on her large, hard nipples.
She slid her legs up and down mine, and the feel of silk on silk sent a shiver up my spine. I put a hand on her bare thigh at the top of the stockings, sliding my fingers under the garter straps.
One of her hands moved onto my right thigh in the same place and under the top of the stocking.
I hoped she wouldn’t give me a runner, because I figured that was a capital offense for Mrs. Stern’s maids. The action was getting very hot and heavy when she lifted up her head and looked at me.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Dorothy, ma’m,” I answered.
“No, I mean your real name,” she said.
“It’s Dan,” I told her.
“You call me Sam,” she ordered.
Maybe that was short for Samantha. Or maybe the broad was into some kinkier stuff than I imagined. When she crawled around into the classic sixty-nine position and told me to suck her dick, I put the odds at 10-1 in favor of kinky. I felt silly taking the latex penis into my mouth, but she was doing the deep-throat bit on my own erection by then, so I played along with the gag. She pulled my dick out of her mouth and began licking it from top to bottom, hitting all the right places. I was pretty sure that she was going to make me shoot my wad long before I’d be able to coax an orgasm out of the sex-shop organ she was sporting. But she had other plans for my penis.
“Stop me before you cum, Dan,” she ordered. “I want you to fuck me.”
I figured we were getting back to some old-school sex, but I figured wrong. When I felt that I couldn’t stand her tonguing any longer without exploding, I told her that she’d better stop. She rolled off me and got onto her hands and knees on the edge of the bed, with her feet hanging over and her bottom in perfect position to be entered by someone standing on the floor next to the bed.
“Do me, Dan,” she said.
Well, if she wanted a little back-door action, I didn’t mind. I’m an old-fashioned boy, and I would have preferred the other entrance, but the lady was my boss for the evening. I climbed off the bed and stood behind her. I was afraid that I might have a hard time entering her anus without any lubrication, so I used a little spit on my fingers to moisten the wrinkled rim. My dick went right in with a minimum of pushing. As I began fucking her slowly, lengthening my strokes as she became looser, I reached around and fondled her hanging breasts.
“Play with my dick,” she said.
Once again, I felt pretty stupid jacking off a piece of plastic, but I did it anyway. I kept squeezing and pinching her nipples with one hand, while I grabbed the dildo with the other. I forced its base back hard against her, so that it rubbed on her sex, and she moaned in appreciation. I guess this kind of action really rang her chimes, because she came before I did, just from the butt action she was getting and the bottom of the artificial penis pressing against her. The way her hips jerked when she got off was enough to bring me along, too. It was fun.
When she felt my shrinking erection pulling out of her bottom, she dropped to the bed, rolled over and looked up at me.
“Get lost, Dan,” she said.
I can take a hint. I stepped back into my panties, pulled the black dress over my head, checked the mirror to see that my seams were straight and said good night. She was already under the covers and was either asleep or didn’t bother to answer. I closed the door quietly behind me and headed back to my little room. I’d never run into anyone before who liked exactly that kind of action, but I hoped I’d provided Sam with a little fantasy fulfillment. Maybe it would wipe that sour look off her face for a while.
Meanwhile, I was glad to get a pass for the rest of the night. I needed to do a little detective work for a change, and if either Delia or Donna was in our room, I could start feeling them out about the blackmail thing. As it turned out, they were both there, but so was Ms. Davis. Donna and Delia were sitting on their beds, looking worried, and the Dragon Lady was standing next to mine, glowering at them and tapping her riding crop against her jodhpurs.
Coleen is a writer, photographer and film maker at Wasteland and Sssh.com.
Here at BDSMCafe.com, she is editor and curator of this comprehensive library of BDSM fiction, informational articles and other educational features that date back to the early days of the internet in 1996 when the site was first launched.
