Message-ID: <713eli$9705072131@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking,alt.sex.stories.moderated Subject: Repost: Seductions 2/Mr.Spraycan Didn't make it through the kludge on AOL. Disclaimer: Adults only, whatever that means wherever you are lucky enough to be reading this. 18, 21, 27? Pick your own irrational numerology. Right, let's all worry about dirty words while violence, evil empires and political corruption rule. 'Not much' resemblance to real or historic persons, places, etc., is intended. Copyright (c) 1997 by Baton Rouge Thoughtscapes and its author, Mr.Spraycan, who chooses to remain 'anon.' Do not repost, store on public sites without permission. No commercial use is warranted. For personal use and/or entertainment purposes. Visit the Spraycan site: for much more 'stuff.' Note: Continuation w/overlap from "Seductions: 1," to be found free at the website (5/5 thru 5/15 only.) SEDUCTIONS 2 By MrSpraycan So, what makes me so confident that Maria is going to be easily seduced into my style of sexual games? First, lots of practice at getting women to do as I want, and second, my basic hunter's instinct for spotting submissives. You'll recall that I picked her up at the hair salon, where she's a 'washer.' Glamor job. She's small, dark, cute, bubbly, delicious, bright, fun. Maria Arianopoulos. About twenty, a party girl, with a serious hangover from an epic club-to-club crawl that Friday night. I'd lured her back to my apartment. I glossed over how easy it was to get her into bed, I think. Well, I'll fast forward through that. Let's just say that I got the ball rolling by giving her a sizeable cocktail, a martini that was calculated to get her buzzing again, though not one so strong as to set her head spinning. No fun when they're semi-comatose. I showed her round my apartment -- it's not that big of a place, but there's cool stuff to see -- and she was obviously quite impressed. She responded very positively to my first try at a kiss, and wriggled happily when I put my hand on her ass, and I took it quite speedily from there. Yes, she still wanted to take a shower, she said. I led her to the bathroom, gave her a robe. She looked a little crestfallen. I picked up from that invitation: she let me undress her. And...? Well, there's no point getting clean until you've gotten really dirty, is there? Though she was well on the way to filthy, alright. Her pussy was very, very receptive and transmitting on about fifty pheromone wavelengths at once. She wanted me out of my clothes, too, and fast. And right away, she was down on her knees sucking with no prompting from me. A cocksucker's mouth, like I said before. Our first fuck turned out to be a stand up gig, a knee-trembler in the shower, with her braced with a foot up on each side of the tub, squatting down and crudely urging me on. I gathered that she was used to being rapidly, roughly and insensitively fucked, so I eased back, took my time and let her see how a really well-constructed orgasm will unfold. At first she was almost a little angry at being held back on, but then began to surrender to the sensations. She was in ecstasy, almost fainting by the time I'd finished pumping her. She stayed the evening, and I got her used to the idea of possession, first by not letting her get dressed. Sometimes, younger women from big families are surprisingly prudish about nudity -- their own, and the guy's. But I wanted to look, and for her to see. It's called imprinting, and it works. As I've already told you, she got good and hot over my dirty pillow talk, and my blunt questions about her experiences, her tastes, her preferences. Sure she'd been around, but not as much as you'd think from her passionate responses to me. Must be something I do. And there were other pleasant surprises. While we were eating our Chinese takeout, sitting on the carpet in front of the stereo, knee to knee, she'd shivered with pleasure when I expertly twiddled her nipples with my chopsticks, in a playful moment. I'd gone on to reach between her thighs, pushing gently with the tips of the chopsticks, and squeezed and tugged on her clit, quite hard. "Here's the tastiest little morsel in the room," I'd told her, looking her in the eyes. She spread her legs wider, leaned back a little, and gasped loudly: "Oh! Don't stop! Please! Don't stop!!" And came, quite easily. What other gastronomic treats can I tell you about? Well, after checking for chili -- you've got to be careful! -- I dipped my cock in the gooey brown garlic sauce and let her suck it clean. And then, suck it a bit more. The same garlic sauce served as a nice dressing for her own seafood salad, in its bed of seaweed . . . She was fascinated by the attention I paid to her pussy, probing and licking, rubbing and squeezing. Not to mention the considerable amount of time I spent with my prick buried in her cunt. She left only reluctantly, and only after she'd gotten a firm promise of a meeting the following day, Sunday. So, the next day, I drive over to the neighboring town to pick her up. If you're a big willy, you can't allow your girlfriends to ride the bus! It's a scuzzy area, but that's this part of NJ for you. A multicultural patchwork quilt. I don't even think about venturing into her parent's house -- a rather horrible little ranch-style slumlet in what seemed a particularly poor, yet still mostly white, part of town. I just park outside and blow the horn, once. But in the few seconds that pass before Maria comes bounding out, I do note: peeling paint, blighted plants and untrimmed bushes, a bad lawn, the huge, ugly brand-new Yamaha motorbike (a swarthy Tommy Lee-style shirtless brother with dozens of tattoos is fawning over it), a khaki Toyota truck held together by rust and that pink putty, a deceased Lynx up on blocks, a dark green Taurus estate, circa 1992, with lots of bumper stickers. Peeking from behind closed blinds, a not-at-all-cute woman is scowling. Her mother? I hate meeting their mothers, it sets you off on an unproductive comparison cycle. Only rarely do you meet ones who are fuckable in their own right. What else? The recycle bin is filled with beer cans. It's midday, and the television is on. They are not my usual crowd. But Maria? She is radiant, popping with joy. Must have gotten some sleep, too. She's dressed mostly in white, a dress and cardigan, her lovely smile lighting up the street. She is visibly impressed by the silver-grey Mercedes 420 -- hey, why? It's nearly a year old! -- and leaps in, giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek. Yes, mama is watching. I refrain from grabbing her, or from the usual greaseball-in-heat tire-squealing departure that this kind of neighborhood calls for, and instead roll away with a polite nod to Yamaha Boy, who appears to be slightly cross-eyed. "You okay, hon?" I ask. "Oooh, baby, yes . . ." she coos, snuggling up as best she can. (I miss those oldstyle bench seats sometimes). "So, where we goin'? Hmmm?" "Well, Maria, since I stole your panties, how's about we start at the mall for some new ones? Short Hills do ya?" (Her panties, as fragrant and gooey as can be, are still perched on top of my monitor: adult aroma therapy.) She blushes, but only a little, and says: "Sure! Hey, I don't mind! Take them all, for all I care!" Shopping with her is a treat, in some ways. She's very easy to fit -- Mall stores like munchkin-sized customers -- and her taste in clothes is really quite good. She is obviously brighter, better-read than I'd thought, and even stares in the windows of the book stores. We do Victoria's Secret for panties, bras, a few other inessentials in lace. I see it's only the presence of dozens of other customers prevents her from coming out to model them for me. And then Macy's for a dress, some shoes. We stop for a mesclun salad, a fresh juice. She looks around, hoping to find it's okay to smoke in here. It's not, and I tell her that this is an unhealthy habit she ought to be working on breaking, and she agrees. "I'll find you some nice new habits to keep your dainty hands and your cute little mouth busy, Maria," I promise. She laughs happily, says: "Oh, I bet!" and then confides: "I didn't put my panties back on. Do you want them now?" I hold out my hand. They're a little damp, and I sniff them. Delightful. I'm not feeling at all guilty. We skip the movie -- it's all brainless shoot 'em ups at the 'Plex, and she's in the mood for 'something romantic' -- and instead we drive back to my place. It's mid-afternoon, and the traffic is quite heavy. But she's eager enough to lift her skirt to her waist, and to guide my free hand to her pussy, which is very well primed for action. Before we get home, she's come a couple of times, from my hand action or her own masturbation. The car has a nice tang to it, so much better than that 'new car smell' they're always touting. Back in my apartment, I let her hang her new clothes up. If I'm going to be a sugar daddy, I'm going to be a prudent one. The clothes will stay here to avoid exciting suspicion at home. Then, her other clothes get hung up too. I want her naked, and spend some time looking her over, touching and stroking, sniffing and licking. Once again, she's very horny, but also very submissive. Much more than her predecessor, the fake Bardot. She's not going to say 'no' to anything, in this mood. I roll her over and start to stroke her cute round ass. She sighs and starts bumping up and down on the bed. "Yes, baby, please . . ." she begs. I snuggle up next to her, stroking her cheeks, opening the crease of her buttocks to tickle her anus. It's a tiny pink target, so unlike her gaping, drooling labia. She's shaved it. Will she go for what I have in mind? I tickle it some more, kiss her buttocks. She's wriggling, and I'm pleased when I hear her say: "Oh, I love that. Please, don't be shy." My fingertip is in her, and she's very tight. But she gasps with pleasure. I stretch out beside her, still probing. "Is that what you want, Maria? Are you up to having it fucked, baby?" She shudders. "Oh, yes! You're so big! But, oh, yes . . . I've dreamed about being fucked there. A lot. Yes, you can do it, if you want to, that is . . ." I tell her: "It's always much sweeter, more enjoyable, if I can make you relax. So, what do you say to having your cute little backside spanked a little?" She's quite eager. A spare hand has crept under her, rubbing her pussy hard. "Oh! Would you? I've always . . . Yes, I'd love that . . . But, baby . . . Don't hurt me too much, please?" "I wouldn't dream of it," I tell her, exaggerating, oh just a little . . . I sit on the edge of the bed, pull her to me. Then, letting her cling a little, but being forceful about it, I have her lay across my lap, backside nicely exposed to my hand. "Have you done this before, Maria?" I ask, stroking her cheeks, then taking a moment to explore her crack. She's extremely wet, and is unconsciously humping up and down with her hips, eager for something. I adjust her position, so her legs are parted just a little, and she's supported slightly by her hands and knees. I tuck my erect cock between her sweating, trembling thighs. She's telling me: "No, no, never. But I've thought about it a lot. Oh please, spank me. I'll be good, I promise . . ." I start to slap her, hard. Twelve good shots before there's any reaction beyond sighs of pleasure. Then, the first little yelp of pain. Or excitement. "How's that?" I ask, as if I need to guess. She's biting her hand, tears in her eyes, and mouthing over and over: "oh, god." "Well?" I insist. "Oh, it's so good. Please, please . . . I'm, oh, am I going to come?!" she says in astonishment as my hand whacks her again. And, she does. Humping up and down, letting out a long moan of passion. She is dribbling all over me, I can feel it. A few more smacks, and I lift her up, quite easily. Carry her to the foot of my bed and place her on her knees there. Bend her upper body over so she's laying flat on the bed, make her spread her knees. Stretch her arms wide. She's panting, pleading incoherently, mostly just saying "Yes, yes . . ." It's not just a little finger now, but two fingers dipped in Vaseline that go into her anus. And not just fingertips, but all the way to the knuckle. She's tight, but she's pushing down, helping. She's breathing deeply, gasping: "Fuck me, fuck me . . ." "Ready?" I ask, lining up my prick and pressing it against her tight little ring. How easy it would be to let it slip into her warm wet, sloppy cunt. But I don't. Inch by inch, I slide in. She yelps, she shudders, she groans in ecstasy. Her rectal muscles are like a moneylender's clenched fist, but I sense she is willing herself to let me in, to yield. She's running with sweat, speaking in some private babble, half Greek, half-English. Now I'm all the way in. I grab her wrists, pinning her down firmly. Long, slow steady strokes. That's what I tell myself. Make it last, drive her over the brink. I concentrate on that alone, but I can't help but hear her pleas and promises. "Oh baby, I'll do anything for you . . . I want to give you everything . . . please? please? I want to be a little pervert for you, a slut, a complete slut . . . I want you to whip me properly, whip me all over . . .Will you do that? Whip me hard?" I promise I will. Actually, I'd always planned to, but now we have her making the running, I'm perfectly happy to take her up on whatever concessions she makes. There's no guarantee she'll come from this anal stimulation, but it's pretty likely, all things considered. She doesn't disappoint me. I fill her asshole with hot spunk and she's grunting and cursing like a woman possessed. When we're through and our convulsions subside, we stagger to the bathroom, arms round each other. She's there to sit on the pot, me to take a shower. She joins me under the pounding stream a minute later, radiant with excitement. There's nothing on earth like a freshly-fucked woman, and with someone as beautiful as Maria, well, it defines the whole purpose of existence. We kiss, hug, soap each other. Make tender promises about more, soon. We get out and dry each other. And, biting her lip, she says: "Would you . . . I mean, do you think it would be weird of me, uh, if I wanted you to . . . slap my tits?" She's cupping them, pinging her nipples with her forefingers, with that eager begging expression on her face. She has the kind of small round breasts that other women think of as perfection. Cruel to slap them. But, why not? "What's weird about that?" I ask, a little smile cracking my face. She's mine. "Let's go into the living room where the light is better." Copyright (c) 1997, Mr.Spraycan [To be continued? Depends on your feedback, groovers . . . Monday is a day off at the salon, so she could spend it with me . . .] Part of Work In Progress, provisionally "Just Like Don Giovanni's Blues." Halleluia, halleluia!!! MrSpraycan has a full service website: Adults only, and guaranteed to blow your mind . . . A place where you can get much more of this and other fine erotica. [ Via EDTec Anon Remail Service: ] -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /