Message-ID: <792eli$9705130027@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 3/Mr.Spraycan 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.), and S.2, filed here. SEDUCTIONS: 3 By MrSpraycan I see the wicked gleam in Maria's eyes as I take her into the living room. She had already shown a lot of interest in my computer set up, in an alcove by the home entertainment center. I don't like to work from home much. A forced separation thing, it's better to restrict work to the tiny rented office. But I have a reasonable amount of multimedia and video stuff, in case inspiration strikes at odd times. You never know when you'll want to work on fixing a page, or editing a clip. Maria is fetchingly naked, still flushed and damp from the shower. She's looking longingly at my very expensive digital camera, mounted on its tripod. She bites her lip and turns to me: "Are you going to make me . . . uh, you know?" I pat her backside firmly and tell her: "No, of course not! You're going to volunteer, all by yourself, Maria." She blushes, but quickly nods. "But first, I believe I heard a wicked young lady say she wanted her tits slapped. Am I right?" She sighs: "Yes. Please." "Okay . . . In the kitchen." What a perfect ass, I think as she walk away. "See that wooden paddle thing on the wall, the pizza flipper or whatever it is?" Her eyes follow my pointing finger. "Get it." And, honestly I don't know what the hell it is. It was a present, I think. Or maybe I bought it in a fog one afternoon, in my boozy days. It's from Williams-Sonoma, and it's one of those mostly useless kitchen implements guys tend to own, even though they otherwise only have one saucepan and a skillet. Mostly useless, till now. She scurries back and presents it to me, reverently with two hands. I've fished something out of a desk drawer that she may like, afterwards. "You're not going to use your hand?" she asks nervously. "Nope. Why would I?" A deep breath. She has no answer. "Hold your tits, please, Maria." She cups them delicately, lifting them a little. Her pink nipples have darkened and hardened. She's excited, tense. "So, how many, sweetheart?" I ask, raising my eyebrows and smiling at her predicament. "Th . . . three? Each?" she says with a catch in her throat. "Ha!" I shake my head. "You little coward! No. Don't be absurd." "Please . . . it looks very cruel," she pleads, seeming genuinely anxious. "Good. Wouldn't have it any other way . . ." "Five?" A sob. "Let's try ten, shall we?" "Each?" "Mr. Equal Op, that's me . . ." She closes her eyes. I take my time, and make sure each stroke is good and hard, and makes a tit bounce nicely. Each produces a loud meaty slap, just like spanking a woman's ass. Very satisfactory. She yelps, cries quite miserably, but stands there and takes it. When I'm done, her breasts seem a little swollen, and are nicely decorated with fat red marks. From my clenched fist I take what I found in the desk drawer: two nasty little crocodile clips with serrated edges. Intended for fat legal files, I imagine. I salvaged them from somewhere. Now, snap, snap, they're dangling from Maria's nipples, digging in sharply. She's wide-eyed with shock, and I laugh at her look of outraged innocence. "You're so mean," she accuses angrily, a tremor in her voice. "Pleased you think so. Well, let's not waste this thing, now we've got it out. Turn round and bend over, please. I think your fat little ass needs a few strokes, too." She's stroking her sore tits, tears running down her face, a look of misery directed at me. Then, with a snotty sniffle, she turns quickly, and bends over with the practised grace of a fitness type, seizing her ankles. I step alongside her, and begin to spiritedly whack her buttocks, raising the paddle shoulder high. Only twenty or so strokes, but damned good ones that are going to give her some bruises. Her moans and cries are quite restrained, considering how much this must hurt. When I pull her to her feet -- she wasn't going to move, perhaps inviting more -- she flings her arms round me and gasps: "Oh, you bastard! You brute!" That's me. Happy to be appreciated. A long deep kiss, my tongue poking around, a tight grip on her sweaty, baby-soft skin, fingers probing for her cunt. "Love, huh?" I chuckle meanly, after she responds by humping my hand. She lays her head on my shoulder. I feel her tears running down me. A few tickling their way into my bellybutton, my pubes. My cock is standing to attention again, and I decide it might as well get some respect. I push her down on to her knees, so she can suck on it for a while, but I choose not to pump her mouth full of spunk. Instead, it's time to honor her earlier, unspoken request. "Up you get, Maria." "Oh, please, let me . . ." "Later. Over there. Sit on the barstool." She limps over, perches uncomfortably on the edge before sitting down. I slip the alligator clips off. Her nipples are squashed, deeply marked. "Open wide, soles of your feet together." "Like this . . .?" "More. Now, stop playing with your tits and grab your pussy." As I'm instructing her, I'm clicking on the digital camera, lining it up. It's what she wants, very badly. And to tell the truth, few if any women who visit my apartment don't want to do this at some point. Why? A Quest for Immortality, the ultimate Lover's Gift? The total daring of the sexually aroused? Because women have filthy exhibitionistic minds and want to show off their slutty cunts? One or more of the above? Try the opposite, which works just fine: Why not? She's stroking herself. They always do. "Take your time, Maria . . ." I say softly. "Make it good, baby . . . make it very good. Don't hold anything back. Lean back a little . . . wider, don't be shy . . . fingers in the wet stuff . . . oh, can you smell that? Delicious! Show me, baby . . . show me inside. Aaah. Pull on your clit? Just look at it, it's huge! So purple and excited . . . lick your fingers. Tastes good, hmmm? Now, rub it. Just like you would in bed . . . don't pretend. You do it every single night, don't you? Yes. Don't lie. Dreaming of a good fuck, a good spanking. A stiff prick ramming you, hard . . . well, it's true, isn't it? Are you getting hot? Take your time, darling, you want to have a big juicy cum . . . the better it is, the more you're going to like it when I start fucking you . . ." She's soon in full flight, oblivious to the show she's putting on, and I shut up. Women are so beautiful to me when they lose it completely, and she has. She's bright red in the face, she has tears on her cheeks, her head's thrown back, neck stretched. She's dribbling from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes are hooded, wild with lust. She has the soles of her feet tightly pressed together, ankle tendons straining. She has pulled them up so her thighs are widely spread, showing her vulva in all its messy pink and crimson glory to the camera. She has a tightly trimmed, bikini waxed pubic bush -- she works at a salon, it's free! -- and is exposing herself as though she's auditioning for a gynecology training video. With one hand, fingers splayed, she's opening her crack, peeling back her labia. With the stiff fingertips of the other, she's rubbing herself frantically, pressing hard on her clitoris and only pausing briefly to wipe her sticky fingers on her thighs. There's a big milky puddle collecting on the seat under her ass. Now it's dripping off the edge. Fascinating. I watch with satisfaction as she comes, grunting urgently several times before letting out a huge, hungry moan. Her tremors and shivers take a while to subside, and she sits rocking from side to side, eyes closed, a huge grin on her face. I click off the camera, and step close. She opens her eyes, with that alert, hungry look I particularly like. I put my arms round her, lift her up a little. She gets the idea, provides some guidance. I slide my cock into her juicy cunt in one easy motion. She wraps her legs round me, locking her ankles behind my back, high. The grip of her vaginal muscles is immensely strong. I put both hands under her ass, and lift her clear of the stool. She catches her breath. I guess her backside's still sore. She's quite light, to me. I carry her slowly back to my bedroom, murmuring in her ear: "You're a very dirty girl, Maria. We must have a long talk about what kind of discipline you need, mustn't we?" (to be continued) Copyright (c) 1997, Mr.Spraycan [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. 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