#801) Bend Over and Crack a Smile

So, it was the afternoon before Christmas Eve. I saw the cute girl who lives downstairs from my apartment walking her dog. I complimented her dog and asked if I could pet him. She smiled affirmatively. I made a big fuss over him and he lapped it up.
“You are such a good-looking dog!” I enthused, “And your owner is even cuter!” and I gave the girl a sidelong glance.
She smiled, shyly, but the smile remained on her pretty features. We made small talk. To wrap it up, I said, “You really are cute. You’re the reason Santa has a naughty list.” She smiled even wider, all thirty-two pearly-whites on display. I asked her over for tea when she was finished walking her dog, who I discovered was named Buster. Her name was Anne.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” I said as I closed my apartment door behind her a half an hour later, “did your accepting my invitation signify anything more than just neighborly niceness and curiosity?”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” Anne replied coquettishly.
“I mean that I meant it when I said I find you cute… Are you bi-sexual, like me?”
“At this point, I guess I’m just bi-curious. I’ve only kissed a woman or two, nothing more…” she blushed.
“That’s really about where I’m at, just experimented some with a few women,” I confided.
I think we both liked the tension that hung in the air. I hung her coat in the closet and showed Anne around my place.
The floorplans of our respective homes were the same, but Anne was amazed that my apartment walls were covered with art and meaningful photos. I knew hers were bare because she raised her blinds for her dog to look out the windows when she was at work, and I’d looked in (while talking to Buster, before I knew his name). She particularly liked an iconic shot on my bathroom wall of Bettie Page getting a spanking.
“I see you’re on Santa’s naughty list, too,” she smirked conspiratorially. “Are you more of a Top or more of a bottom?”
“I’ve been strictly a bottom when playing with men. Now that I’m no longer strictly-dickly, I think I’d like to experiment much more with Topping women. How about you?”
“I’m a died-in-the-wool submissive,” Anne confided. “Every team needs a pitcher and a catcher. I don’t play both positions.”
She finished her tea looking at the rest of my walls. She’d seen my living-room, dining-room, and bath. I escorted her into my bedroom.
“I can make us more tea, or we can change to Blanton’s bourbon…”
“That sounds better,” she smiled sincerely, holding her cup out.
We talked more. We kissed. We sat on the edge of the bed. I talked her out of her blouse; she didn’t take much convincing.
“On your bathroom wall, near that shot of Bettie, you have a thick razor strap hanging,” she whispered.
“A former boyfriend left that behind. He taught me how to use it. I sharpen a straight razor with it to trim my pubic triangle,” I answered.
She seemed disappointed. She didn’t sip the quality liquor now, she took a gulp.
“…With one side,” I continued, “I use the other side of the strap on cute girl’s bottoms, just like he used to do to mine.”
She smiled wider than ever. “If I take my pants off, will you promise, on your word of honor, that you won’t try to seduce me, that you’ll just strap me? I’m dying to know what it feels like…”
I thought of Clark Gable playing Rhett Butler as I made the promise.
“On my honor,” I pledged, my right hand in the air. He and I have no honor. Anne got on her elbows and knees on the mattress, pushing her slacks down to past her thighs.
I caressed her bottom through her flimsy underwear. “These will have to come down, too,” I stated and slid them off her curved callipygous bum.
“I’m scared!” she whispered.
“Don’t be. I won’t hurt you… more than what your body-language says you need…”
I cracked the thick leather across her proffered cheeks. It made a loud sound, immediately followed by Anne’s yelp.
“See?” I asked, rubbing the warm, red swath. “The strap’s bark is worse than its bite.”
Anne pleased me by sticking her ass back at me wantonly. I burnished her bottom to a rosy glow. She grew very aroused, as did I.
“I think you’d benefit from some corner time,” I said sternly.
“I hate corner time!” she countered with an exaggerated scowl.
I replenished her tea cup with more Blanton’s, told her she could drink it while standing in the corner. But before escorting her there, I unwrapped a candy cane, stuck it in my mouth for a quick suck, parted her adorable bum, and slowly inserted it up her rosebud.
“How’d you know I was anal-erotic?” she sighed.
She sublimated her desires by polishing off the bourbon and scissoring her thighs together. Her thighs and pubes grew very damp with her fragrant cream. I took the chance, as she rode the candy cane pole, to strip off my clothes.
“Let me inspect the state of your bottom,” I said in my best Dominant tone.
She stuck her butt out seductively, but with a playful smirk. I got on my knees behind her behind, caressed her cheeks, appreciating their warmth, parted her, wrenched the curled piece of candy out of her tooter with my teeth and replaced it with my tongue. I’ve tasted a lot of sweet butt holes when you include both sexes, but none ever as appetizing as Anne’s.
“Can I change my mind about being seduced?” Anne smiled lasciviously just before kissing me passionately.
“But that would mean I’d have to break my vow,” I protested.
“I won’t think any less of you…”
I shrugged, “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”
Our appetites for rigorous sex matched our taste for kink. Our bodies were bathed in sweat, our silhouettes bathed in the day’s dying light, our sex organs bathed in the others juices by the time we both had had our fill of orgasms. We shared pillow talk, finding we had much more in common than a love for discipline and dogs.
Anne would come up to my apartment fairly frequently after that, not just for conversation and cocktails. We tried lots of positions, finding an affinity for doggy with me wearing a thick strap-on phallus. We tried out lots of implements on her insatiable ass, appreciating the virtues of each. We even discovered a predilection for putting my plastic penis in her tail.
Then Anne moved away across the country for a better job opportunity. We’re “friends” on Facebook, but that isn’t nearly as much fun. I’ll always have an iconic image in my mind of Anne from our last night together. We’d shared multiple rounds of tasty sex, inspired by multiple rounds of our taste in kink. She was lying face down on my bed. Her butt was covered in cane-stripe-welts. Out of her wonderfully round cheeks, a red and white striped candy cane protruded, like a rectal thermometer proclaiming that this girl was certifiably hot. She’s looking directly at me, sexually sated, self-satisfied, and she’s smiling.

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