#823) The Leather Jacket

She thought of herself as an outlaw, a rebel, an iconoclast, but where she stood, and against exactly what was unclear. So, when she saw the Schott leather motorcycle jacket, it just seemed to fit Julie, besides being just her size. It was no doubt more expensive in this little boutique than it might cost elsewhere, but she wanted it right away, and she had the money. She couldn’t wait to show it, model it for Tariq!
There! Tariq was a good example of how Julie was an outlaw spirit! He was everything her parents didn’t understand. He was older at twenty-five, and she’d just graduated from high school. He was worldly, an entrepreneur, experienced. He was “street.” And there was the fact that he was Black.
“Feel it…” she encouraged him when she met him at the door of her parent’s house. “It’s as soft as a baby’s butt! Hell, it’s as soft as my butt!” she enthused. He felt it with both hands as he embraced Julie and kissed her deeply, then plunged one hand down the back of her jeans to squeeze the butt she mentioned.
“I can’t tell. Get these jeans off, so I can compare…”
She shucked them off right there inside her parent’s front door. It felt so liberating to be standing there, making-out with her lover, letting him squeeze her ass, reach inside her Victoria’s Secret panties to get a really good feel of her ass! She hoped that they might make love right then. They had the place to themselves the whole night while her parents traveled. She giggled to herself how they had made her promise not to have any high school friends over while they were away, and she’d sworn that she wouldn’t, knowing that she only wanted Tariq to join her.
But Tariq didn’t sink to the floor and fuck Julie right then and there. He sat on the living room couch and started making drug deals on his cell phone, something he could do back at his place, or in his car! They’d only gone all the way that once, in the back seat of his car, and Julie wanted this time to be romantic. She wanted him in her bed, she wanted him to wear a condom. She wanted him to ejaculate inside her, not pull out. And she wanted to sleep in his arms.
“Hey, I didn’t invite you over so that you could conduct business!”
“Chill, girl! Try some of the product…” he said and threw a baggie of white powder on the coffee table. Julie got a credit card from her purse and cut some of the stuff into several long lines on the glass-topped piece of furniture. Then she rolled the only bill she could find, a twenty, and snorted one of the lines. That mediciney, granular sensation blasted through her nostrils and down the back of her throat, and Julie felt instantly high, felt like dancing, felt like fucking. She looked up. Tariq was still on his cell.
“I mean it! You can do business anywhere. I want you to pay some attention to me…” and she let her hands wander into the crotch of those V. S. panties, to show Tariq what she meant.
He covered the phone and said, “Suck my dick, bitch,” before resuming his negotiation.
That’s a good idea, she thought to herself. I’ll suck his cock so well, he won’t be able to pay attention to anything else… She unzipped Tariq’s pants and got the big thing out. Julie wondered if all Black men were so well hung. He was certainly bigger than the two guys Julie had seen previously. Three, she’d seen her father’s cock while swimming once years ago, and the little mushroom had left an indelible impression. Quite the opposite, Tariq’s was both long, but so much thicker than any other man’s she’d ever seen. As she took it in her mouth and down her throat, Julie threw a leg over him on the couch, so as to straddle his face. Between the sight and smell of her pussy, and her skills as a cocksucker, he wouldn’t…
“Hey, hey, hey…” Tariq objected.
“I meant what I said! I won’t have you…”
In an entirely different tone of voice, Tariq said into his phone, “I’ll have to call you back.”
He had a fist twisted in her hair before she knew it. With it, he brought her face close to his. She remembered thinking that she’d been wet, now she was drenched. She also felt palpable fear. He guided her just as he wished. She had tried to straddle his head, now she found herself straddling his body. He forced her head down onto the couch cushion, which elevated her ass.
“You think you all gangsta…” he said in that same menacing whisper. “You think you gonna tell me shit…?” His large hand brushed across her butt cheeks, and that pair of panties came right down, just as Julie had wanted a while ago. He pushed her face into that cushion, and she felt the first slap. It would have stung anyone’s ass, but the effect on Julie was more pronounced in that she’d never been spanked before. He caught her with two more brisk stingers before he addressed her again. “You wanted my attention… You got it now…” He took a pinch of buttock and parted her. With one hand still wrapped in her hair and the other resting on her smarting cheeks, Tariq slid out from under Julie, so he kneeled behind her behind. She felt him part her wider. ”Man, girl, you wet!” He guided the head of his cock along her slit, up and down its length. It felt heavenly in both directions, electric when it touched her apex, where the clit had come out to play. “Is this what you wanted, little bitch?” he said as he sunk his length into her sex slowly, inexorably, making her crumple with pleasure, making her moan. “If that’s what you want…” he said in a hoarse growl, “you ain’t gonna get it…” and he pulled out of her sex with one long slurping withdrawal. That huge cock had completely filled Julie’s consciousness, so having it suddenly disappear jarred her to discombobulation. If you had asked her middle name, or her street address, Julie would have only been able to babble. He released his hold of her hair; she was his without any coercion. Then she felt him press that round bulbous cock head against her sphincter.
Julie had been in a state of shock once in her life, after a skiing accident where she’d torn up a knee. It was almost like that. Things were happening in slow motion, including thoughts, and as though they might be happening to someone else. No, she remembered thinking, it won’t fit. She had always fantasized about what anal sex would feel like, ever since John had cashed her V-card. She liked to be touched and tickled back there. But she’d heard that you needed lots of lubricant, and a little jism-coating didn’t qualify. Tariq, she wanted to call out, but couldn’t find her voice. And he was so big, and she was so tight. With a sharp stabbing pain, she felt him gain admittance.
“Ummmm…” the vocalization rose out of her, like coming from her chest, or up out of her ass, instead of from her throat.
“You wanted to get fucked tonight… It was all over you like stink… Tomorrow morning, I promise you’ll know you been fucked! …You said your ass was soft…You’ll want to keep that thought in mind, girl. Just relax and keep everything soft…” He reached into a pocket and produced both a tightly rolled joint and a lighter. “This’ll help you relax…” he took a long pull on the J and handed it down to Julie. She dragged on the marijuana.
“I’m afraid…” she stammered.
“You ought to be afraid. Your tight little ass gonna get fucked big time…” He slapped it again. “Relax. Open for me. Let me in, all the way…” And he pushed his prodigious length into her.
It felt like a bulldozer, a piece of heavy equipment, plowing a path into her virgin territory. Another vocalization, this one more of a moan, came out of Julie. She bogarted the joint, pulled long drags into her lungs, held the magical smoke there, then exhaled it with little coughs and rasps. She felt it slowly lift her, carry her above the harshness of the butt hole reaming to a place where she saw it as an act of sharing with someone who should have been acting as her lover, as the honesty spilled out.
“I’m not an outlaw. I don’t deserve to wear a coat like this…” She shrugged it off, leaving her naked and vulnerable. “I’m not gangsta in the least… What I am is a little white girl trying to act grown up and cool. It’s not our racial difference, or the socio-economic one. It’s the fact that I don’t want to be taken for granted, treated like your whore… Pull out! You heard me, take your cock out of my ass!” Tariq, surprised by her tone of voice and the vehemence of her words, did so. “Now get out! Take your coke and your cock and get out! Get out of my apartment and out of my life! Go!”
“You gonna be sorry, girl…” he said sheepishly.
“I already am, sorry that I was so stupid as to think we were compatible. Go find a girl you can take advantage of, who you can treat like shit. I’m a submissive, but I am not your doormat! Good bye!”
She slammed and locked the door. Then she held her butt crack like it was a broken porcelain plate instead the deeply cracked porcelain protuberance of every butt man’s dreams. Julie knew that she’d be sitting on a cushion for the next few days, her anus felt as though it’d been gang-raped. But her dignity hadn’t been shredded. The evening had actually been quite enlightening. Julie was just discovering her submissive sexuality. Tonight was her first lesson in standing up for herself within that orientation, what she as willing to lay down and offer up to a caring lover, what she needed to hold onto and maintain within herself.
Just processing these simple truths exhausted Julie. That’s when she realized another fact; man, that guy sure had some good shit for sale! I’m higher than fuck!

(Because spankings are such a positive in my mind [and in my life], most of my spanking stories have a happy resolution. I wanted to experiment with a tale that didn’t get wrapped-up with a pretty ribbon, etc. The photo of the model in the leather motorcycle jacket really got to me; I wanted to wipe that expression right off her face! This story is untended to be about two individuals; I hope it doesn’t seem either stereotypical or racist!

The photo at the bottom of the model at the table also spoke eloquently to me on this Monday after so long away from work. Robert sent me off to my job this morning with both a very bruised AND a freshly spanked bottom. I’ll be trying to sit, having to squirm all day, probably having to use a little cushion on my desk chair to get through the day. So, tell me what you think about this work of fiction, please! Happy Monday!)

2 responses to “#823) The Leather Jacket”

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