Interracial Erotica -
By Tracy Ames
Published on May 22, 2011
Complete Edition
Serena Upshaw replaced her unstable past with the tedious loneliness of Blake Hall, and strict routine of her employer, the distant Mr. Dermot, a man she’d seen only twice in passing in over two years. One night set them on a collision course.


June would mark my fifth year of service at Blake Hall. As I’m told, this is no small accomplishment. Tucked away in a quiet corner of the country side, miles from the nearest town, most housemaids left after a year. Aside from the often bitter isolation I can’t understand why anyone would leave. As a child, my parents and I moved two maybe three times a year; I had no roots or structure and after my parent died, I had no one. Sad as it seems, the disciplined life in the house was as much choice as necessity. There’s comfort in routine; and at times there’s also impenetrable loneliness.

Ours was a small staff, two maids including myself, two footmen, a cook, and a butler. The butler, old Mr. Satran, and I were the only live-ins and Mr. Dermot was rarely in the country much less at home. In fact, I’d only seen him twice in passing. I remember him as tall, unsmiling, ruggedly handsome with dark neatly trimmed hair, penetrating hazel eyes, a strong masculine jaw, and a cleft chin. He had a very distinct smell, a strangely compelling mixture of fabric softener and clean male.

That same night as I lay in my tiny bed at the top of the house, I prayed he’d be gone when I awoke. Thankfully, my prayers were answered. Mr. Dermot set off before dawn, and we didn’t see him for over two years. In his absence, Blake Hall was cheerfully quiet. We went about our work, scrubbing floors no one treaded on. Making beds no one slept in. Polishing silver no one ate off. And adhering to 18th century traditions in the 21st century which no one cared about, save Mr. Dermot. He even regulated our attire. My wardrobe consisted almost entirely of gray and navy shawl collared housekeeping dresses and sensible shoes. Sensible shoes—I wasn’t thirty yet I wore sensible shoes. How tragic! Not that I had anyone to impress. No, thanks to Mr. Dermot’s forbidding authoritarian straggle hold on all social contact amongst the staff, we live-ins were starved for human interaction. I had no friends, no family, and life outside the tall gray stone wall skirting the expansive estate. What some would call an exquisite prison, I called home.

News came that Mr. Dermot was returning an hour after he walked through the door. From my hiding place on the second floor landing, I spied a gorgeous woman on his arm. She was wearing a full length sage green coat which played well off of her fiery red hair. They went into his study and didn’t emerge, not even for dinner. The rest of the staff went home for the evening and Mr. Satran went to bed. I commenced with my nightly ritual: dress for bed, grab a cup of tea, and sit on the stairs listening to the clocks tick in the vacant space. There were muffled sounds coming from the study, sounds we were expected to ignore but I was intrigued. I tip-toed across the cold marble floor, leaned against the paneled door jam, and slowly drew back the sliding door just enough to make out the image inside.

Mr. Dermot sat in the wing back chair I’d cleaned only hours earlier. He’d removed his tie and the first two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone. The redhead was draped across his knee, the hem of her dress rested on the small of her back, her bare bottom exposed. My mouth fell open. Then he hit her. A hard slap clean onto her right cheek. She was too shocked to scream. She wiggled and tried to break free, but he held her tight around the waist as he brought a second slap down onto her other cheek. She yelped—moaned—and wiggled.

“Hold still.” He ordered, raining down a stream of slaps. Tears welled in her eyes but she bit back her sobs. One slap after another jarred her forward. She panted and gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to cry, I suppose.

Oh god, what was he doing to her?! The real surprise was the tingling response between my legs and I realized I’d been holding my breath. I loved the sound of his hand meeting her ass. Watching her squirm and eventually resign herself to being punished was intoxicating. Her gasps and moans turned to cries of arousal after minutes of continuous slaps. Mr. Dermot leaned close to the back of her head, whispering words I couldn’t make out but she responded yes—then he slapped harder and she leapt forward.

I rested my head back against the paneling; my breaths came in gasps as I watched her almost bursting to cum. I slid my left hand under my night shirt and rubbed myself through my panties. In my mind’s eye, it was me stretched over Mr. Dermot’s knee being punished.

“Harder?” He asked.

“Yes,” the redhead and I answered breathlessly. He obliged with slap after delicious slap. It was wrong. I shouldn’t be spying, I shouldn’t be aroused, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted him to spank me, punish me for some undetermined slight, and make me repent.

“Oh God, spank me.” I circled my swollen clit. “Spank me.”

“You want to cum?” he asked.

“Yes,” we replied. Another slap, then another.

“Rub your clit while I spank you.”

“Oh fuck yeah!” I screamed in my head. I could hardly stand as we rubbed ourselves to orgasm. Tears of confusion streamed down her cheeks and she screamed as liquid shot out of her pussy. My orgasm was no less intense.

This was so wrong!


The next day, the lady was gone and I went about my work as if nothing had happened and avoid the study. Mr. Dermot spent the day behind closed doors and showed no sign of emerging for dinner. The cook prepared his tray and asked me to deliver it to him. Luckily Jose, the footmen, was leaving for the day and agreed to deliver it on his way out. Though I’d fantasized about being at the mercy of Mr. Dermot’s hand, I felt a little ashamed. I shouldn’t have eavesdropped. This was obviously a private moment I wasn’t meant to witness. But deprived of physical interaction as I was, I wouldn’t have given anything to be standing completely naked and vulnerable, waiting for my punishment—to feel skin on my skin. My mundane and dull existence in that monstrous and dreary house begged for it. There were days I wanted to run outdoors, screaming just to feel alive, stimulated.

I heard the side door click. Everyone was gone and the house was ghastly silent. I ensured Mr. Dermot was in still in the study, and then went upstairs to his massive bed chamber under the guise of laying out his suits for the next day. I ran my fingers over the hangers and lifted the sleeves of his jackets to my nose and inhaled. They smelled like him, clean. I closed the closet, went to his dressing room, and quietly opened the closet used to store his formal attire. It was so rarely in use, I’d never paid it much attention. I nervously looked over my shoulder as the door cheeked open. It was filled with in tuxes, waistcoats, overcoats in various subdued colors. His spit-shined, perfectly laced shoes rest below. Folded above were white gloves and silk scarves. There was a small mahogany chest with four drawers each housing cufflinks, Rolexes, and ties. I sighed. This told me nothing of the man. Then I noticed a tiny silver latch at the top of the right-hand wall. I ran out into the room to make sure I was alone before daring to try my luck.

The latch gave way with ease and as I opened the secret compartment I had to remind myself to breathe. “My goodness.” I heard myself say as I eyed the wide array of reeds, crops, and leather straps neatly displayed like works of art. Indeed, many of them could have been. What sort of man would collect such things? Who was he? What had I walked into? My hair stood on end for a number of reasons, fear being one—anticipation and arousal being the others. The coolness of the leather pulsed under my fingertips and my thoughts returned to the night prior, watching Mr. Dermot spank his lady friend until she came. How I wanted to take her place, to feel his hand slap my round brown ass, to hear his gravelly voice demanding I rub my clit.

“Found what you’re looking for?” a deep ghostly voice came from behind and I whirled around.

Oh shit! Mr. Dermot stood in the doorway in his signature white button down and dark pant; unsmiling and unamused as ever. “Um,” I tried to steady my trembling voice and smoothed my skirt as he came towards me slowly. He stopped a hairs breath away from me. I jumped when he took my wrist, pulled me forward, reached over my shoulder and closed the secret closet door.

“You shouldn’t go looking for bones in closets. You might find some.” He put his finger beneath my chin and lifted my face so he could look at me. “Then what?” I raised a timid eye to him, not sure what to expect but fearing the worst. His eyes are mossy green with flakes of gold, and his expertly trimmed hair was as black as coal. The top of my head didn’t reach his shoulders. He had a strong face; a well cut jaw, and a straight nose. My gaze fell to his lips, they were full but held too rigid. He was terrifyingly handsome. I wanted to die. “What’s your name?” he asked. I felt his voice through his fingers still under my chin.


“It’s your bedtime, Serena.” He stepped aside so I could pass.

“Goodnight.” I gave a fake smile and hurried to my room, my heart pounding like a racehorse on the final lap! I fell back in the bed. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” I repeated with wide-eyed disbelief. What had I just seen? And, oh my God, Mr. Dermot caught me! He knew I know his secret! I rolled from bed, grabbed my laptop and began searching for a new job. But in my panties, when I squeezed my thighs together, there was the most amazing feeling on earth. I could still smell him and feel his looming presence.

In minutes, I began fingering myself as I imagined Mr. Dermot spanking me. My legs open wide, smiling up at him, our fingers lazily playing in each other’s hair, hanging on the other’s words.

I moan softly, feeling his cock brush my slit.

He kisses me and says against my lips, “You are so beautiful,” His eyes never leaving mine, he reach between us and trace tiny circles on my clit and etch invisible lines of infinite sweetness up and down the length of my pussy with the spongy head of his cock.

My arms encircle his neck…my fingers probe his hair…need and the prospect of him dipping into me swells low in my belly. The tension, the anticipation, the friction drives me insane. He slips ever so gently into my shallows. “Spank me.” rumbles in my throat as I arch towards him.

Our eyes are lock. Our breathing, heavy and expectant. I bite my lip at the momentary sense of loss at his retreat. He inflicts an endless dance of temptation. I yearn for more yet bask in the ambiguity of each passing moment.

My thighs tremble. My resistance falters; still he denies me, knowing the closer he brings us to the edge, the sweeter the fall. He teases me until the look in my eyes tells him my orgasm rest suspended on the slippery tip of his cock—until my hips undulate beneath him; insisting to be taken long and slow and continuously. “Spank me.” I grate eager to feel to the sting of his hand on my bare bottom. I rub my clit urgently and gasp as I imagine him flipping me over and plying slap after slap on my cheeks.

“Is that what you want?” He asks.

A raspy ‘Yes’ is all I manage before coming undone. 


In the weeks which followed, I rarely saw Mr. Dermot and life slowly returned to the norm, boring and uneventful. Mr. Dermot’s extended stay and foul temper towards the footmen caused whispers amongst the staff. It was rumored that his business, whatever it was, was failing, and others said he was preparing to marry. Marry who, was the big question no one had an answer for; the lady he’d brought home hadn’t been seen since. And based on the account receipts found on his desk, business was better than ever. The one certainty was I was spellbound by him. He was my one constant thought, my obsession. Every night, I sat on the stairs and sipped tea, and waited to see the light from the study go out. He always took the backstairs to his room. Afterward, I’d return my mug to the kitchen and go to bed. He didn’t know I was alive. Or so I thought.

Night had fallen. Inside, it was dark. The windows were all shuttered against the cold. I dressed for bed, closed the doors to the front parlor and took a seat on the stairs.

“Serena?” The sound of my name cut the stillness. I sprang to my feet. “In here. Now.” Mr. Dermot ordered and returned to the study.

I descended the marble stairs slowly, my trembling hand steadied by the brass banister as they lead to the landing below. I paused at the door, placed my mug on the side table, and drew a calming breath. I entered. Mr. Dermot was paced slowly in the center on the spacious room.

“Why do you sit on the stairs every night?” he asked abruptly, coldly.

“I…” I searched for an answer. There wasn’t one. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it upset you.”

“Why do you follow me?” he stopped and looked through me.

I was never so nervous in my life! “I…I wasn’t following you….”

“Every time I look up, you’re there.”

Funny, I don’t remember seeing him. Fear kept me from mentioning that bit. “I’m sorry. I’ll…stay out…of your way. You won’t know I’m here.” Neither of us spoke. I felt myself becoming wet as he closed the distance between us. He’s eyes raked over me and I immediately regretted not wear any undergarments beneath my thin gown. He raised my chin as he’d done before.

“What have you seen?” he asked, snapping my chin slightly. “Don’t lie to me. What did you see?”

I swallowed. “I saw the things in your closet; the leather belts and riding crops and canes.” His hand was on the front of my left thigh left me breathless. It moved higher, taking the hem with it as I spoke.

“And?” His voice flat and deep.

“And I...” My head swam. His hand moved higher. “I saw you spanking the lady you brought home.” He didn’t flitch at my admission. His gazed deepened.

“What did you think? Did you like watching me spank her?”

“Oh God. Yes.” His hand was on my bare mound! “I wanted you to spank me.”

He stood there for a few seconds and watched me. “You don’t understand what you’re getting into. Maybe you think I’ll just give you a little romantic play spanking and then fuck you. Is that what you really after?” He took my hand and placed it against his erection. I almost fainted. “You wanted to get fucked.”

My lips parted to speak, but no words came out. I flinched when he demanded an answer.

“There’s my answer.” He searched my eyes as if to unlock my soul. “A prisoner facing the firing squad couldn’t look any more reluctant than you do.” he perceived my feelings with uncanny accuracy. His hand left my chin as he stepped away from me. “Leave. That’ll be all. Don’t waste my time.”

“I…I…don’t know what I want.” I replied nervously. He came back to me, his eyes fixed on mine, rendering me speechless. He slowly lifted my gown, his strong hands caressed my belly, then lower until the slick junction between my thighs rest under his palm. He slid a finger inside; seeking out my already engorged clit and rubbed it with long languorous strokes. I gasped.

“Sshhh” he urged. “Just once. This will be our secret.” He continued fingering me while his palm gently massaged my clit. It’s impossible to describe how hypnotic the tiny kissing sounds his finger induced became. I stood there as passive as he pleased and allowed him to finger me. “Like that?” He whispered seductively close to my ear.

“Yes.” I began seeing stars!

“Do you masturbate, Serena?” He slid a finger along my lips before returning to my slit. I nodded, and then he asked, “Do you think about me when you play with yourself?”

I nodded again, barely breathing. His damn finger was driving my insane. Oh, God, I wanted to suck him off! I placed my hand on his and shamelessly fucked it slowly as my orgasm build.

“See how wet you are?” He continued to stroke. “Is this because you’ve anticipated me spanking you or fucking you?” He cooed deeply.

“Both,” I groaned as quietly as possible, at the mercy of his hand.

“Which do you want the most? To be fucked off your knees or spanked til you cum?”

“Don’t make me choose.” I rubbed my hand against the front of his pants and felt him swell. I gasped for breath. “I’m cumming.” My words trailed off as I tightened around him and shook uncontrollably. I rested my head on his chest and he held me close whispering soothing words as my breathing returned to a less murderous pace.

“I think you need to find someone else to play with, little girl.” He said coldly as my breathing returned to a less murderous pace. “Find a nice, safe guy who’ll slap your beautiful little ass a few times then cuddle.” The tip of his tongue brushed my ear. “I don’t play games, Serena. Fuck with me, and I’ll change your life.” He withdrew his finger, licked it, and then shooed me out of the door as he returned to his desk. “Close the door on your way out.”

I wish I could’ve stayed buried in his scent and warmth a little longer.

At the time his words stung, though, in hindsight I realize I didn’t know what I was getting myself into; but being banned from his presence as if my existence disgusted him which hurt more than I dared say. If he wanted me gone, why didn’t he fire me after he caught me snoopy? Banned from the stairs, I kicked up the job search, and I began researching the spanking fetish. I found a few ‘friends’ through a local meetup group with whom I spent the evenings chatting online.

Neil was the groups’ founder. A quiet yet charismatic man, he took me under his wing and introduced me to Belinda, a rather blasé clerk at one of the markets I’d visited, and Clarissa, a gregarious Canadian expat attending university nearby. We were all around the same age and all felt smothered by our surroundings. It was any wonder I hadn’t found them sooner such was our instantaneous bond. Belinda and Clarissa were like the sisters I never had. We spend numerous hours dredging the murky swamps of our pasts and plotting our futures away from the confines of the countryside.

Neil dealt in the present. Not a day lapsed without him inquiring of me—brotherly not flirtatiously. From the pictures I’d seem of him on the groups’ site, he was tall, shaggy blonde hair, deep set brown eyes; benignly handsome rather than striking. He was one of those mysterious types who seemed to do everything and nothing. Belinda said he knew lots of secrets but he never disclosed what he knew.

Neil wasn’t a standout, indeed were it not for his deafening silence one might overlook him altogether, yet he seemed to spin a web around everyone he met. None more so than me. He was a good listener not judgmental, genuinely interested and caring. Before long I found myself divulging unspoken secrets of sexual desires to a man I hadn’t met as if he held the missing link to bring them to fruition. Maybe, in a way, he did. If not confident, I grew comfortable with my urges; they no longer spawned swells of guilt and trepidation.

I was ready to play real-time.

I worked up the nerve to ask Mr. Satran for an evening off. We were never allowed to go directly to Mr. Dermot—all requests were filtered through Mr. Satran. To my surprise Mr. Dermot called me into his study for further explanation of my absence.

From the foyer window, I watched the storm clouds gather. Soon lightning flashed against the charcoal sky, thunder could be heard in the distance, and the air grew clammy. It was nearly eight o’clock at night and the weather worsened. A loud boom of thunder cracked overhead, and the lightning was felt rather than seen. I quickly tightened the catches on the window before being summoned into the study. I stood there like a child asking to go outside to play while Mr. Dermot sat behind his desk without bothering to look up from his work. I told him I as meeting friends at a local bar but offered no more information. Why should I?

“Who are these friends?” he all but spat under his breath. “How do you know them?”

“I met them a few weeks ago after….” I stopped. There was no point in reliving that night. I stilled myself and made my voice as cold as his behavior. “As my evening off are so scarce and I’m not allowed visitors, I met them online. We’ve been chatting every night, we talk often and I feel perfectly comfortable with them.”

“Them who?”

“Belinda, Clarissa, and Neil.”

“A man?” His hard eyes flew to me. “You’re going to meet a man you met online?”

“I’m going to meet a group of friends which, by law, is my right!”

“Don’t throw the law in my face!” He stood, slamming his palms on his desk.

“I need to get out of here! I’m suffocating!”

“Go to bed, Serena.” His tone had a very final ring, dismissive, cold, and I stared at him with an empty feeling growing inside.


“You will do as you’re told!”

“You can’t keep me here!”

Something akin to anger sliced across his face. “Are you trying to provoke me?”

“No, I just…I…I want…more.” If he heard the misery in my voice he chose to ignore it; his own temper was now back under control. “I’ve been employed here for years and I’ve never asked for an evening off. You didn’t even know my name until a few weeks ago. And now you so repulsed by me….” His vacant look was a clear sign my words fell on deaf ears. I shook my head and turned to leave. I stopped when he called my name but I didn’t turn around.

“If you walk out that door, you can pack your shit and leave.” His voice void of any emotion. Defiantly I spun towards him.

“I’ve never complained about the loneliness your strict rules cause. Sometimes I want to run screaming from this big empty house but I don’t. I want a friend, someone to talk to.” My hands fell to my side, defeated.

“Go to bed.” He said unsympathetically. I shook my head and stared at him in awe as he came towards me, nostrils flared. His intensity overwhelmed me. “You will go to bed.” he rasped impatiently down at me.

“I won’t.” The thought that, for once, I had the upper hand with this powerful and unpredictable man brought a secret smile to my face. “Fire me if you will, but I will not be sent to bed on yours or anyone’s command.”

He looked at me steadily, his lips turned up at one corner giving me the impression that he knew exactly what I was thinking. I looked away quickly from his smug grin. I’d never studied a man before and it seemed to be just asking for trouble. I felt his eyes traveling over my skin, etching it pore by pore. I raised my chin and looked at him steadily, and I was suddenly at the receiving end of an unexpected grin. I said shakily, “If that will be all, now I’ll go to bed.”

His eyes softened and his closeness literally took my breath away as his lips neared mine. He stopped short.

“Goodnight, Serena.” He said, cutting the threads of tension between us. I almost collapsed. He turned away and gave another of his ‘over the shoulder’ remarks. “I want you down here tomorrow night after you’ve dressed for bed.”

I did just that. After the house had fallen quiet and Mr. Satran retired to his room, I drew a throw blanket over wispy white gown and crept downstairs in stocking feet. I took a deep breath, knocked, and entered. Mr. Dermot stood in the center of the darkened room lit only by firelight, with the television remote in one hand, the other in his pocket. He was the very embodiment of masculinity. His eyes met mine in an expressionless stare before sweeping over my length, dismissing my frumpy gown by quickly returning to my face. Words can’t begin to describe the rush of feelings I experienced at that moment, so I’m not going to even attempt to find any.

“Come here. Sit.” He spoke softly.

I came into the room slowly, he appraised my every step. I sat tentatively on the plush calfskin sofa. He gave me the remote and his fingers brushed mine.

“I would like to you watch this short film.” He gave me the remote and his fingers brushed mine. “It will help you better understand what you were walking into. Then,” he said almost seductively. “...then I’ll be back.” he turned to the door.

“You’re leaving me?”

“Yes.” he flung over his shoulder and closed the door behind him.

I pointed the remote towards the large wall mounted television and clicked play. A grainy image emerged of a car driving into a dark woodsy area, to a clearing. A young woman and two men stepped from the car and a narrator began to speak.

“As we arrived at our very special place, I could not help but think of the many times we had been there before. Everything was always the same. There were two large oak trees about eight feet apart. The ropes we used to secure me in an upright spread eagle position were still attached to them. The excitement and fear started to rise and my throbbing burning bottom reminded me of what was to come.”

I curled my feet up on the sofa and wrapped the blanket about me.

“I was ordered to strip and stand between the trees. The men placed leather shackles on my wrist and ankles. There were clamps attached to the ends of the ropes. I trembled as each was fastened to each ring on the shackles and there I stood, completely naked and vulnerable. They walked around me, caressing and teasing me gently and then stood directly behind me. It was about to begin.”

As the narrator described the multi colored bruises and welts they inflicted, fear rather than arousal swept over me. But I kept my eyes glued—surely there was a lessoned to be learned.

“Fucking whore!” the narrator continued. “With those words one of the men brought out a cane and slashed it through the air. It made a whistling sound as it cut. More slashes through the air and I shuddered with fear. The first strike landed across both cheeks, right in the middle of the meatiest spot—then another and another preceded by the ghastly whistle of the cane cutting the air. It was like a razor slicing deep into my bottom. I went limp then more came—one after another. Then he stopped, lifted my face to his, smiled at my acceptance, and delivered another whack. These seemed worse than the others.”

I jumped as the young woman strained against her bonds to no avail. I wanted no part of this. I wasn’t the least bit turned on.

“I screamed with pain as searing fire penetrated my bones. Before I could register the shock from one blow or summon enough strength to withstand another, it was upon me. The volley of blows stopped, allowing me to catch my breath. I hung from my arms, the tortured flesh of my ass stung. The impatient rambling of the man waiting his turn rendered me faint.”

This was nothing as sensual as what I’d seen from Mr. Dermot. The lady over his knee wasn’t bound and screaming for her life like this woman!

“He massaged a mixture of blood and sweat into the welts on my bottom while kissing and licking the wounds on my battered back as if they excited him. ‘We’re not finished with you.’ He stepped back and admired his work.”

I hit the stop button. I couldn’t watch anymore. How could I have been so ignorant? I lectured myself. My outburst, well warranted in most respects, seemed like an immature tantrum. Though I stood by my decision to meet with my friends and believed them to be sound, I freely admit I wasn’t thinking clearly and may have very well walked into a situation I was ill-equipped to handle. Mr. Dermot, in his frigid self-possessed way, protected me and I smugly defied him.

I went to the window and look across the inky black terrain. My desperate need for stimulation, and my lack judgment kicked around in my head. Blake Hall was a lonesome dwelling; now I would have my freedom. After acting like an eavesdropping bitch in heat, I’d be fired. I wrapped myself tightly and went to my room to gather my belongings. I threw on a pair of jeans and a heavy tunic and said goodbye to the small room at the top of the stairs I’d called home.

“This is a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Mr. Dermot voice spun me around quickly. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.” My eyes trained on the floor as he came towards me.

He gestured to the darkness peeking through the window. “It’s the dead of night and you have nowhere to go.” He continued with a trace of concern. “Were you going to stay with your friends?”

“No!” My eyes darted to him then back to the floor. “No, I wasn’t going to them.” Ashamed of myself, I avoided touch. This angered him.

“Do you think you’re different from other woman?” he asked roughly. “When you’ve had one you’ve had them all. You’re just like the rest of them. You’re not special.”

Even now it amazes me how his words hurt me so bitterly. I fought back the tears welling in my eyes, but a small muffled sob escaped my throat and rang loud in the silence between us. He cupped my face and slowly, very slowly lifted my gaze. I feared what I would, or should I say, wouldn’t see in his eyes.

“What am I saying? I didn’t mean it.” his eyes roamed over my face. “I can’t think straight when I’m around you; nor can I leave. I want to touch you and look at you.” He swallowed hard, his face tight, his eyes half closed. “Your dark eyes watching me; its torture. You don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

I shook my head. “I wasn’t trying to…that is, I didn’t mean to...”

“It was me.” he whispered against my mouth. “Just being close to you—knowing I can’t have you—that’s why I’ve been angry.” He paused briefly. “I’m rash and reckless. I’ve done things I’m not proud of; some under this roof. I roam, trying to forget. Then I find perfection; living, breathing, unspoiled perfection in you.” His finger traced the curve of my neck. “You’re impetuous but you’re also gentle and innocent. Everything I used to be.” His eyes searched mine as if to reclaim a measure of what he’d lost.

“So you pushed me away?”

He nodded.

“And all the harsh rules?”


I didn’t venture any further or ask him to expound because, while I didn’t know the extenuating circumstances, I understood how discipline, structure brought peace of mind. And how doggedly adhering to those nonsensical routines one could replace chaos with order. But why me? Tiny nobody I was, why had I caught his eye? My ego would have given the attraction over to my dazzling personality but that was a far cry from the truth. It was more cerebral; in me he saw his old self—the one who would have kicked against his confines rather than submit all. I challenged him, and in doing so I won his respect. And he’d won mine.

“Teach me.” I held his hand against my neck.

“No. Heaven knows I’d change your life if we….”

“Teach me.” I stilled his lips with my index finger. He moved me away as he leaned back against the wall just behind him. He stood for a second with his eyes closed, his chest heaving with the effort to control his feelings.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

I closed the space between us. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m asking, but I am asking. Teach me, Mr. Dermot.”

“Call me Owen.” He thumbed my cheek. “Once you open Pandora’s Box it can’t be closed.”

“I’m ready…Owen. Teach me.” I kissed the center of his chest. He tilted my face and forced me to meet his eyes.

“Will you please stop saying that?”

“No, I won’t. We both want it. You wouldn’t have stopped running from whatever plagues you if there was nothing tangible here.” I kissed the hollow of his neck. “…if you didn’t think I was worthy….if you didn’t want it.”

He leaned in, kissed me beneath my ear and cooed, “Du kommer att tigga hela natten.”

“Yes,” I replied without knowing what I agreed to.

His eyes narrowed slightly as if to ask ‘Didn’t you hear a word I said?’ Confident I was in my right frame of mind, he kissed me than whispered, “Dress for bed. No undergarments. Meet me in my room.” With that he left and my heart sank.

It was really going to happen.

Minutes later, I was standing at his door. He answered wearing dark lounge pants and no shirt. His broad shoulders and defined chest sent chills down my spine. He ushered me inside and we stood kissing for so long my toes went numb from having to stand on them to reach his down turned lips. I moaned aloud when his hands moved down my back to cup my small tight rear and hold me against him. Every fiber of him was demanding yet, unconsciously, I’d tamed him. He’d fought his demons for me. The very thought made me wet.

Owen unhinged our lips. “First step is setting the mood. You must feel completely comfortable and confident in my abilities.” He laid me in the center of his massive bed. I reclined on his pillows as he took his place between my legs and laid the hem of my gown on my stomach, giving himself full access to me. “I don’t sleep with the women I spank.”

“Never?” I asked. His mouth and fingers lazily traced the length of body.

“Never. Since this is your first time…” He kissed my belly button, then kissed lower and lower; my hips, my thighs. “…I’ll make an exception.” His gentle susurrations trickled across my skin, down the cleft of my thighs and set me ablaze with incendiary need. He looked up, coyly, as if he were simply passing through and nonchalantly stumbled upon my pussy. I chuckled when he nuzzled his cool cheek against the soft warmth of my inner thigh. I’d become hyperaware to his touch, his breath, even his glance. “I want you completely relaxed and aroused. Don’t cum until I say. It will take away from the experience.”

“Um, I’ve never had oral sex. I doubt I’ll cum.”

Owen looked up at me and laughed, he stopped when he realized I was serious. “Besides paying a woman’s bills and not cheating on her, eating a woman’s pussy is the best thing you can do for her.”


Owen paused briefly. “Because it’s purely altruistic—it’s all about pleasing her.” Without breaking his gaze, he gently kissed my right leg. “It makes her feel loved…” Then my left leg. “….admired and sexy,” I held my breath praying he’d kiss my clit—his mouth was right there. “…and of course it makes her cum like crazy.” He gave my lips the faintest of pecks. “No man has ever gone down on you?”

I didn’t answer.

His eyes darkened as he rubbed the back of his index finger up and down my slit. “I’ve dreamt of eating you.” He nibbled and licked my inner thighs making my clit bay. “Your pussy is the lovely shade of rye and you’re so wet.” He looked up at me, his finger still in motion. He licked me with the tip of his tongue and I nearly came out of my skin. “Doesn’t this turn you on?” His long, soft tongue lapped my pussy from top to bottom, and then gave my clit a quick little suck—never taking his eyes from mine. “Open. Show me.”

With two fingers I open my pussy to him, seconds later I feel a finger slip between my folds, then another. He suckled gently, wetly. The threads of reality blurred and dissolved behind my eyelids. I felt his lips on my pussy, his tongue on my clit, and while I’m conscious these are separate entities, I struggled to register them as such. The slurping, sucking, kissing, and licking came together in syncopated harmony I could just make out over my own ragged breathing.

Owen looped his arm around my waist, holding me at the mercy of his tongue and exploring fingers. He set a rhythm, simultaneously sucking my lip and ebbed into me. Blood rushed in my ears and I began shaking. “Oh shit,” I moaned, his tongue was my last tether to sanity. He applied slow, steady upward strokes beneath my tiny nub, tasting the juices he had created. I sank into the sensations.

He moaned through the wet slurping sounds of his mouth caressing my slit. I went absolutely wild. No one had ever done that to me. I loved it. “Owen, what are you doing?” He didn’t answer with words. He licked around my clit, teasing it until I shook. “Ooohhhh...please...” He circled it a few more times and then sucked it into his mouth. “Oh fuck!” I crumbled the sheets tightly in my fist. “What are you doing?”

He paused for a second, a smile in his eyes. “I’m licking your clit, baby.” He kissed my mound. “Anything you rather I be doing?” He shot sarcastically and returned to his feast. He turned his palm upward and fingered as if beckoning me to him.

“Oh shit!” my legs snapped shut trapping his hand, and I shot up on my elbows, completely at his mercy “What the hell?!”

“That’s your g-spot.” He forced my legs apart. “Cum on my tongue.”

I collapsed supine, singing his praise, and attempted to disembody myself beneath his frenzied mouth. It was useless—my orgasm swelled on his tongue and tips of his fingers. I clasped my hand over my mouth to muffle my cries; Owen removed it.

“Don’t.” His fingers continued fucking me. “I want to hear you cum.”

I thrashed and wailed as my orgasm ripped through me in waves. Eventually it became so intense I pushed his hand free and virtually crabbed walked away from him.

Owen rose rather pleased with himself and wiped his face. He lay beside me—I instinctively curled against his chest and he held me until the spasms subsided. My shudders a glowing testament to his oral prowess.

“Oh my God. I came.” I murmured some time later, my face still buried in his chest.

“Yes, you did. Hard.” He kissed the top of my head and sauntered to the bathroom. I scrambled to the end of the bed to watch his ass.

He smiled over his shoulder. “I fascinate you?”

Hell yeah!
“A little.” I rolled over on my back, my head hung off the bed, watching him wash his face in the mirror “You’re not exactly what I expected. By all accounts I expected you to be a pretentious douche bag.”

“Hey!” He caught my eye in the mirror. “I’m still your employer.” He hung his towel and returned to the bedroom and stood in front of my mouth. His next remark was more of a direct edict than an actual request. “Over here. On your knees. Open your mouth.” On my knee, he wrapped one of his hands in my hair and cranked my head back so that our eyes met.

I’m pretty sure he read my confusion as apprehension, which in a sense it was. Having never given a blowjob, my chief concern was I’d slice him to ribbons. Thankfully he took control. He held my head in position and thumbed cheek while feeding his cock between my lips, and slowly fucked my mouth, filling it deliciously.

“Very good.” Owen drew his cock to the edge of my lips before gliding in again…he repeated again and again. “Deeper.” He ground into my face. I gagged slightly. “Pretend you’re swallowing, your throat will relax.”

I did, and it did. A few strokes later, I succumb to gravity and the perverse gratification of his cock tunneling down my throat.

“Oh fuck,” He moaned pendulating down my gullet. His muscles grew taut and his words became an amalgamation of incoherent bleats, gasps, and expletives. I caught a glimpse of our reflections in a nearby mirror and I smiled to myself; there’s an enormous sense of power in reducing a man’s iron will to the consistency of pudding with your mouth. “Oh fuck, Serena. Keep sucking.” I glanced at the mirror. He was directing my movements, forcing my lips up and down his length. “God, woman.” His labored, oblivious to anything else but the heavenly feeling of my sucking mouth on his cock...tasting him...drinking him in.

I gripped his hips and swallowed and sucked, ignoring his pleads and a strangled cries for me to stop before he came. I was a woman possessed, determined to suck his orgasm from him..

“Serena,” he groaned and placed one hand on my shoulder as if to push me away.

I continued sucking as he thrust into my mouth as if it were my pussy. His pleads fizzled gasps, his hold on my shoulder more urgent. His eyes closed.

“Serena! Stop!” he pulled out of my mouth, long pearl strands of salvia connected us like spider webs, snapping only when I fell back on my knees choking. Breathing raggedly, Owen leaned against the foot of the bed, then went to the bathroom for a towel. “You must stop when I tell you.” He wiped my face gently. I stared up at him, doe-eyed. “Always follow my instructions.” He smiled.

I nodded and coughed.

“Come here.” He sat on the small bench at the foot of the bed and patted his thigh. “Lay across.”

I obeyed without concern. “Are you going to spank me with your bare hand?” I asked as he positioned me properly, offering up my ass for his use. He didn’t answer. Slowly and reverently he drew his fingertips down the landscape of my spine, across the basin of my lower back, up and around the swell of my ass; curving and swirling across my skin as if he were authoring my fate in invisible ink. My pulse quickened eager for him to caress my ass.

“Would you like to rub your clit?”

“No,” I replied stupidly.

“Have it your way.” Owen massaged and jiggled my ass. Clearly he was going to enjoy this as much as I was. “Damn baby, you ass is so fucking sexy.” More caressing over my mound. Then a loud smack and sunburst of pain spread across the vista of my ass.

“Oow!” I yelped. I maintained my position, though barely. Before the solar flare from the first smack faded, there came another and another. Twinkling lights like sparklers danced before my eyes. I reached between my legs and, rather awkwardly, rubbed my clit as Owen’s shower of slaps rained down.

“You like the way I spank you, slut?” He hissed and smacked between words. “You’re wet, aren’t?”

“Oh fuck yeah!” The burning swells with each smack and my pussy pulsed wildly the more I rub. Owen’s hand lands with pinpoint precision, punishing my tender ass sweetly. “More, please, more,” I begged. Soon my fingers and inner thighs were slick and my clit was keening to be sucked again. I squirmed and squealed—begged and pleaded. To no avail.

“Are you okay?” He stopped and kissed me.

I whimpered my affirmation onto his lips.

He grinned. “You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

I shook my head violently.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” His tone husky. “Feel my cock stretching your tiny neglected hole—claiming it. Restraining you…taking you deep…making you cum on my cock.” More slaps found their target. “You’re mine, Serena. Say it.”

I was in heaven, or so I thought until I felt his hand slip between my cheeks and enter my pussy. I gasped at the penetration but instinctively my walls began milking his finger and it wasn’t long before I melted into orgasm. Judging by Owen’s throaty purr, my struggle to regain some semblance of control excited him greatly. Another smack accompanied his probing digit and my rubbing hand. Shamelessly I spread my legs wider, his hand now slowly ebbed and flowed wetly inside of me with ease. I rubbed tiny circled on my clit; blinded by the reverberation of his palm on my soft ample bottom, and our mutual gutter-whispers. This was heaven!

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!-Smack! A series of blows came in quick succession punctuated by his authoritative narration and my cries of orgasm. I slumped limp and exhausted. On one swift motion, I was lifted, on my back spread eagle, and, before I could register or adjust, Owen’s cock was burrowing inside my tight fuckhole unmercifully. My arms encircled his neck and held on for dear life! His hands reached under and palmed my aching cheeks, kneading them. The deep and harder and faster he hammered the more I squirted on his shaft. I was lost in a swirl of pleasure, silently wiling him to have his way, do as he pleased—fuck me, suck me, spank me but for goodness sake don’t stop!

“Whose dirty little fuck toy are you now?”

“Yours,” I practically whispered.

He gripped my ass harder, “What was that?”

“Yours,” I said louder.

“Now you’re gonna be a good fuck toy for me aren’t you? Let me fuck your pussy whenever I choose.” He drove into me urgently when I failed to answer. “Speak.”

“Yes, I’ll be good.”

“Are you gonna cum for me?”

I nodded. I couldn’t breathe. I’d never been so full; so stretched; so thoroughly fucked in all my life. “Aghhh!” I shouted when the first wave of orgasm shook me.

Owen came second later, filling me. He shuddered till we were spent.

Three more rounds of spankings and sex past. I lie on my stomach smiling at Owen while he looked up at the ceiling. “You hurt my ass.”

“It wasn’t supposed to tickle.”

“You call me a dirty little fuck toy.”

He looked at me and grinned sweetly. “Does that bother you?”

I reached over and began stroking him back to life. “If I answer wrongly, will you spank me again?” His cock jerked in my hand. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He turned his face ceilingward.

“Does this mean you’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay for awhile.” His chest filled with air then fell.

I attempted to hide my disappointment; however, it wasn’t lost on him. He cut me a sideways glance and chuckled.

“Would you like to come with me when I leave, restless one?”

“Well if you insist.” I beamed. His smile faded as the backs of his fingers caressed my jaw line.

“I insist.”

Feeling emboldened, I asked, “You said you’d done things you were ashamed of; some in this house. What have you done?”

He gave an exhausted grin and pulled me to him. “I’ll explain everything….one day.”

                                  THE END