Monday, 12 June 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

For the Pride Month I thought I'd try to share some f/f  from my back-catalogue. I've pathetically little to choose from, but here's a spanky piece from Named and Shamed:

“Gail!” My voice rose to a shout. “This is important! Get your ass out here!”

This time her giggle was accompanied by a resumption of the headboard rattle.

I lost my temper. Throwing open the door, I marched into the room. Vince was stretched out on the bed and Gail was riding him, cowgirl-style. Both were naked and the room stank of vigorous sex, but I ignored all that. Well, as best I could, anyway — it wasn’t possible not to notice the way her little tits were bouncing up and down like two tennis balls, or the taut stretch of her thighs straddling his dark hips, or the sheen of sweat all over her slender body. But did my best. I walked over, grabbed Gail’s long hair right at the base of her scalp, and hauled her unceremoniously off her boyfriend. I caught a glimpse of his cock when I did it, all slick and bobbing, but that wasn’t important right then. Gail yowled in protest as I dragged her out into the living room.

“Where’s my car?” I repeated as I let go of her and spun her to face me.

Gail stuck her bottom lip out, wrinkled her nose mutinously, and then suddenly grinned a slow dirty grin. “Not telling.”

Crap. I ran my hand over my face. “Gail, this isn’t the time for games. Tell me where it is.”

“Make me.”

Oh great. She’d decided to play the brat. We’d been doing this for years. We’d grown up close, living in the same Warwickshire village and playing together and often sharing a room overnight. Very early on, Gail had discovered she liked to have her bottom spanked and, to be honest, I didn’t mind obliging. I have powerful memories of her — back in the day when her hair was honey-brown and wavy, not blonde and straight — bending over in a corner of a remote field beneath the shelter of the willows, pulling up her skirt and displaying her teenaged bottom to me in the dappled light. Go on Tansy, she’d whisper: Spank me. Please! . . . . I just need it! I remember the sense of transgression, one that always brought a hot gush to my pussy, as I slapped her firm little ass. It had been our secret game. And yes, we still played at it sometimes, usually when Gail was between boyfriends.

She liked to initiate a session by acting the naughty girl. Something about rebellion and punishment clearly tripped her switches.

“I don’t need this now! It’s serious!”

“Make me,” she repeated, eyes narrowing.

“Fine,” I growled.

Seizing her hair again, I dropped her over one arm of the sofa with her ass in the air. For such a slim girl, she’s got a nice round bottom. Planting my knee in a cushion, I pushed one hand down between her shoulder blades and aimed the other at that pretty target. Hard. Damn it, I usually make it a rule never to do this when I’m genuinely worked up about anything, but this time I was in a real fix. Gail squealed and kicked with her legs as I landed smack after smack on her ass-cheeks and thighs, but she was off-balance and couldn’t get any purchase on the carpet. She rubbed her face in the seat cushions and clawed at the fabric and shrieked.

“Tell me!” I commanded grimly.

“Oww!” she howled, thrashing her thighs apart and giving me a distracting flash of her open pussy lips, pink and glistening from sex. She usually likes me to spank her pussy too, though rather more gently. But I wasn’t playing nice today. I clapped my tingling hand down on her left cheek with almost the full weight of my arm, seeing the flesh jounce and hearing her scream.

“Jeez,” said Vince: ‘Should you really be doing that?”

I looked up at him standing in the bedroom door, half-distracted from my mission. He was holding his jeans in front of his crotch to defend his modesty, but I could see the rest of his long, lean, mahogany-hued body all the way from his toes to the shaved fuzz of hair on top of his head. His brows were knitted in a frown, but his jaw was slack with surprise.

It must have been quite a sight from his standpoint, I guess. Tall redhead flatmate; little blonde girlfriend. Her legs were open and her ass was already scarlet, and her glistening snatch was pointed straight at him.

“Where’s my car?” I demanded. When no one answered me, I shifted my hand and evened up the score on Gail’s right cheek.


“Where’s my car?”

Vince’s mouth worked. “It’s . . .” he mumbled, but ground to a halt. His eyes were wide, his gaze fixed on Gail’s suffering rear.

I shook my head at their obstinacy. Smack. Smack. Smack. Swift and fierce, not giving her time to recover.

“Nooo!” she wailed.

I lifted my palm again, but held it aloft. “Where’s my car?” The noise of my hand falling was like a shot going off.

“AH! It got clamped!”

I let go of her. “What?”

“It got clamped and towed,” she sobbed. “We went out for pizza and when we got back they were taking it away on a truck.”

I felt like hitting her again but I didn’t. Never in real anger.

“You stupid -” I started to protest, but cut myself off. I had to stand up and pace around the room to vent my frustration. “You parked it on a double yellow line again?

“Only for a few minutes!” Gail lifted herself on her elbows but made no attempt to rise from the spanking position. Maybe she was too sore to sit up. I don’t know about her ass, but my hand was red hot and stinging.

“Where?” I demanded. “Where’s it gone?”

“Here,” said Vince: “We have the ticket here.”

I shot him a hard look. So he’d known. He’d known enough to stop the pain, all along. He sort of sidled around us, his gaze sliding back and forth from Gail to me, until he reached the sideboard and found a piece of paper, all without turning to show me his bare butt. I suspected that under his crumpled jeans he was nursing an almighty hard-on. In fact, as he handed the ticket to me, I saw him squeeze his crotch through the denim. He and Gail were going to have to have some things to talk over real soon, I suspected. And probably more than talk.

You can still buy Named and Shamed (if you hurry, before Sweetmeats Press closes) at:

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