After Dinner Mint

What do you do after you've done something remarkable? Take a shower I suppose. I had had an experience I would never forget.

An hour of bloodthirsty handball, a half hour sauna and ice water later I was feeling human. Hungry, but human. The Orchid was just up the block, and chopsticks and plum wine seemed about right. "C Sean does Szechwan." I must have been a little dopey.

I reached the place only to find it packed. I turned to leave when I heard "Is that you Ricky?" No one has called me that since Reagan was President.

"OK Franki, where are you?"

Laughter. My guess is that no one called her Franki anymore either. Most Broadway divas seem to like French sounding names. Francine happened to come equipped with one. She certainly was a Broadway Diva. At least she was in New York.

"All right, I won't call you Ricky if you don't call me Franki. I didn't want to call you Clarance."

"Thank you for that. I go by Sean--it's my middle name in case you didn't know--or by Richards. You may choose either."

"Well C Sean Richards, we have a reservation for 8 and only 7 showed up. Would you like to join us? Please. I'm the odd man out"

I didn't try to pick up the names. They hadn't tried to pick up mine. Francine was right; the others were paired off. By the time the desert cart came by, we were alone. So I walked her home, she invited me in, I decided to stay for a few minutes and we talked for hours. At one point she went to get something from the kitchen and I wandered around looking at pictures of her with famous people. Then I stopped dead. There was a picture of her with Cynthia—may be 15 years old, but still Cynthia. She noticed me looking at the picture.

"What a waste. Prodigy at 14, tragedy at 16."

"What happened?"

"Dancers cannot have 38 D breasts. It doesn't work. She got too big and that was that."

Francine was 5'3", 95 pounds only because of the muscle in her legs.

"I met her. I think we hit it off. We certainly seemed to communicate without saying much."

We talked some more. A lot about dance. Some I knew, a lot more I did not. The subject of pain came up. Dancers, it seemed, were like runners. To get good you have to deal with pain. Make friends even. It was the slow controlled movements that really could get you.

"That was what Sheila was so good at. The impossible holds and the unreachable stretches." She meant Cynthia.

"I know her as Cynthia."

"Stage name. Francine Martel works fine on a billing, Sheila Schwartz doesn't. What's she doing now?"

"I see your point about the name. I always noticed yours whenever I saw it. She's teaching. Not dance, but a lot of the "control" that you've been talking about. Executive training, that kind of thing."

"So she has been training you?"

"Not exactly."

"You train her?"

"Closer, but not exactly."

Without appearing to move, Francine had managed to work her way next to my. Not that I objected.

"Maybe you could train me." Exaggerated pout and pleading impression. I reached out and gave her fanny a swat.

"But aren't you supposed to spank a bare bottom."

"Very well, take off your pants and undies and come lay over my knee so I can spank you properly little girl."

I could play too. I wondered how far she would take the roll she had just dropped into. You can never tell about actors. Sometimes its them and sometimes it's the roll and sometimes its them pretending to play the roll.

"But daddy, I'll be good." A little further it seems.

Now Sugar, you know if I have to come get you it will be worse. You've earned an extra swat already."

"Well all right, if you promise not to hit to hard." Pout, pout.

"I promise to warm your buns properly. Now one, two, three…"

"I'm coming. I'm coming."

"What did I tell you to do with your pants and panties?"

She peeled them off right there, and came timidly over.

"Now stand between my legs, lean over my left knee and put your hands on the floor."

"Are you going to hit hard?"

"You deserve a good spanking and you are going to get one. Now Bend Over."

She did. I closed my legs to pin hers, put my left hand on the back of her neck and held her down while I wound up the first swat. Whack.

"Yow. That's enough daddy."

If she had dropped character, I would have let her up. Instead I counted off 10 swat. By five my hand was red and my fingertips were numb. I never realized punishment could be so demanding on the punisher. The punishee's butt had a nice red glow. And a wet one.

"There now. That's done. Now daddy is going to check to see if his little girls tempature is all right." She certainly smelled all right. I took my middle finger and ran it down the center of her vagina, just under the lips. She squealed and jerked, trying to get loose.

It was a fight, but I had the size and the leverage. In a few moments, I fingerfucked her. Then three at once. Before long her squirms had a different feel to them.

Then, "Oh shit I'm coming. YESSSS."

I let her up. "I guess daddy's girl has grown up."

"You're a bastard Sean. I'll get you for that."

"Feel free." Leaning back with hands behind my head.

"You asked for it sucker. Get those pants and panties off."

"I give you permission."

From the look on her face that was a bad move. She knelt and undid my belt and fly. Then off came the shoes and socks. Whew. I need new insoles. Then grabbing my slacks and boxers, "Lift." I lifted and off they came. She sat back on her heels, pulled out the belt and folded the slacks carefully. The belt she looped twice through the buckle.

Then she knelt up again and dropped the loops over George, my penis, worked my balls to the top and pulled it snug. One more loop for good measure.

"Don't move."

My roll had my hands behind my neck. Right then I regretted the decision. But she hadn't broken character before cumming, and I was not going to either.

She went into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of water and a towel. Then she washed my feet. I swear. Toweled them dry and started to kiss them. Little bites, sucking on the toes, and drove my ticklish side into convulsions. I levered against my neck so hard my shoulders cracked.

Eventually she moved on to my legs, paying special attention to the back of the knee. Then with the wet end of the towel she traced along the inside of the thigh. Blow. Damn I did that to Cynthia, Sheila a couple hours ago.

Back to the present. She grabbed the belt an pulled my whole assembly up, and me with it, so she could run that damn towel up my crack. My asshole puckered like from a persimmon as she ran the course towel over it. Then she wetted another corner and started to work up under the belt. Need I say the George's head was purple.

Just as I began to worry about George's health, she unwound two loops of the belt. Before I could breath a sigh of relief, Whack. Right in the eye. George only has one and she got it all. Whack. Whack. Whack. Down at the base. Whack. Whack. Lip of the head. Stop to stroke George's throat. Whack. Whack. Whack. Front, back, front. One more.

And she makes me wait for it. Taking George by the head with her lips, she slowly runs the loop out of the belt and drops it on the floor. Never once does the gentle pressure leave George's head. Blow. Damn. Licking the throat, the shaft, the balls. Oh God. Here I C . . . Clap. Both hands right on the crown. Sticky fountain all over her hands. She smiles and looks up.

"Wanna fuck?"

I pulled off my tie and threw it over neck and pull. "Lets neck a little first."

She wiped her hands on the towel, put them both sides of my face, and kissed me soundly. "Suits."

* * * * *

What can you say. Spice is spice, but meat is meat. She sat, bare assed on my bare lap and we kissed and talked til midnight. Then I carried her to bed and we made slow tender love and fell asleep in each others arms. As they say, it doesn't get any better. I learned a lot about theatre to boot.

Sheila Schwartz. Hmmm. I gave her card to Francine. I consider Franki a good reference. Good friend too.