Two Pieces Inspired

Deirdre was an anonymous web author of short twisty erotic tales somewhere around 1994-1995. There was an internet celebration of here in 2006 where lots of people wrote stories similar to her style. I was inspired to write a couple myself, and I present a pair here.

All characters are over the age of 18.

// Trust //

"She *trusts* you."

My fraternity brother Greg had just given me the *strangest* request I could imagine. He said his girlfriend wanted to be spanked and she wanted *me* to do it.

Now I'm not overly handsome and he'd never taken particular note of me before, so this seemed odd. But a brother is a brother, so I found myself Friday night sitting in Greg's apartment, having a rum and coke and waiting for his girlfriend Elena to tell us she was ready. In a little bit she called out, and Greg ushered me into the back room. Elena was in there, naked, bent over a sofa with her feet wide apart, her brown bottom cheeks glistening with oil or lotion. I could see *everything* from the dark winking rosebud to the swollen pussylips dangling between her spread thighs. I started to back up but Greg was right behind me. "Go on," he urged me, "she *trusts* you."

I moved forward, conscious of the erection trapped in my slacks. I flexed my hand, then slapped her right cheek tentatively. "Harder, *please*," she said. My next slap had more meat and sensation to it, and I soon found myself in a regular rhythm, alternating cheeks until Elena was twisting and rocking and my palms hurt.

My pants were around my ankles; when did that happen? Greg had one hand around my cock, thumbing the vein under the shaft, his other hand on my bottom pushing me toward Elena's flared rosebud.

The sensation inside her squirming ass was incredible; I moaned louder than Elena did. I felt Greg's finger slide into my bottom while I came. He was murmuring, "she likes *company*".

/ END /

// Surprise //

It had been years since I saw John. Now, sitting across two steaming lattes, I was struck by how little he had changed in appearance. To think -- shy John, a filmmaker! Training films, but even so. He gave me his business card -- company name, phone, email address -- and we agreed to stay in touch more often.

His building was a bland concrete structure in the industrial district. The company name wasn't on the door, but when I showed the receptionist his card she nodded, almost approvingly. "I thought I'd surprise John," I whispered conspiratorially.

"We can arrange *that*," she said, and waved me to a side door which she buzzed open for me. Past that door was chaos. People with clipboards, hand-held cameras, rolling racks of *lingerie*. I stood with my mouth open until a harried-looking businesswoman approached me. "And you are...?" I told her I was there for John, and she nodded knowingly. "Of course you are. They all are. Well, come along, we're behind schedule today." She set a quick pace and I didn't get to ask what her comment meant.

She led me into a dressing room. "Shower *there*, gowns *there*, don't take forever." The shower was spartan but the body wash was luxurious and made my skin tingle all over; I had to remind myself not to dawdle. When I got out and looked at the short clingy gowns I had to giggle -- John would certainly be *surprised*.

As if waiting outside the door, the take-charge woman came back in and led me through a maze of bustling activity. Nobody seemed to take notice of a barefoot woman with wet hair in a clinging shortie robe. She opened another door and ushered me into a semidark room where she positioned me lying on my stomach on a kind of low cushioned chaise. The head end was lower than the foot, and I could feel the back of the silk sliding up to the bottoms of my cheeks. I felt *decadent*.

I started to ask a question, but the woman shushed me. "You'll spoil the *surprise*." That made sense.

She left, and the room was quiet -- although I had an odd sense of motion behind the walls. The silence was broken by the sound of the door opening and closing, then a long appreciative whistle. I knew that whistle from long years past. I wondered if he liked what he was seeing, then gentle hands flipped the gown up and a limber tongue fluttered between my thighs and I knew he did. His tongue snaked up between my cheeks, a naughtiness I couldn't quite resist. I may have moaned. Fingers slid between my wetness and the chaise as the tongue rolled against my bottom. I *know* I moaned.

His tongue vanished, and I started to push myself back against the void but was stopped by the quick slice of warm flesh into my bottom, filling and stretching me as he leaned forward to lie atop me. His weight made my pussy and mons rub needfully against the chaise, and I felt his erection pulsing. I couldn't stay silent. "Oh, John!" I cried out.

Everything stopped except the slow unceasing pulse of his cock inside my bottom. "Julia?" That pulse became a sudden rush, and I knew a man coming inside my ass for the first time. He collapsed atop me, hugging me tight and rocking his hips into me. His movements made my pelvis grind against the chaise; I felt my own peak rushing at me. "Kiss me," I pleaded.

His voice scolded me gently. "You're my sister -- we shouldn't even be doing *this*." But his cock didn't stop moving. I *came*.

/ END /