Lovers of Spanking

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

Doris Marlin, who was girl number two of the assortment of female SPANKING ADDICTS associated with Bondage Girls' Custume-Jewelry, Inc., at the time that lovely Brenda Courtney was being driven away on her hot and heavy date with her handsome mulatto boy-friend, was in the process of having an intense, passionate love-affair with herself and jerking herself off, which would come about with the ultimate help of a cheap vibrator she had recently bought for just such an expressed purpose!

Doris was the private secretary to the boss of the firm, John Kimberly. And while not unusually bright in the brains-department, although she prided herself on reading deep books occasionally and having a slight bent toward being intellectual, more than compensated for it in the s*x-department, having a terrific appeal which really sent her boss into a frenzy ever so often - who f****d and sucked up a real storm with her at such times, for a welcome change-of-pace - even though he had a lovely, sophisticated wife of his own at home.

Doris, at 25, was in her prime. She was a natural honey-blonde, of medium height, with sharp but sensuous features, highlighted by bright, radiant emerald-green eyes, and thin but wide, pouting and glistening-wet lips for a most provocative mouth.

And while she was too short and not nearly perfect enough to be a model, which she often thought she should be, Doris had a terrific pair of t**s, and a lilting, bouncy ass for her relatively frail framework. Her legs were long and tapered, but slightly bowed -- naturally made to order to wrap around some lucky man, like a pair of Python-snakes -- to crush and f**k him to death with!

Doris was distinctly reminiscent of. Julie Christie, the captivating movie-actress, in both face and body, as a basic type, which called to mind what some movie-critic or other said about the effervescent Julie, in essence:

"Some girls were made-to-order for billboard-posters and to be put on girlie-calendars. But this one is made for the bed, and indeed, that's all a man can think about when he sets his eyes on her!"

So, by the very same token, was Doris Marlin, who had a similar devastating effect upon the opposite s*x. Once she was stripped down raw, to her birthday-suit, the lucky dog who witnessed it would be treated to a vision of full, hard and ripe cantaloupes of her swelled, upthrust t**s, that were ideally adorned by two ripe strawberry-cones:

There was also a natural bantam-golden, resplendent sheen to her entire body, particularly her sexy legs, which glowed and glistened. The sheen was also reminiscent of Julie Christie, particularly as she appeared in her Academy Award winning role of DARLING:

Later on in the Summer, after many prolonged and meticulous sun-treatments, derived at public beaches with the adroit, painstaking applications of a special oil, the resplendent tincture would change somewhat, to more of a deep hued chestnut, which would vanish a few months after the season ended, when the natural bantam-golden sheen would return once again in direct conjunction with the acquired sun-tan wearing completely off:

But any way that a man happened to look at her -- bantam-golden or chestnut -- one thing was irrefutable:

She was a golden nymph -- a glorious golden nymph -- that seemed to be born on this Earth for the sole purpose of having s*x all the time, doing that and nothing else. And, if she somehow was thwarted of doing it with others, she would do it all by herself -- all alone and lonely -- with either the help of a banana, a candle, or, of late, a vibrator, which, she found, sent her the most of all, with its light and teasing electric-charges going coursing through her whole being, wherever the vibrator happened to touch and make contact at her own direction:

There was simply no question about it; sensuous Doris was one hot piece of ass constantly!

At present, her slightly bowed but most enticing taffy-golden gams made a most intriguing v against the Wedgewood-blue pastel-wall which her bed was deliberately shoved up against, tight.

Doris enjoyed gazing at her gams while talking on the telephone, because, to put it bluntly, she knew that they were damn nice legs -- or at least real sexy ones that drove most men wild and made them froth at the mouth -- if their leering stares on the street were any indication.

Right now, in rolled-up lime-green shortie-shorts, which perfectly matched her radiant emerald-green eyes and accentuated them, to her, they subjectively looked as pretty as any picture in a girlie-magazine or kindred calendar.

The shorts were open and her t**s were bare and heaving as she lay on the bed -- the latter, looking like two most delectable scoops of butter-pecan ice-cream, with ripe red, most juicy strawberries for rich, tart topping:

Yum-ymmy, what red-blooded man wouldn't want to nibble and chew on those? she mused rhetorically, with a keen pang of Narcissistic-delight, feeling her entire t**t spasmodically twitch then pulsate with this catharsis of libido to her ego.

She was dully winding the cord of the phone between her fingers, while a dull metallic ringing sounded periodically on the other end of the connection:

It was a rather warm day in early Summer, it being toward the end of June, so you could get away with wearing shortie-shorts and not get to feel cold. However, she .would never get to feel cold if she had anything to say about it - not as long as she had her tried and. Trusted vibrator around at her beckon-call -- most convenient and handy:

It could really put her in a state of enthralled rapture and make her come - cream like crazy - if she had to get herself off somehow, she was so tense.

Doris was in a rather good mood, despite her present state of loneliness:

It was a glad day - a mad day -- a day in June to go crazy on. It was the kind of a day to run wild and nude through jungle-foliage and maybe have a Caveman or two chasing after you. One of them would catch up with you and bang you with his mighty club into submission, then drag you off to his secret cave, fling you down on the ground, utterly prostrate, passive and open to do his bidding, then f**k the living s**t out of you -- f**k you nearly to death:

Nearly, but not quite.

You would survive, so that you could reflect on and enjoy the heavenly state of bliss you were put in, having been drained dry of all your cream, so really not caring about or even feeling the cluster of livid black-and-blue marks that had been worked up all over your precious body.

There was only-one trouble with such a day-dream:

The woods outside were made entirely out of concrete, rather than grass and trees, comprising the notorious "concrete-jungle." And, then too, right now, she was having considerable difficulty in locating any available Caveman she knew via the telephone.

Good lord, she thought, every cat must be working:

What an utter drag and awful bring-down.

What was every he-man coming to? The Establishment was getting the better of all of them, keeping their asses in a sling and their noses to the grindstone, to work for it, to pay off and make monthly payments on their new crappy, tinny cars and the like.

But, even so, it was early in the day, so she didn't have to give up all hope. She still might be able to rustle up a Caveman or two, if she kept trying:

Only again, this particular one she was calling obviously wasn't at home, in his proverbial cave.

Yes, obviously not, she reflected again, hanging up the phone and returning once again to her legs, now intent on giving her full attention in jerking herself off and making herself come and cream fully.

This was better -- much better. At least it gave Doris something concrete and substantial to do.

She reached out to her golden-bantam, curvy legs and stroked them liltingly with the sensitive balls, for tips, of her long, graceful fingers, sending most delightful and invigorating chills seeping up and down her spine in currents.

Soon, a slow, warm sensuous-feeling came in its stead and took its place.

Her sensitive finger-tips now travelled upward, to her upthrust cantaloupes for breasts which were already panting lightly with excitement and keen expectancy, a priori.

Doris' hands then went to the undersides of the t**s, cupping them lovingly, making her almost swoon and the juices of pre-secretion begin to stir and work. She delicately pinched the delectable n*****s, making her cry softly and tremulously, but inwardly:

Oh, oh, oh-hhh! she gasped to herself; that felt even better yet!

She was about to place her hands between her honeybun fur a cunt and make the pre-secretion juices really flow before resorting to the vibrator for the end-game and total consummation when, abruptly, she stopped, feeling guilty and ashamed at what she had to do. She felt she had to give the phone one last try, at any rate, before finishing the messy job of playing "Stink-fingers ..."

This time, she was lucky and properly rewarded when a familiar male-voice purred smoothly to her in answer on the other end of the line:

"Hello. Yes. Who is this, please?"

"It's me, Ray - Doris - Doris Marlin."

"Oh," he reflected, a bit glumly. "So, just what can I do for you, hmmm, my dear?"

"I'm in terrible heat, darling. I'm in the mood for it and I have no one to turn to who really sends me, except you -you lucky dog! So what say you come over to my pad and throw me a real mellow f**k, huh?"

"I would be only too glad to - overjoyed, in fact - but -"

"Yes? What's wrong?"

"I'm a bit bushed, you see. I had a terrific humping-session just last night. Three times I went, as a matter-of-fact. So I won't be worth a good s**t to any girl tonight. Give me a day or two to recover, then call me, and we'll see."

Doris, feeling really desperate and cornered like a trapped little animal now, tried to cajole with bun coaxingly:

"Couldn't you come over tonight and throw me just one bang?" she whined. "That will be enough to satisfy me, honestly."

"Yes, so you say, my dear, but if I know you from the past - and I'm sure that I do - once you get those long, strong legs wrapped around me, you won't let go until you break my back for me and I drop at least three loads into you. That's what happened last time, and still, you weren't satisfied; you wanted more."

"But I'll be a good girl this time, I promise, Ray darling."

"Yes, so you say, I reiterate, and I have no doubt that you mean it, too. But once you're the b***h in heat, let's face it, you become like someone on dope -- a full-fledged addict - who can exert no control whatsoever. A well-sexed chick like you can take on a whole regiment and still yell for more. So where does an ordinary, tired mortal like me come in, hmmm, my dear?" he ended on a slightly scornful, most rhetorical-note.

"Very well," Doris sighed resignedly. "So what do you suggest I do? I'm all alone and lonely, and have absolutely no one to turn to. So -"

"In that case, why not try f*****g yourself for a change, my dear," he exclaimed lightly but snidely.

Since he really hit the bull's-eye and struck home, it made Doris quite enraged and emotional, in a typical female-manner:

"Oh, you no-good c**k-sucker - you dirty, filthy, rotten low-life scum-bag - to even suggest such a terrible, shameful thing to me. I never want to speak to you again as long as I live. Never, never NEVER!" she trailed off, her voice rising tremulously and most vociferously.

"As you please; suit yourself, my dear," he retorted in a glib tone that was filled with utter amusement at her expense. "Cheers, Doris!" And saying that, he hung up:

What nerve -- what colossal nerve! Doris almost choked and gasped in her state of impotent frustration.