Dinner

Dinner With A Stranger

Fingers fiddled with the buttons on my shirt, opening it slowly and sensuously. Jesus! I thought, overwhelmed, This is like something out of a movie, Body Heat replayed. Soft lights, dreamy music in a cozy cocoon, squirming against me on the overstuffed sofa a female whose name I hadn't gotten round to asking, nibbling at my ear whispering huskily "Don't fight it, you don't want me to have to spank your naughty plump buns, now, do you?" Her hand went to my pants, and a colossal stiffy told her what she wanted to know, I was captured.

Her scent was intoxicating, a perfume of such feminine strength I was bound head to foot helpless in duct tape. Slipping out of her tight sheath she stood in black bra, sinful matching panties, garter belt, stockings. Glistening black four-inch pumps accentuated the sculpting of her legs turning my knees to jelly. Last time I felt so vulnerable and helpless was being inducted into the military. Mumbling "My wife won't like this," I allowed her strip me down to my briefs then lead me trembling to her bedroom.

Crossing to a large armoire she brought out a thin wooden paddle, running her smooth blonde hand slowly over its smooth blond surface. Swallowing hard I realized I was about to feel what the poor sod of a Doberman had felt.

She'd been waiting at the traffic lights when I panted up, attempting my evening fit-for-nothing run. From behind the view was sensational. Raven black hair spread over a brown fur that fit in all the right places. Under a trim waist a glorious bottom below which sprouted two of the best sculpted legs I had ever seen. My eyes enjoyed every inch of the journey. Of course, I'm a connoisseur of Dobermans. The girl holding the end of the short leather leash was quite a looker too and as I came up alongside she turned her head and stared full-on and open with the most magnetic brown eyes ever to undress me. I'm vain and know full well I have a gorgeous male bod. But those eyes! Very slightly flecked with amber. I was looking into a warm wood fire where embers smoldered waiting to flare at the hint of male musk, and I had that musk -- gotta remember to use deodorant in the mornings! Black leotard over a body to die for, Dolly Parton narrow waist, big tits, perfect hips, long legs, total effect hit me between the eyes with a billiard ball.

For several moments our gaze held. I thought, This is one damn silly cliche, and my hormones raced like a lawnmower slipped out of gear and I said "Hello" in a disgustingly greasy lascivious way that would have made a nice girl throw up.

Her eyes never wavered and she said nothing, as if I weren't there, and I wondered if this was one of those days when I thought I existed but everyone else in the world failed see me. You know, those days where the bus fails to stop, no-one leaves a square inch of space on the subway train even for you to stand on tiptoe and people move upon you carrying bags and briefcases elbowing you in a way which finally leaves you in no doubt you've become invisible. At least the dog sniffed me and snarled. She gave him a smart slap on the rump with the leather leash. I felt envious and the dog sat immediately, looking up at her with respect just as I would have in his place. My breath quickened and my eyes must have widened a bit. A bit lower, another reaction was taking place. Glancing down I saw my shorts bulging so I took the peach out of my pocket before I squished it. Always carry one to quench my thirst on a run. Bit into it. Juice ran down my chin. My shorts still bulged. Maybe I oughtn't carry so many peaches.

Ghost of a smile on her lips. Oh, she had my number alrighty. That's because I'd stuffed it into her hand as the lights changed. Always keep my number on pieces of paper in my pocket, getting laid being purely a numbers game. All took less than ten seconds. Damn dog trotted off across the intersection with her leaving me standing dazedly with vague incomprehensible memories of a joke told me around age 12 which I'd never quite understood except it had to do with a situation like this and the punchline was she says Let's go to bed!, the man says But weren't you going to walk the dog? and she says Bugger the dog, let the sod walk.

Later, in her bedroom I was to stammer nervously: "W-what is th-th-that for?"

"You know exactly what it's for, little man" she said, predatory glare in amber eyes. "I always find a man a much better lover after he's had his naughty bare bottom warmed."

"You do!?"

My face once just ghostly turned a lighter shade of pale. The predator's smile broadened as she witnessed my increased excitement, then she resumed her stern demeanor. A magnificent 5' 10", she was far from being a small. I, dressed in only clumsy white Y-fronts, felt scarcely 6'. Not surprising since I'm only 5' 6". The beautiful woman who'd had just transformed into a stunning dominatrix tossed the paddle on the bed, sat next the paddle crooking a finger at me, beckoning. "Come here, little man."

On legs that barely worked, I obeyed, tottering over to stand by her knee. Touching the bulge that protruded from my groin, she queried slyly: "Well, well. What have we here?"

"We earth men have reproductive organs in aproximately that vicinity. Mayhap, madam, you refer to those in their erectile state?"

The force with which she slapped me around the face knocked me off balance and over and above the flush from her blow I blushed even deeper, if that was possible, too dazed to resist as slim fingers pulled my underpants down past my knees. Glittering eyes held me like a python its prey. I was shaking like a leaf, tremendously excited yet fearful. I knew I should've listened to my Mom: never, never accept dinner invitations from strange women without phoning to tell her where you're going!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The invitation:

"Hello again," a mellow voice had sounded in my right ear. This was because I had the telephone receiver against that ear. Puzzled I asked "Who's calling?"

Woof! I recognised the beautiful deep-chested warning of a fullly grown Doberman.

"Ah," I said, "I recall you now. I never forget a dog."

She laughed, a melodious sound that rippled my spinal cord. "I never forget a man who likes my dog more than me" she said in a dangerous voice. "Woof to you, pal."

"Um, can I help you?" I asked with that curiously bitter vacuousness which in America passes for rudeness. I'd literally only then puffed in at the door after my run. At that moment I noticed the note my wife had thoughtfully left beside the phone telling me to cook my own dinner. Well, what a change that would be.

"Dinner," she said. "I phoned to call you around for dinner. Be here in an hour." She hung up.

If anyone ever sounded like my mother and wife rolled into one it was her, which is probably why I found myself incapable of refusing the order. She hadn't said "invite", just "call you around for dinner." I still wouldn't have gone if it weren't for one more thing happening....She called back and gave me the address.

An extremely posh apartment building, uniformed doorman, marble and gilt everywhere....Her door: I rang the bell. It opened. The face wore sunglasses, stylish ones, and dark enough so I couldn't see those remarkable brown eyes with the golden flecks.

"Can you see to cook in those things?" I asked. Her hand took mine and drew me into her lair. My insides started to sweat like Sydney Greenstreet in Casablanca. I lagged behind slightly, her back view as sensational as the front. Clinging sheath of an extremely short black dress. Long legs going all the way down to a pair of even-toed feet without sight of a wooden leg. Well, men with fetishes for one-legged women can't have it all their own way all the time. Her toenails were painted to match her carpet, a smart medium red. At least, I think so. Either that or she'd had the ends of her toes amputated.

"Over my knee!" It was a musically intoned yet imperious command.

"I - I - I - " was all I could manage, almost panting with excitement. "Is this going to cost me? Both my credit cards are already over the limit..."

"Don't make me tell you twice," she warned, "or I'll see you regret it."

"I already regret it" I said as my nose got carpet burn during the descent.

Her manner was tolerant but stern. "What are you doing?" she snapped as I undulated across her lap like a jellyfish.

"Making myself comfortable."

"You're not allowed to be comfortable, silly man."

I was thrilled beyond sanity. Lying across her knees awaiting her pleasure, dimly hoping it would be my own too. Her hand slapped my bare bottom smartly, its sting surprising. Not too bad, I thought, as another landed.

After a dozen slaps it began to get uncomfortable. Actually it was excruciating! She hit forcefully and the softness of her skin belied the hardness of her palm. A brief respite, I drew breath, then a solid whacking sound at the same time as a family of hornets stung my backside. I never felt the impact of varnished wood on bare skin and it amazed me. Very interesting, I thought - but bloody appalling! Shock even took my voice away. Only for a moment, for when the second whack landed I screamed stridently, looking back over my shoulder to see what was going on in time to see the next coming, which made it even worse.

"Owww. Christ! Stop! That hurts."

In response more swats, sharp wrist-snapping whacks that scorched my unprotected rear. She paused for a moment, then chided: "The way you fuss anyone would think you never had a good spanking!"

"I don't think I did before now!"

As the paddle continued its stinging work I realised it could stop anytime I chose, yet I richly relished being under her control, submitting to what was to be a real hiding. As tears started in my eyes I let myself go, riding the wave. Failed to go with it. One blow pushed me passed a limit and involuntarily I put out my hand, the paddle catching my finger damn near breaking it.

"Ahh!" she lamented sympathetically "Did my little man hurt his finger?"

In agony I was yet so aroused it began seeming as if I scarcely felt pain as pain but as something else, I can't say what, even further stimulated by her maternal attitude. However, her paddling continued with me crying and howling and I started to definitely feel pain, extreme pain as of torture, and began hating myself for betraying my body into receiving such punishment.

"Um, could we stop for dinner," I asked calmly, trying to sound more like James Bond than a bare-assed man bent ignominiously over the lap of a woman he didn't in the least know. "Smells like you have the makings of an excellent meal. What's on the menu?"

"Chicken Marsala," she replied equally calmly, not pausing paddling, as if she was taking cocktails rather than sitting on her bed with a naked man she didn't know across her knees. "With linguini, fresh zucchini buds, and vintage Chianti. Interested?"

As the paddling went on there was a distracting humming in my ears, getting stronger. Was I in the power of a lunatic? Did she intend doing away with me? I really must phone someone, if not my mother, before accepting strangers' dinner invitations. I fancied beads of perspiration stood out on my forehead. Alarm bells were going off in my brain. Say something! Say anything! Tell her to stop!

Through the incandescent haze I became aware she'd quit paddling, quit some time ago, and the gigantic ball of pain which had overwhelmed my rear was receding. My right wrist was still twisted and pulled up behind my back, caught and held there by her left hand when it had attempted to interfere sometime during the spanking. Her other cool hand was stroking my flaming bottom, rubbing in cold cream, assuaging the smarting burn. I found now that I was rapidly becoming aroused beyond the beyond. My cock felt like a balloon, throbbing fit to burst, and feeling my excitement she released my hand.

I rose and said "Are we going to have dinner now?" Without saying another word she drew me down to her bed and, what can I tell you? I shoved it in and rogered her rigid.