Bad Girl by Steve Maser
Having just passed her thirtieth birthday, accomplished businesswoman Gail Bard is determined to satisfy the cravings that have tormented her for years, namely to be spanked on her bare bottom by a dominant man. Through a kinky dating site she hooks up with Michael Roth, a forty-year old patent lawyer and experienced dominant. Roth makes clear to Gail that he has no interest in a relationship as he already has a vanilla girlfriend, one who tolerates his fetish hobby. Instead she should regard him solely as her Disciplinarian. This is fine with Gail, whose deepest fantasies involve punishment. But after a series of intense encounters over many months during which she is repeatedly spanked, strapped, caned and anally fucked she becomes increasingly attached to him, so when she loses her job in a corporate downsizing, she reluctantly agrees to accept a position as a receptionist in his office. It’s a blow to her pride but it’s the price she has to pay for the continuation of those punishment sessions to which she has become addicted. These now continue, only this time behind closed doors in his office.
Meanwhile Roth has married his vanilla girlfriend Valerie, a talented artist who has become rich and bought a house in the country where Roth visits her on weekends. Gail’s descent down the social ladder continues as Roth pressures her to accept a job as his wife’s maid. There she is subjected to one humiliation after another until she has become for all intents and purposes the Roths’ slave. Things come to a head one day when Roth brings home a guest and offers to hand Gail over to him to use as he pleases. A very handsome guest.
Includes spanking, paddling, strapping, whipping, cropping, caning, bondage, dungeon furniture, humiliation, forced nudity, anal and oral sex.
Bad Girl by Steve Maser
Cover Art Tattobo – Shutterstock.com
The cars inched slowly down the avenue like a colony of ants. The driver of a yellow cab honked his horn impatiently, jolting the young woman in the back seat out of her revery. Reflexively she glanced at her watch though she had checked it only a minute before. By now the worst of the evening rush hour should have been over. Perhaps there was an accident up ahead. She told herself to calm down. Traffic accidents were the kind of contingency one must plan for, it was the reason she had left so early. After all, planning for worst-case scenarios was her business. It was how she made her living. But this meeting was one she especially didn’t want to be late for.
The taxi’s speed began to pick up as the traffic resumed its normal flow. Relieved, she turned away from the window, her eyes resting on her lap and at her half-exposed thighs. It was a hot day in August and she was dressed cooly enough, in black miniskirt, no stockings, a pink halter top blouse with an inch of bare midriff showing and no bra underneath, plus knee-high leather boots with four-inch heels. This mode of dress was unusual for her; it had been prescribed by the man she was about to meet. Viewing the entire ensemble for the first time in front of a full-length mirror, her immediate impression was that she looked like a hooker. It made her so uncomfortable that when the time came to leave her fifth floor apartment she took the stairs to avoid running into any of the neighbors. To compound her discomfort she wasn’t wearing panties although she had a pair in her purse. This too had been prescribed for her.
The cab stopped at a hotel just outside of town. Looking again at her watch she saw she was twenty minutes early. She paid the driver and went inside. Scanning the lobby, she spotted a comfortable chair located conveniently far from the front desk. After seating herself she took off her sunglasses (another attempt at disguise) and hoping not to attract attention, took a paperback novel from her purse and tried to bury herself in it. But she was unable to concentrate on her reading. She kept staring at the page and casting furtive glances at her watch. She hadn’t spent much time in hotels or in hanging around hotel lobbies. She wondered if one of the hotel employees might look askance at a scantily dressed woman lounging around in the lobby. Or maybe the house detective. She pictured a man in an old-fashioned double-breasted suit and fedora, looking like a figure in some 1940s-era “film noir” coming up to her and saying, “Beat it, sister, this is a nice hotel. We don’t allow your kind in here.” Did such things really happen? Did hotels today even have house detectives?
At five minutes to eight she got up and headed for the hotel bar located inside the hotel restaurant. A solitary man was seated there, a tall man in a gray suit. That must be him. Her heart began to beat faster. When she was close enough to see his profile she recognized him from his picture. He was engaged in a conversation with the bartender about the fortunes of the local baseball team, which in the bartender’s view was badly in need of some good relief pitchers. She walked right up to the bar but the two men ignored her. She cleared her throat. The man in the suit turned to face her. She said, “Mr. Roth?”
“Yes. Are you’re Jenny?”
He gave her a quick up and down look then said, “Have a seat, Jenny.”
“Thank you, Mr. Roth.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, please. A gin and tonic?”
“He said to the bartender, “Gus, get the young lady a gin and tonic and put it on my tab.” The man nodded and moved off.
Roth turned his face back towards her. She was dazzled by his good looks. His picture failed to do him justice nor did it capture the impact of his physical presence—his height and the powerful build visible under his well-tailored suit.
He said, “Let me have your purse.”
Surprised, she handed it to him. He rummaged through the contents until he found what he was looking for, a pair of red lace panties which she had purchased online. Smiling, he held it up with his two index fingers by the elastic waist band then handed the purse and the panties back to her. He glanced at his watch. He said, “I’m in Room 802. I’ll expect you in fifteen minutes. Put those on before you come up.”
Just then the bartender returned with her drink. Roth stood up, placed a couple of bills down on the counter and said to the bartender, “Give her another gin and tonic if she wants it.”
“Okay, Mr. Roth,” he replied.
She hurriedly put the panties back in her purse then picked up her drink, turning her back to the bar while she watched Roth walk out of the restaurant. She was mortified by the presence of the bartender who, she thought, must have seen and heard everything. He must certainly think I’m a hooker. And Roth was so chummy with him, like he had been here before and met other women in the same way. She quickly swallowed her drink. She would have liked another but didn’t care to face “Gus” again.
She hurried out of the restaurant and went looking for the Ladies Room. Inside she took the stall farthest from the door, put the panties on and waited for another five minutes, again not wanting to be too early. The elevator seemed slow in coming. Two other people entered with her, one of them an elderly woman who looked at her disapprovingly. The elevator made two stops before reaching the eighth floor so she arrived at Room 802 with only a minute to spare.
She knocked. From the other side she heard him say “Come in.” She entered, closing the door behind her, and walked down the foyer. The room was like hundreds of others of its kind. To her left was the bathroom, in the center a double bed flanked by two end tables, a chest of drawers opposite and above it a flat screen TV mounted on the wall. There was also a desk and some chairs and a small table for eating. The windows in back were covered by drapes. Beneath it the air conditioner rumbled noisily.
He stood by the side of the bed and beckoned her forward. She stopped a couple of feet in front of him. He was several inches taller than her and standing up he looked quite imposing. He had a stern look on his face.
“You know why you’re here?”
“I mean yes, Sir.”
“So why are you here?”
Why was she here? He knew perfectly well why she was here. She shook her head in confusion.
“What did you say on your Profile?”
“Oh. I said I was a bad girl and needed to be punished.”
She felt the blood rushing to her face.
“Go on. Tell me the rest.”
She swallowed hard.
“I … I … I said I was a bad girl and needed to be punished, preferably over the knee with my panties down.”
Her face was burning now. She felt a powerful urge to run away.
“Good.” His handsome face looked stern, his voice had a steely tone. He sat down on the bed, patted his left thigh and said, “Come here.”
She walked over to the foot of the bed, climbed onto the bed on her knees, stretched out her arms like a diver and fell down on his lap. He placed one hand on the seat of her skirt as if cushioning her fall. He began massaging her bottom, feeling the contours of her hips, waist and thighs. It had a calming effect on her; her pulse, which had been racing, slowed down a little. Now he pulled her skirt up to her waist, exposing her red lace panties, which he had last handled in the bar. The garment was nearly transparent so that the crease between her buttocks was visible. Her heart began to beat faster again as he played with the fragile garment, running his fingers along the sides and along the top of the waistband. She held her breath. Then with a sudden rapid movement he pulled them down until they rested in the hollow of her knees, just above her boots.
This was the moment she had dreamed about, had fantasized about for as long as she could remember. But now it was no longer a fantasy—she was really lying across a strange man’s lap with her panties pulled down and she was overwhelmed with embarrassment. Again she had the urge to run away but felt paralyzed, like in a dream. She suddenly noticed how cold it was in the room. The air conditioner had been cranked up high and sounded noisily. It was colder in here than it was outside in the hallway or the lobby. The coldness was most acute on her exposed thighs and buttocks. It was one of those moments when time seemed to slow down; as a matter of fact the man was taking his time, he seemed in no hurry. She could picture him staring at her, at her naked ass, enjoying the sight, enjoying even more her acute embarrassment, of which he had to be aware. That must be part of the pleasure for him, the inverse of her own desire to be humiliated, only now it didn’t seem pleasurable at all. If only he would begin! Anything, any degree of pain had to be better than being stared at like this.
Suddenly the coolness was gone and ice had turned to fire. The pain she sought as a relief from her embarrassment turned out to be greater than she had expected, much greater. But how could she know? She had never been spanked before, not even as a child. Again she wanted it all to stop, wanted to run away and forget this mad adventure. But she couldn’t. She felt helpless, helpless like a child. She began to weep, silently. Then she realized that they had never even discussed a safe word. All she could do would be to ask him to stop, if need be to plead with him to stop, which would only heighten her humiliation. And what if he didn’t stop? He was much stronger than her. She couldn’t make him stop. She had put herself in the hands of a man much stronger than herself. He could do what he wanted with her. She really was helpless.
But then at the height of her panic he stopped. Had he stopped for good? Was it over? Or had he merely paused, soon to resume again? The longer the pause went on the greater the uncertainty and the fear. As she waited for him to decide what to do she became aware of a new sensation. She was aroused, sexually aroused, she could feel the wetness inside her. It had been building up in her from that moment in the bar when he had embarrassed her by holding up her panties, to when after entering the room he had further embarrassed her by making her repeat those words about wanting to be punished, to when she had laid there with her panties down waiting to be spanked, and now as she waited fearfully to see what he would do next.
To her relief he told her to get up. She lifted herself up by the arms and climbed off the bed. Now he gave her a series of order. “Stand in front of me,” “Get down on your knees,” and finally, “Take off your blouse.” She reached behind to untie her blouse then pulled it over her neck. Meanwhile he undid the belt of his pants and pulled them down. Out of his boxer shorts he pulled out his erect penis. He said to her, “You know what to do.”
She leaned over and opened her mouth. It was dry. She said, “Mr. Roth, can I get a drink of water?”
“Okay, but be quick about it.”
She scrambled to her feet, her panties still around her knees, for he hadn’t given her permission to pull them up, and went into the bathroom. She poured some water into a glass and hurriedly drank it. She glanced up at the mirror and saw that her face was red and streaked with tears. She didn’t take the time to dry them but hurried back. She went down on her knees again, opened her mouth wide, leaned over and enclosed her mouth around his erection. She was nervous for she had never done this before, something she would have been ashamed to admit. She hoped she was doing it right. He seemed to be satisfied with her effort for he didn’t say anything, only he grabbed her hair in the back, pulling on it as she moved her lips back and forth. Suddenly he jerked her head back and ejaculated all over her face and chest.
“Go clean yourself up,” he said, almost contemptuously. “You can use the shower, only don’t take too long.”
Overcome with humiliation, she picked herself up and headed for the bathroom. After closing the door she pulled off her boots and skirt and panties. She went to the shower stall, adjusted the heat of the water then stepped in. She let the warm water run over her. As she washed his cum off her face and body she became once more aware of how aroused she was. She began furiously rubbing her clit, desperate to come but she couldn’t; she was too nervous. She also remembered he had told her to hurry. After leaving the shower and toweling herself dry she put on her panties and skirt and boots and left the bathroom. Roth was lying on the bed typing on an open laptop. She grabbed her blouse from the end table where he had placed it and put it back on. Then without looking at her he said, “Was it all you expected?”
She thought about it a moment then said, “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Would you like to do it again?”
“Are you free next Friday?”
“Good. I called you a cab. I’m gonna stay her for a while. I’ll call you next Monday evening. We’ll see where we go from here.”
“Okay, Mr. Roth and thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Jenny. Have a nice weekend.”
“Thank you, Sir. Same to you.”
She picked up her purse and started to walk out but then stopped. “Mr. Roth?”
“My name is Gail.”
“Have a nice weekend, Gail.”