College Hooking Memories Ch. 03

I held him steady with my left hand. Without further warming, I began using my right one for a steady, hard thwacking of his unprotected rear, hitting each side in turn. Like almost all men in that situation, he grunted as each stroke came down on him.

The sound of the smacks echoed in the room. Almost immediately, my hand started getting warm and it also felt like it was vibrating. Maybe I should have worn a glove that time, but I had dealt with misbehaving men before and I could handle the necessary drawbacks. My hand may have ached, but I loved the impact I was having on his vulnerable rear end.

I continued my inane verbal schtick. "Zach, your ass is already tanning quite well. I do believe this is exactly what you needed." It always looked more like a sunburn to me.

He was slightly short of breath, but so was I. "Yes, please do it harder, do it as hard as you can."

Nora, you were born to be a dominant woman. I bragged about my talents. "I am a lady to be reckoned with, and this is what the wrath of an angry woman feels like." I had that gift for improvising nonsense.

After a little while, I stopped and rubbed his hindquarters as before, but this time his butt was hot. He moaned softly again. I noted the darkening of his backside where I had been striking him. My separate handprints were merging into one red area across the width of his body and down the backs of his thighs.

For the first time, he looked back and up at me. It was difficult to interpret his expression, but I thought I saw a look of awe. I may have been smiling; I'm not sure.

When I resumed my whacking, I was relentless and I felt joy. I was no longer an ordinary college student, but an avenger meting out punishment to a guy who deserved everything I did to him.

I was also aware of how sexually aroused I had become, which was not uncommon during spanking sessions although I never told a client about such things. My pussy was tingling with sensations and dampness was seeping out of my body into my underpants.

Zach was reacting too. He clenched his behind and pushed his hips down each time I smacked him. Then he raised himself again to receive the next stroke which I immediately inflicted. When he moved up, I could see his testicles jiggling between his thighs.

He was also steadying himself by moving his right hand from the chair leg to grasp my leg. I liked the tight grip he had on my calf.

His voice was different too, and his grunts had changed to moans. Men got sexually aroused too as I mentioned; that was one of the reactions they usually expected and paid for. Then something more caught my attention. I could feel his erection pushing against my thighs, and it seemed huge by then.

As I watched his motions, I thought, Wow, is he really masturbating against my lap? It certainly looked like he was. He was thrusting his pelvis rhythmically across my body. Could he come right here in the middle of his spanking? He must like this more than I had expected.

I had never seen a client come on my lap before, and I was curious if he could achieve it. Of course, I was doing my best to help him along by smashing my hand against his writhing ass.

And then he did it, that's for sure. I had a detached, almost clinical interest as I saw it happening. My slaps became much faster, and his movements became more intense. At his climax, he lifted himself using his hand on my leg for leverage.

Then he yelped loudly in a way that I had heard from guys before. A thick stream of white semen shot out from under him and pattered down on the wooden floor. It was one of those big, long-lasting shots.

Zach yelled again as he pushed down on me for his next ejaculation. That time he fired right into my skirt. His hot wetness went right through the thin cloth and I felt it on my thighs. After that, he jerked around for his final spasms.

I stopped swinging my arm and simply rested my sore hand on Zach's blazing backside. He was winded and he let his arms hang down.

I was quite pleased to be able to facilitate such a feat, but I pretended to be angry. "Zach, you ruined the whole event by masturbating on me, which is precisely what you weren't supposed to do."

He gasped, "I'm sorry Miss Meara, I couldn't help myself. I didn't expect that at all."

"It doesn't matter what you expected, it happened anyway. Now get the hell off me and stand by the wall. You can rub your bottom to comfort yourself, and then I want you to put your hands on your head."

"Yes, miss, I'm going over there as you requested." Surely he was familiar with the term corner time.

He slid off me and stood where had been instructed to go. I also got up and went over to his left and leaned on the wall. As I indicated the glistening semen on my clothes, I said, "Look at the mess you made on me. I'm really livid at your atrocious behavior. You wasted my time today, for one thing. You're a real asshole; I'm very pissed at you right now."

In reality, I was delighted. Nora, you must be a really hot lady if you could pull off a stunt like that.

I continued to berate him. "For one thing, you owe me for a dry cleaning bill. $15 should do it." My skirt was actually wash-and-wear. Usually, I was honest with clients, but I wasn't above a little finagling.

"Of course, no problem, I'll take care of it."

"Okay, just make sure I have the money before you leave."

For a moment, I considered asking for more cash in exchange for a blowjob. His cock by then hung limply down, but I suspected he could be quickly aroused to his previous state of tumescence. It would have been easy for me to get down on my knees as I had with other guys who had specified such an outcome.

But I was tired of Zach and his phony problems, and the prospect of earning more cash from him didn't interest me. Instead, I went back to my chair and indulged in a little more made-up vituperation.

"Zach, you are about the worst client I've ever had. You completely failed to take advantage of the lessons I so carefully planned for you. And what gives you the right to shoot your splooge all over a lady's clothing?"

"I sincerely apologize for my thoughtlessness." Then he remembered something else. "You never even got to use your hairbrush."

That casual statement gave me an idea to earn some more money "legitimately" in the future. I pretended to ponder the circumstances for a moment. "You know, Zach, there is a way we can salvage all this."

"Really? How can we do that?"

"It's simple. You'll have to come back here some day and we can do it all over again. We'll include the hairbrush too I hope. If you can control yourself that time, you should be able to reach that masturbation-free state you yearn for." I made another calculation. "I think two weeks should be enough time to get your mind in order."

He didn't complain about paying for a second time, so I assumed money was not a problem. He said, "That seems like a great idea. I like how your mind works."

"Well, I don't like how your mind works. In fact, I'm tired of looking at your pathetic skinny ass. Get your pants up and then get the hell out of here."

"Of course, Miss Nora, whatever pleases you." Actually, I wanted him out for the usual post-trick reasons. I had done what I was paid to do and now I wanted the annoying john out so I could relax. He wasn't offering money for additional action, so it was time for him to go.

As he pulled his pants up, he hissed, "O-o-h, it really smarts back there."

I got snippy. "It's supposed to hurt. I did my job; you were the one who screwed up. And don't forget the extra fifteen dollars."

Then he did a common post-trick thing of standing around looking like he expected some parting words between us. I rarely had any; I just sat there like an empress on my throne waiting for him to leave. It was necessary to shoo him along. "The door is right there. Call me when you are ready for the next session."

"Oh sure, Ms. Meara. Anyway, have a good day, okay?"

I rudely didn't answer that; what would have been the point? Then he fumbled opening the lock on the outer door. I didn't offer any advice on how to do it. A college junior should be able to figure out how a residential lock works.

When he was out, I did get up to make sure he drove off. I was always a bit paranoid that a client would unexpectedly come back with a tire iron and knock the glass out of the door panel. In Maspeth, I often had a few seconds of dread about being assaulted or raped when I was alone with one of those strangers in my own house. The fear was rarely at that level when I turned a trick on campus where there were people nearby.

Zach certainly looked harmless, but I knew that appearances could be deceiving and I couldn't trust any of the guys who had come out to see me.

The Pursuit of Happiness Just Seems a Bore

In a few more moments, I could relax again but then another post-trick emotion got to me. I'm stuck inside of Maspeth with the Manhattanville blues again.

What was I going to do with the rest of the day? I didn't have a car yet, or I would have just driven off to some plausible destination. The ocean at Rockaway was not far away. But I wasn't going to take a bus and then the subway into Manhattan.

Thus I did my usual routine of putting on a record album and then going to the kitchen for lunch and a drink. I only started with a bottle of beer because I didn't want to have too much alcohol when drinking alone.

Yet I felt discontented. It might have been during March that I first seriously thought of living a more normal life.

The Rolling Stones' Ambush was on the turntable, and it seemed that every song on that had some aspect that bothered me. The first track was "Mother's Little Helper," and even though it was ostensibly about women older than I was, I could identify with its theme.

There were plenty of drugs used at my college. Although I mostly refrained from consuming them myself, I felt I could easily slip into the daily popping of, say, Valium to calm my hooker jitters.

They're so hard to satisfy, you can tranquilize your mind.
So go running for the shelter of a mother's little helper.
And four help you through the night, help to minimize your plight.

It seemed inevitable that I would fall into that trap at some point, just like I would also be caught by a greedy pimp or an officious cop. I didn't know all the details then, but substance abuse was prevalent among prostitutes, strippers, porn actresses, and other sex workers. Already I grasped the reasons for that.

"Stupid Girl," when it come on, also bugged me. I didn't think I was vain -- was I? I did have a streak of arrogance, there was no doubt about that.

That she don't even know herself.
She's the sickest thing in this world.
Well, look at that stupid girl.

Maybe being a hooker wasn't truly "sick," but I knew it was unhealthy for me. There was an anxiety that I was wasting my youth on such a miserable pursuit. I was wondering about that Zach person calling me again, and I considered turning him down. His odd predilection had lost its novelty.

However, instead of changing the record, I had another beer. And then I had one more. I was on the way to becoming quite drunk that afternoon. When my uncle came home, I would be in my room claiming that I didn't feel well. And that would be true.

I didn't like being sorry for myself. Yet as spring turned into summer, everything would change for me.

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