Latitia Ch. 06

Sunday was a kind of transition for us. Friday night through Sunday morning she was Daisy and I was Massa David. Monday through Friday afternoon I was David, the devoted househusband and she was Dr. Latitia Morgan, a rising star in the small but growing community of black scholars.

Sunday, though, was a transition. Sometimes she would be Daisy, sometimes Latitia. And sometimes I would be the Overseer and sometimes the househusband.

Right now she was Latitia, and her fingers were busy playing with my dick as I woke.

I knew it was Latitia because Daisy would never be that forward, but I murmured, "What do you think you're doing, girl?" anyway.

Her tongue was warm and moist as it traced the shell of my ear and then probed into the canal.

"That's Doctor Morgan to you, white boy," she said, her breath warm and moist in my ear, her hand cupping and holding my balls and giving a little squeeze.

"Mmmmmm," I hummed, "Are we gonna play doctor then?"

She giggled and said, "Should I take your temperature the right way then?" as her fingertip moved lower, making me squirm as it touched that sensitive circle of my anus.

"Welllllll," I said, "I have been feeling a little peaked lately," pronouncing "peaked" as "peekud" like my grandmother used to.

"Me too," she said, swinging her leg over me and taking me into her body in the cowgirl position, "But I think one of Doctor David's meat injections will take care of me."

After a few seconds, she caught my hands in hers and pinned them beside my head.

"Did you mean it?" she asked.

"Mean it?" I asked back.

"About the birth control, about having a baby, did you mean it?" she asked.

I felt her, surrounding my cock, warm and slick and tight, but I managed rational thought.

"I think we're ready," I said.

"David," she said, her rhythm picking up and her voice taking on a bit of tight trembling that happens when you're nervous and your throat constricts a little, "I'm scared."

"Of what?" I asked, looking up at her but trapped, helpless, unable to move.

She laughed then, a throaty laugh that tightened her around me in interesting ways.

"Of everything, honey. That I'll be a terrible mom. That I like Daisy too much and our child would find out about that. That I won't really have that 'maternal instinct.' That there will be problems with our baby or my pregnancy. Down deep," she finished, "I'm just a 'fraidy cat."

"Don't worry, beautiful-bride-o-mine," I said, chuckling, "I'll be there with you."

"I am so frightened," she said and I laughed.

"I guess fright makes you horny, huh?" I managed.

She giggled and said, "Almost as much as strapping this nigguh's black ass did for you."

I grinned and said, "Oh, Daisy, you are in SO much trouble."

Her answering grin was predatory when she said, "Ah knows," and began licking my face.

"Daisy, dammit," I said but she covered my mouth with hers.

"Y'all prahmussed," she whispered, "Yo gon' put dat babe intuh me."

"You uppity wench," I said, grinning up at her, "I hope you like eating standing up."

Suddenly, for an instant anyway, Latitia was back. I can't honestly tell you how I knew, but there she was. Something in the way she held her head or held my eyes, I'm not sure.

"What does it say about me, I wonder," she said softly, holding my eyes, "that way deep down in my belly, you just excited me?"

"About the same thing it says about me, I think, that I just got harder," I said.

"So tell me something, white boy," she said, moving her hips just enough to titillate.

"What's that?" I asked, adjusting to having this surreal conversation.

She stopped moving then and pushed herself up enough to meet my eyes. I loved being inside of her like this and, on some level, the pure weirdness of having a conversation like this made it even better.

But right now she was serious.

"Did you enjoy hurting me like that? Am I married to some sadistic bastard?" she asked.

I smiled and said, "Yes, no."

She smiled back. It was a true conversation now.

"So you liked hurting me but you're not a sadist? How does that work?" she asked.

"Hurting you was part of the lesson," I chuckled and grinned, "the 'teaching' if you will. But enjoying it isn't sadistic. It IS part of the dominance, but only a part."

She started to say something but I talked over her. I HAD been giving this a lot of thought.

"The reason God put so many nerve endings into that beautiful chocolate ass of yours," I said, rolling now, "is so that lessons can be taught and learned."

"You liked making me cry, didn't you?" she asked, holding still now, but I could feel the heat and wetness surrounding me where I was inside of her.

"Yes, Latitia," I said, using her name to make it clear who was conversing right then, "I enjoyed that very much. I LIKED," I emphasized the word, "the sounds you made. I LIKED the way your nose ran and your mouth drooled and your tears joined snot and drool while you were bawling like a little girl."

I was being crude because I thought that was what she wanted, no, what she needed right then.

Once again, the mood changed in that subtle way it will sometimes.

"Did you think I was pretty like that?" she asked, and her hips were moving again, subtly, but moving, as her breath caught.

"No," I said, holding her eyes now, my hands still pinned by her, "I didn't think you were pretty."

Once again I talked over her when she started to say something.

"But you were so perfectly female and so utterly feminine that I want to see you like that again," I finished.

She said nothing for a while, and that was okay with me. Right then I was having a little trouble thinking with my big head because that small head between my legs was starting to take over. Her hips were moving, that subtle movement and her vaginal muscles were squeezing and relaxing in a slow pattern.

"David, I want to say something but I don't want you to think I'm crazy," she said at last.

I chuckled and said, "Hell, I like the crazy side of you."

She smiled, but it was a wan smile.

"Be serious now," she said, bending down to kiss me, "it's important."

"Say what you need to," I said.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and then let it out in a slow hiss. I could almost see her organizing her thoughts and gathering her courage.

"I want you to spank me," she said, finally.

This time it was her who talked over me when I started to say something.

"Not a lesson for Daisy, David," she went on, "I want you to spank Dr. Latitia Morgan, not because I need a 'lesson,' but because it's something we both want."

I could see the disappointment on her face when I didn't answer immediately. But I wasn't trying to make her uncomfortable, or pausing for some sort of dramatic effect. I was just processing, thinking, and formulating my reply.

"Okay," I said, "but on my terms."

"Terms?" she said, her movement stopping now.

"Yes, on my terms," I said. "I'll spank your beautiful ass and make you cry and kick your feet like a little girl. Afterward, I'll scrub your face and dress you in something nice, but we'll leave your underwear at home and eat breakfast someplace where we might run into someone we know."

Her eyes got big and she held absolutely still for a few seconds before she hissed a long, sibilant, "Yessssssssssssssssssssssss," and her hips started moving in earnest.

I was hard and excited but I managed, through what I thought was a world-class act of will, to hold off until I felt her orgasm starting to soak us both and then released my control. My own ejaculation was powerful and she hissed another, "Yessssssssssssssssssssssss," before she sort of collapsed onto me.

I held her like that, feeling her weight as she slowly relaxed. I whispered, "I love you," over and over while lightly caressing her back, tracing the little bumps of her spine and the distinct Angel wings of her shoulder blades.

Finally, she turned her head, nuzzled my neck, and said, "I love you too, baby. Tell me I'm not crazy."

I lightly rubbed her back for a few seconds and said, "A little kinky, but full-on batshit crazy."

She giggled at that and the overserious mood was broken.

"Now when we go downstairs," she said, "remember the story about how you boil a frog."

"Huh?" I said, demonstrating that I'm not always the brilliant conversationalist I like to think I am.

She giggled.

"To boil a frog, baby, you put him in a pan of cold water and then turn on the heat," she said. "By the time he realizes he's being boiled, it's too late and he's too relaxed to get out. If you just drop him into boiling water he'll jump right back out."

I must have looked blank because she laughed softly.

"That's how I want you to spank me, David," she said. "Start easy and build up. That way I'll be able to take a more," and here she stopped and her eyes wouldn't meet mine for a few seconds.

"More?" I asked, but I was pretty sure by then where she was going.

"More painful and, well, more meaningful spanking," she finished.

"If you don't cry and it doesn't hurt it's not really a spanking," I said.

"I knowwwwwwwww," she said softly.

"And this is what Dr. Morgan wants?" I asked.

"Yes, baby," she said.

"Wellllllllll," I said, "I always did have trouble saying 'no' to you."

She smiled and said, "You're going to enjoy it, and you know it."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes, David, I'm sure," she said.

"Okay," I said, "Then get up and get dressed. You have 15 minutes to look pretty for me and do NOT try to get by without your bra and panties."

Her eyes got big for a second but then she smiled and said, "Yes sir."

So I went down and started making coffee.

I'm a good cook, and breakfast is one of my specialties. By the time Latitia, and she was definitely Dr. Morgan as she entered the kitchen and took her accustomed seat at the little kitchen table, I had it ready. She had on a very white, very conservative blouse, buttoned to the neck and the wrists, black slacks, part of one of her "Professor Costume" pants suit, and black pointed-toe pumps with a moderate three-inch heel. I knew, without looking, that she had knee-high nylons as well.

Her face was fully made up, with a hint of a pale eye shadow setting off the darkness of her skin, butterfly lashes brushing her cheek when she blinked, small gold earrings, a tiny diamond stud (a Christmas present from me) in the rise of her left nostril, and her full thick lips done in the scarlet lipstick she favored.

Her hair was hanging free in that glorious cap of curls I liked.

She was, all in all, the very image of that college professor that taught classes that college men applied to get into early, and college women hated because they knew they were compared to Dr. Morgan.

I had the little television on Fox News, and as we often did, we argued good-naturedly over the news. "Of course, we need to help Ukraine fight off the Russians," she said. "Tell me again why I care when one corrupt oligarch attacks another corrupt oligarch," I replied.

Things like that spiced our meal as we ate the Denver omelet, pan-fried potatoes, and bacon, and drank the coffee and orange juice.

Finally done, full, satisfied, I stood and offered my hand. We walked into the front room and I liked the little stutter-step she did when she saw the sturdy chair I had placed in the middle of the room. I pretended to ignore it, as if had been there all along, and led her to the U-shaped "conversation pit" couch that we rarely used. Normally we sat in our side-by-side recliners when we were watching television or working on our laptops. But for this, I wanted to be face-to-face.

"Are you certain?" I said by way of starting the conversation.

"Yes," she said, and then her eyes flicked up and to the right, "no," she said, breathing out the word with almost no volume, "Yes, oh, God, David, YES."

"Say the words, Latitia," I said, deliberately using her name.

She took a very deep breath and let it out slowly, a runner preparing to enter the starting blocks.

"I want you to spank me," she said.

"Go on," I said.

"Oh, God," she moaned, and took a deep breath before going on. "I want you to spank me, David, a proper spanking. I want you to make me cry and kick my feet and feel helpless and overwhelmed."

"Why?" I asked. I thought it was a legitimate question, especially since things were going to change dramatically between us after this.

"DAVID," she said, her voice rising and full of life, "I'm not sure I can put it into words."

"Try," I said.

Her forehead creased into a series of deep lines, a vertical line right over her nose forming, what I thought of as her "I'm thinking" line.

I waited.

"David, my mind is a whirlpool right now. It's not like I don't know about Daisy. But I'm Latitia too. And I'm Doctor Morgan. And on some level, and no baby, I'm not certain I can explain it, I think it's important that all of those me's understand my new, well, my new life," she said in one long rush of speech.

I said nothing for a full minute. We were looking into each other's eyes.

"Ask me, nicely," I said.

Her eyes got big but then, as I watched, her shoulders slumped a little.

"David, please, spank me," she said.

I said nothing, just got up and went to the stereo. I found a soft rock station on the stereo and then sat in that chair in the middle of the floor.

"Come here, Doctor Morgan," I said, pointing to a spot a few feet in front of where I sat.

I watched as she stood, took another of those deep breaths, and then came to the designated spot.

I said nothing as I reached over and undid the button at the side of her slacks and then unzipped her and pulled them down, just far enough to clear her ass and show the white panties, so white they almost glowed. She stood perfectly still while I was doing that but did flinch a little when I jerked the panties down to expose her lovely round ass.

"Move here, Doctor Morgan," I said, pointing to a spot to the right of my chair.

She sidestepped a couple of little shuffling steps until she was where I had designated.

"Latitia," I said, meeting her eyes and taking her hands in mine, "This is your last chance to stop this. Once it starts there's no turning back."

When she said nothing I said, "Dr. Morgan, same offer. Last chance to stop this."

I waited a full 30 count - one Mississippi, two Mississippi - and then pulled on the hands I held. I didn't jerk, or yank, but just pulled, slowly, forcing her to lean farther and farther forward. Finally, with a very soft moan, she quit fighting the inevitable and lay across my thighs.

We were now in the classic over-the-knee (something I later learned is represented by an acronym in some circles - OTK) spanking position.

"Too late now," I said, "now you count out loud."

When I laid my palm very gently on her ass, she flinched. I thought that was partly a response to an ass already tender from her lesson from the Teacher, but mostly just anticipation.

While my right hand just lay lightly on the roundness of her ass, the curve of palm and ass matching perfectly, I slowly tickled my way up her back with my left, very lightly touching her spine. When I got to her neck and then the back of her head I worked my fingers into her thick, kinky hair and when my fingers had disappeared completely I twisted. I didn't want to pull her hair and hurt her, but I wanted her to understand that she had now surrendered all control.

"You know," I said trying for a calm, conversational tone even as I felt my erection harden and said a quick "thank you" to myself for being smart enough to adjust my pants to accommodate it when I sat down, "This beautiful ass truly does beg to be spanked."

She said nothing but I did hear a little catch in her breathing.

There was a little tension when I allowed my hand to caress the roundness of her butt, tracing its shape from the gluteal sulcus, that line where the human ass meets the upper thigh up and over until my fingertips touched the base of her spine. I felt the tension ease and then felt her relax as I caressed.

Those big muscles, her round gluteus maximus that gave her butt that wonderfully round shape, visibly clenched when I raised my hand.

I waited her out, and when she relaxed I delivered the first stroke, very light, barely a pat, certainly not a slap.

She flinched and gasped at the light touch.

"One," she said, the first sound she had made since I beckoned her to stand before me.

I did that again, caressing, and lifting, and waiting.

She relaxed and I delivered the second stroke in the same spot, a little harder.

"Two," she breathed.

No jumping out of the boiling water for my beautiful ebony frog.

That first spanking took the best part of an hour.

"I can smell your excitement, Doctor Morgan," I said, allowing my fingertip to move down to where she was wet and slick.

She moaned softly.

"And I like it," I added, inhaling deeply.

The first sound she made, other than her count, came at seventeen. By then the slaps were slaps, although still pretty light.

"Unhhhhh," she sort of groaned, "Seventeen."

Her first tears came at thirty-one. By then the womanscent of her excitement was strong in the air and I was so hard I was throbbing.

She held out until fifty-six before she started writhing and kicking. By then I was hitting about as hard as I could in that kind of awkward position, and even through her dark skin, matched handprint-shaped dark marks showed on her cheeks.

I'm not sure, to this day, which one of us was more surprised when she came at seventy-four.

She cried out a wordless sound, kind of Charlie Brown when Lucy pulls the football away again, an "Aaaaauuuuuuuuggggghhhhhhnnnnn" sound. Her back arched and she almost got away but my fingers entwined in her hair held her while my right hand pressed down at the small of her back, holding her to me.

The orgasm was spectacular and, well, visible.

Latitia was young and healthy and passionate. She was always well lubricated and when she came I would feel a little hot gush of her release.

But this was different. She didn't "squirt" like you see in those porno videos, she "sprayed." Her natural lubricant, the product of healthy Bartholin's and Skene's glands along with the mucus membranes that lined her vagina, sprayed a thick, white, sticky liquid about four feet, leaving a thick line on the floor. A second wave didn't spray quite as far and a third just sort of ran, soaking the side of the thigh of my jeans.

"Oh JESUS," she moaned, and then, "S-s-s-s-seventy-F-f-f-f-four."

I let her rest through a slow thirty count and then started caressing her ass again.

She came again at eighty-two, although not as spectacularly.

By one hundred, when I ended her initial spanking, she was reduced to trembling and whimpering, limp across my lap like a big cat asleep.

"It's over, Latitia," I said and was surprised at how quickly she moved.

She slipped off of my lap, graceful and boneless as an otter, and turned, on her knees, to look up at me.

She was a mess. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Two bumps on the sides of her nose were swollen from the way her sinuses had reacted. Her nose was running and thick strings of snot and drool hung from her chin, wetting the blouse she still wore.

Her fingers were trembling as she went after my belt and button and zipper like a drowning woman going after a life preserver. When she had me free she looked up at me again.

"Please," she whispered and the thick strings that connected her upper and lower lip when she opened her mouth were so damn sexy I almost came just looking at her.

"Yes," I said and she took me into her mouth like she hadn't had a popsicle or maybe a banana in years and was starved for it.