The Visit

She and I hadn't talked in a while, so I was a little surprised to see her number show up on my phone as she was calling. She had come to stay with me a couple of weeks at a time in the past, but it didn't seem like our relationship had much of a future, for reasons probably not worth going into here. And yet, here she was, calling. I answered.

"Hey," she said. "How have you been doing?"

"Great. Things are going well. And you?"

"Okay. I've got another job, this one overseas."

"When does it start?"

"About three weeks from now. Actually, I was wondering something." She paused.

"I was wondering if I could come stay with you for a couple weeks. I can't stay here, and since I'm going overseas..." Her voice trailed off.

I was quiet for a moment.

"You could. When would you fly in?"

"Probably day after tomorrow."

"So soon."

"Yeah, soon."

"Okay," I said. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"That this time, for the couple weeks, you do what I say."

"Whatever you say?"

"Whatever I say."

She was silent.

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll do what you say."

"I'll do whatever you say."

"I'll do whatever you say."

"One more time."

"I'll do whatever you say." Her voice was a little resigned.

"All right," I said. "Let me know when to pick you up at the airport."

She arrived in the early afternoon on a Tuesday, and we hugged, and got her large suitcase from the carousel, after a delay and some chitchat. She was wearing a light blue blouse and jeans with pointy black boots with heels, matching her black shoulder-length hair. I drove her back home in my sports car on a sunny, warm summer afternoon, and we talked about what had happened since we'd last seen each other.

The automatic garage door opened, and I parked the car inside. We each got out, and stretched.

"Everything looks the same," she said. "It's very peaceful here."

"It is," I said. The garage door closed behind us, her suitcase still in the back of the car.

We walked to the back porch.

"There's a fabric bag on the porch--would you get it?" I said.

"Sure," she said. She went inside, picked it up, and came out. I took it, and held the handles one in each hand.

She looked at me quizzically.

"Take off your boots, sweetie." She bent down, unsnapped them, and stepped out of her boots.

"Put them in the bag." She picked them up and put them in the bag.

"Now take off your socks." She pulled her socks off.

"In the bag."

"Now take off your blouse."

She unbuttoned her blouse from the top down, unbuttoned her sleeves, and then slipped it off, folded it, and put it into the bag. She had a white, lacey bra on under the shirt.

"Now your pants."

She paused, then unbuttoned her tight jeans, sliding them down and then kicking them off. She held them up, folded them, and put them in the bag.

"Your panties."

She put fingers inside each hip of her panties, and slid them down, until they fell at her feet. She lifted them up to her hand with a toe, and put them in the bag.

Her pubic triangle was dark, but you could see the skin through the trimmed black bush. Her stomach was flat.

"Your bra."

She reached back, unsnapped her bra, and did that shoulder move so the straps came forward. She held the bra in front of her, then put it in the bag. Her nipples were dark, and small, but alert already. Her breasts were small too.

"Put this bag in the garage inside the door, shut the door, and come back here."

She took the bag handles, and walked to the garage with it in front of her. She lifted the bag with one hand, opened the garage door, put the bag inside, and closed the door. She turned, and came back to the porch, her breasts bouncing a little with each step, until she was standing on the lawn near me.

"When you stand, keep your feet wider than your shoulders." She widened her feet, opening her stance.

"Wider." She moved her foot out further.

"And keep your hands behind your back." She clasped her hands behind her back, thrusting her breasts up a little and out.

I moved closer to her, raised my hand, and, very lightly, moved my fingers around her areola, barely touching it, not touching the nipple. First one, then the other, then back to the first. You could see her nipples stiffen and grow just a little in the sunshine.

I took the right nipple between thumb and forefinger and pressed, holding it, then pressing harder. At first her slightly Asian features were impassive, but then she reacted despite herself. I did the same with the left, circling the areola with the lightness of a feather, then grasping the erect brown nipple and pressing it between thumb and forefinger. She was trying not to react, but not succeeding.

"Unh," she said.

"When you're bad, where should I spank you?" I asked.

"Nipples?" I let go and let my hand softly go over her curves and down to brush her pubic hair.

"Pussy?"

"Butt?"

"Please not my nipples," she said, looking down. "They're sensitive."

I brushed my hand between her legs, just lightly over the hair, back almost to her anus.

"Your nipples or your pussy."

"I won't be bad."

"You've already been bad."

"I know," she said.

"Are you wet?"

"A little," she said.

"How much? If you're not getting wet, you'll need to be punished."

"I know."

I brushed my hand lightly between her legs, and then extended my hooked middle finger upward, through her bush, between her lips, sliding it into her. She was soaking wet, slippery and silky inside.

I held the finger inside her, up against her vaginal wall, pressing it into her g-spot and holding it there.

"Oh god," she said.

"Anyone driving by could see you nude here," I said. "You're completely exposed."

"Oh god, oh god," she said, shuddering. I could feel slick vaginal fluid dripping from her on my hand and wrist, and she was convulsing on the inside, some kind of muscular flickering against my finger inside her.

"You won't need clothes for your visit, not when we have visitors, either. You're staying nude."

"Oh god, oh god, oh god."

Her whole body tensed and shuddered, her inner walls fluttering rhythmically around my finger.

"Unh."

She exhaled and opened her eyes.

I pulled my finger out of her, and wiped her clear fluid across her lips and under her nose.

Her nipples were hard, extended.

I reached down, inserted an index finger between her labia, gathered fluid on its crook, raised my hand, and wiped fluid on each nipple.

"Go out to the mailbox and fetch the mail."

"What if somebody drives by?"

"Wave."

She hesitated, and then trotted out across the lawn, out to the road and the mailbox. The sound of the metal mailbox door opening and slamming shut, then she walked back, quickly, her breasts bouncing, the mail held in her left hand. She came and stood near me.

"Feet wider than your shoulders, hands behind your back."

"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry." She moved her feet out and held the mail behind her back.

"You know what this means."

"I'll be good. I promise."

I opened the glass back door for her, and she stepped into the porch. I opened the solid metal and glass inner door, and she entered the house, going up the steps into the kitchen.

"Put the mail on the kitchen island," I said. "Would you like something to drink? Tea? Espresso?"

"Do you have any fruit juice?"

"Apple cider."

"That would be nice."

She stood with her hands behind her back, her feet wide apart. I brushed the palm of my hand lightly over her bush, then squeezed her buttocks. They were surprisingly firm, muscular.

She drank the glass of apple cider quickly, putting the glass in the sink.

"It feels so strange to be nude all the time. So exposed."

"Wait until we have guests."

"I've never been like this. Never. And never with strangers!"

"They're coming tomorrow. When they're here, would you like to see how you'll need to stay?"

"How?"

"Come into the living room." We walked into the large living room, and I pointed to the middle of the large oriental carpet that covered the center of the floor.

"Lie on your back."

She did, with her feet toward the couch.

"Raise your knees. Higher, and feet further apart. Clasp your hands behind your neck."

She complied.

"Feet wider apart."

She moved them further out. She was exposed, the dark triangle of her bush down to her rosebud completely visible.

"That's how they're going to see you."

"Oh my god," she said. "I can't believe I'm doing this for anyone."

"I like the view. I'm sure others will appreciate it. Would you like to see what you'll be spanked with?"

"Ok," she said, looking concerned.

"It's hanging on the wall in the closet around the corner--go fetch it."

"Now?"

"Now."

She got up, walked around the corner into the hall, and emerged from the closet holding the thick black riding crop, little red stripes woven into the handle.

"It's thicker than I expected. And wider."

"Let's try it out."

"Here?" She handed me the riding crop.

"No, in here."

We went into the living room and I stood near the black leather couch.

"Lean over the arm of the couch with your hands behind your back."

She bent forward over the arm until her face and breasts were flat against the couch seat, her face to one side.

"Spread your feet wider." She moved her feet out.

"Wider." She moved them further still. Because of the couch arm's height, her buttocks were up high, and the small of her back was arched. With her legs spread, her pussy and anus were on display.

"What will it take to see your clit come out?" I asked, gently brushing my fingers over her anus and vulva.

"You want to spank me there, don't you?" she said.

I walked over near a chair, in her direct line of sight, which was limited because her face was mashed sideways on the couch. I unbuttoned my shirt, including the sleeve buttons, and then draped it over the back of the nearby chair. My biceps and pectorals were thick from working out with weights. I stepped out of my boots, and stripped off each of my socks. I unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my black jeans, and slid them down to my ankles. I stepped out of the jeans and turned toward her. My penis was half-hard, with a thick violet head, and I could see her eyes fixed on that.

I moved toward her, the head near her lips.

"Spit," I said. "Make it drip."

She dutifully spit, then angled her head over it so she could drool on it.

"More," I said. She angled her head and drooled.

"Move it around with your tongue."

Saliva glistened on the reddish-pink glans, and hung down in silvery beads.

"Which hole? I wonder."

"Not there, no, please."

I moved behind her, putting the shiny tip of my thick glans against her slit, and then, slowly, began to push into her, widening her labia around me, in, deeper and deeper, until all seven or more inches of me was buried inside her.

"Oh." She grunted. She was slippery wet inside.

Deep insider her, I leaned forward and put my middle finger into her mouth, my chest against her back. Then, standing upright again, I put the finger in the center of her rosebud. I felt her stiffen.

"I've never let anyone--"

"Relax," I said, curving my hand palm up and pushing the glistening middle finger into her anus, while my penis filled her other hole completely, up to my brown bush.

"Oh god, oh fuck."

I pulled back, sliding almost so the head was visible, and then pushed back into her, all the while keeping my finger sunk in her all the way.

"Oh Jesus."

I pulled out, and pulled out my finger as well. I knew she felt suddenly empty, that she wanted to be filled again, more than anything. But I could see her clit exposed, the little pink bud out of its sheath.

"Time for your spanking."

"Oh no, no, please."

I fetched the riding crop from the table, and I could see her eyes following me, desperate.

I stood with my back to her, against the couch, with the crop in my right hand, the tip just gently hovering over and touching the inside of her legs, her labia, her clit. She shuddered.

"Right here."

"Oh no, please, no. Not there."

"You've been bad."

"I know.".

"How hard do you deserve?"

"Hard," she said quietly.

I could see a trickle of fluid glistening between her lips, enough for a tiny rivulet making its way through her black pubic hair. I positioned the crop so the wide tip was right in line, raised it up, and struck, the flat part right on her clit.

"Ah!"

"How bad have you been?"

"Bad," she said. "Harder."

I struck her again with the crop, with more force, right over her slit. Her clit was distended, slightly inflamed.

"Oh shit."

"Are you ready for the third time?"

"Oh no, no."

I moved the tip of the crop lightly over her buttocks, down the inside of her legs, up again, and hovered it over her labia, just touching.

"Ready?"

Her buttocks tensed, and she paused breathing.

The sound of the crop between her legs was louder than I expected.

"Ah!" she cried out. Gamely, the whole time she had kept her hands tightly clasped at her back, her flushed face mashed against the seat of the couch, her legs still wide apart, with little trickles of fluid.

Between her legs, she had fully opened, and her swollen, slickly wet, pinkish-red inner walls were visible, while her clitoris was fully extended. I moved my fingers gently around her clit, and along the glistening wet pink. Her scent was pungent.

I pushed the head of my penis into her. It slipped in easily, and sounded wet.

"Oh Jesus," she said.

For several minutes, a rhythmic in and out, using only my hips, pushing in to the hilt, then out to the tip, back and forth, in and out, in and out. And then I pulled out. Her pink inner walls were blossoming out, yearning. I turned my hand palm down, and pushed my index and middle finger inside, against her g-spot, pushing down against the couch below, while under her with my left hand, I patted her clit, relentlessly, as she thrashed against me, against the couch, crying out.

"Oh Christ, oh Christ," she cried, and then began to pulse, her inner walls pushing out an opaque fluid that squirted out against me and out onto the oak flooring, pooling. She shook, and shook, as if possessed, in waves, and slowly, slowly, subsided. She looked back at me, her eyes lidded like a reptile's.

"Oh my god," she said.

"Get up," I said. "You need to clean this up. Lap it up with your tongue."

"My tongue?" she said, dazed, struggling to get up from the couch.

She knelt, looking up at meShe knelt, looking up at me, and then leaned forward on her hands and knees, bending down. She lowered her head to the floor, and lapped, doing her best to suck the pooled fluid into her mouth.

I leaned forward, and slapped her buttocks with my open palm.

She looked up at me, her lips and chin glistening, and smiled.

It was going to be an interesting visit.