Punished by My Neighbor 4-Book Box Set (5 page)

We spent the day like that, him practically mauling me, crushing me against one surface or another, getting off in three rather terrible thrusts or less, and then collapsing, spent and panting. Each time, he’d stuff  more money into my bra, hundreds of dollars at a time and I began to wonder where he was getting it all from.

His language got more and more nasty and each time he came, he seemed less interested in the fact that I hadn’t.

When he started to grope me for the fifth time, he said, “You know what I really want to do to you?”

I didn’t. Nor did I want to.

“I want to fuck your tits. Do you want me to fuck your tits?” His eyes bore into me, but it was like they weren’t really seeing me. Instead, they locked onto my beautiful, full breasts. He smacked one and it swayed against the other. “Fuck yeah you want me to fuck your tits!” he crowed as my nipples hardened in response to the promise of rough treatment.

Mr. Barrows had fucked my tits on more than one delicious occasion. In fact, there’d been one night in particular...

I’d slept on the floor that night, chained to the foot of his bed. He’d awoken sometime around 2 a.m. and shook me awake before roughly unchaining me. His hands were unrelenting as he pulled me to my feet and then he dragged me, his fingers digging into my arm, from the bedroom into the punishment room. “Was I snoring?” I mumbled.

He threw me to the floor and grunted. “I can’t stop dreaming about your breasts,” he said. “So I’m going to have them.”

“But why in here?” I asked, confused and groggy. He usually only fucked me in the punishment room when he’d beaten me first because I'd been bad. Otherwise, any room and any time was fair game, with him demanding me naked and ready at a moments notice. Of the delicious ways he'd taken me throughout this house, my favorite was the kitchen with the bitterly cold stainless steel counter top beneath me.

“Because I want you raw first,” he’d said before he struck me with the tawse. He’d been sure to get both of my breasts properly tenderized along with the deep valley between them. My skin blistered beneath his touch, aching for him to have his way with me. My nipples were rock hard and painfully wanting him, and though I writhed in agony after each smack of the tawse, I didn't want it to end.

But finally, my breasts brutalized, he’d straddled me and kissed each mark sweetly, cooing over my beauty and my soft flesh. He'd nuzzled my breasts tenderly, rubbing his stubbly cheek over the blistered flesh, and my breath caught.

Then, he'd entered me, he'd been so deliciously hard inside me, and he stroked my hair whispering what a good girl I'd been. When he'd gotten himself sopping with my juices, he’d been ready for my breasts, his cock dripping wet.

Then, he’d commanded me to hold my breasts around his cock while he thrust between them, grinding roughly against flesh he’d made so achingly tender.

Back and forth, hard, he’d thrust, panting, his fierce dark gaze locked on mine, almost daring me to cry out in agony. But it wasn't agony, having this beautiful man finding pleasure between my breasts, and I felt my body surrender beneath him, desperate for his release not for myself but for him.

He came, a beautiful, hot explosion that he’d drenched me in, his cum burning my eyes and dribbling down my cheeks. And then he’d finished me with his strong, thick tongue--the first and only time he’d ever used his mouth on me.

My neighbor was still staring at me, mouth hanging open, waiting for an answer and I realized I still didn’t know his name. It seemed entirely too late to ask. I shrugged. “Sure, but then I’ve got to get going.”

He grinned and I noticed he had beautiful, straight teeth. “I could probably use a break anyway. Besides, I know where you live.”

Something about his tone sent goose bumps prickling my arms in a weird mixture of dread and satisfaction, but I figured he was just really excited about all the sex we’d had. Maybe he’d been a virgin before or something.

He squirted my breasts with lube and rubbed it all over, his warm fingers rough with my flesh. The stickiness was rather unpleasant, but it would be better than suffering rug burn from his crotch. He straddled me, grinning down at me beneath him. “You’re really fat, you know,” he said. “I’ve never been with a fat, filthy black girl before. But it seems worth it, at least this once, for the tits.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that at all, so instead I just assumed the position, bringing my breasts together and propping myself up on a pillow so the weight of my beautiful round breasts didn’t suffocate me. He leaned down against me, and threaded his tiny cock between my twin mounds. He moaned after the first thrust. “You make me feel so good,” he moaned. “My next door slut, oh, I’m going to get so much good times out of you. You’re mine. My next door cock sucking slut. My cock whore.” He slapped my breast and giggled, a high-pitched squeal that was like nails on a chalkboard.

I was beginning to think this guy wouldn’t know proper dirty talk if it bit him on the cock. Which was mildly tempting by this point, to be honest.

To shut him up, I started repeating some of the things Mr. Barrows had me use. “That’s right baby,” I said. “Give me that cock of yours. Right like that. That’s so good. Tell me how that feels, baby. Tell me what you’re going to do to me next.”

He was thrusting hard but kind of all over the place between my breasts, more like he was jerking off in a ball pit. “You’re mine,” he said. “You’re my cock whore. I’m never letting you go.” He grunted as if someone had shot him, and then fell limp for a moment before pulling his tiny member from between my breasts and aiming for my face.

I know at this point you think the guy’s made up, right? How can one guy have such tiny equipment that he’s practically incapable of sex, be so socially awkward, and still manage to be so dang un-self-aware about it all all at once?

But you know what I’ve learned from nearly a decade as a dominatrix?

The men who are naturally well-endowed are the same men who are naturally good at sex and they are the same men who naturally make great lovers.

I don’t know if it’s the testosterone that flows through their bodies, or the confidence that being the best hung among your naked-in-the-locker-room buddies instills. But a man with a huge dick generally also knows how to use it.

In fact, for a time my entire screening process was to have men strip and be measured, both flaccid and aroused, but I found that not every home looking for an obedient man wanted that man to be equipped with an extraordinary package.

I digress! Anyway, I know this sounds fictional, but if nothing else, I hope the fact that it’s brutally humiliating that I allowed myself to go through it (and it’s about to get worse) makes it clear: I’m certainly not making this up.

We’ll zoom ahead through three uneventful days when I didn’t see my neighbor at all and was finally starting to recover from the humiliation--and lack of a proper orgasm. I arrived home from class to find a note had been pushed under my door.

“Dear Emilee, The day we spent together was the best day of my life and I know you enjoyed it as much as I did and I can’t understand why you haven’t come back yet begging me to take you again and I know I did everything right so why haven’t you demanded I put my cock in you again. A lesser man might assume you’re just a slut out to get yours and not interested in any kind of relationship but I’m a better man than that and I know you’re just shy because I made you feel things you’d never felt before and I filled up your body like you’d never experienced before and I want you to know you don’t need to be ashamed. Come over when you get this. Robert.”

Now I’m not one of those grammar Nazis. I don’t need properly placed commas to get hot and bothered.

But that many words strung together in that few sentences sounds unhinged. And I should have taken that as a warning.

But instead, I thought the poor guy just didn’t know any better and I wanted to be nice. So I went next door and knocked.

He opened the door with his teeny weenie in his hand and I was shocked anew at just how microscopic it was--it didn’t even fill his palm and I wondered how it was even possible to give himself a proper hand job.

“On your knees, whore,” he said by way of hello. “On your knees and suck my dick.”

I don’t know why I didn’t say no, but I felt so badly for him, standing there with that pathetic little member and I thought he might be more reasonable after being satisfied, so I pushed him into his apartment and kneeled before him. He dug his fingers into my hair and pushed and pulled my head, grinding his groin against my lips, his sparse pubes sticking up my nose. Nothing itches worse than pubes up the nose and my eyes started to water.

“That’s right baby,” he grunted. “I’m so big you’re gagging. I know it hurts, baby. I know I’m choking you. It’s natural to cry.” He kept grinding hard against my mouth, banging against my teeth, his tiny dick as satisfying between my lips as a pencil would have been.

I know I’ve given you the impression that I’m a size queen--and that’s not altogether untrue. But I love giving head. There’s nothing like having a cock filling my mouth, my lips snug against that veiny member, turning a man to jelly with my tongue. Being a dom means I have a tremendous amount of control at all times, and yet sometimes I’m sure there’s no whip or command that’s any match for the simple act of taking a man between your lips and making his cock your captive.

But this, this was mortifying. If any one had of seen me there with this tiny string bean of a cock between my lips, they would have laughed. At him, sure. But more at me: how I was kneeling there, acting like I was into it, making a fool of myself for a cock that wasn’t even as wide around as my baby finger. And him, going at it, acting like he was the biggest I’d ever had.

It was humiliating.

Finally, he exploded in one unsatisfying spurt and still he held me tight against him while he demanded I swallow every last drop--which, in his case meant one tiny swallow of particularly bitter fluid. “Yeah baby,” he murmured, his fingers yanking my hair painfully. “That’s it. Yeah, I know you like it. I know you can’t get enough of my cock. You can’t get enough of gagging on my cock and swallowing my cum.”

More embarrassing than this show straight out of the worst porno ever? The fact that I was becoming more and more aware of how badly I needed a cock in me now. And his was the only one in proximity. I took a breath, trying to keep myself under control, and led him to the couch. He sat beside me, panting and satisfied.

“It’s okay,” I began, trying to use my gentlest voice. “You can tell me the truth. You were a virgin, right?”

He bugged his bright blue eyes at me. “What?” He sputtered. “Of course not! How could you suggest that? Have you seen my moves?”

I placed a calming hand on his thigh. “No, I mean, it’s sexy, you know. Getting to be the first to be with you, experimenting with you. I like it.”

He leapt away as if I’d scalded him and his voice was crazy and high pitched as he wailed. “Get out, you stupid filthy whore. Get out! A virgin. Of all the insulting, stupid shit to say.”

I scrambled for the door and as it shut behind me, something slammed into it as if he’d hurled something at me as I left.

Over the next three weeks, there were more notes--several dozen by the time all was said and done. Each more unhinged than the last, back and forth he went, one minute hurling insults at me and the next telling me I was beautiful and he needed me.

He never came right out and said that I was right, that he was a virgin. But, he came close, finally in the last note when he begged me to teach him to be the lover I needed.

Already I was craving a teaching role, already I was showing signs of wanting to help men reach their full potential. That was the dom in me stirring even then. I get such a thrill out of teaching a man to properly please a woman, even knowing that the men I train will use those skills not on me, but on the women who claim them from me.

So, like the idiot I was at 21, I again ventured next door. Again I knocked, and again he answered. This time, though, he was stark naked save nipple clamps and a ball gag. He waved me in and scribbled a note. “I’m ready for you,” it said. “Whatever you would have me do, I will do it.”

I removed the ball gag and weighed it in my hand. And then I thought through what Mr. Barrows would do in my position. Though later I had official training, in the beginning I was solely self-taught, and admittedly I made some mistakes.

“You were very rude the last time I was here,” I said.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice verging on a whine. “Please forgive me.”

“Beg.”

“I beg for your forgiveness, you beautiful black slut.”

I slapped him square across the face, his jaw surprisingly solid. The slap stung my palm. He blinked, startled.

“You will address me as Mistress.”

“I beg for your forgiveness, Mistress.” He fell to his knees before me, and then bowed, nuzzling my feet with his face, apparently thinking that reinforced his regret, but really all it did was tickle my feet terribly.

I shook him off. “You will not touch me without permission.”