matter of factly. Being unprepared would be a hell of a lot more embarrassing than what he was about to do to me. “What are you doing with that crop?” I asked.
“What do you think I’m doing with it?”
“Are you saying that you’re in the scene?”
“You think I found that magazine by accident?” he summarily turned me around and unzipped my dress down the back with adept confidence.
“What are you doing?” I turned in surprise. That was fast!
“Two months ago, I would have let you keep your clothes on for your ...spanking.” (He pronounced the word with a certain savor.) “Now I want you naked. Immediately. Do you understand me?” He turned me back around and kissed me masterfully on the mouth. The next thing I knew, the dress was on the floor and he stared at me -taking in my fitted, cream lace décolleté teddy, hose and boots. A full-length mirror affixed to the wall opposite me reflected my ... I must admit, rather dainty image. (Note to self, insert photo of self in cream lace teddy and boots for reference.)
“Don’t look at yourself!” he snapped at me, giving me the first slap on the bottom of the night with the palm of his hand. Then he deftly and confidently reached between my thighs, expertly unsnapped the teddy crotch and before I knew it, had it up over my head and off. Now I was in nothing but the stockings and boots. It was a little cold in the room and my nipples were standing up and very pink. He circled me and looked at me. I stood up straight and arrogantly thrust my bosom out at him. He didn’t have to say anything, I could read his mind at that moment and he was thinking “they are even more perfect than I’d dreamed,” as sure as my name is Amanda Sands.
“Get up on the bed,” he ordered crisply, “On all fours. Right now!” He slapped the crop against his own flank for emphasis. I obeyed, but slowly. “Hurry up!” he snapped, shaking the crop at me. “Insolent little slut.”
“You don’t know that,” I protested.
“Yes, I do, actually. I’ve been asking around ever since I found that magazine. Apparently you’re already a legend in this dorm!” He came around to stand in front of me, tearing his gaze from mine to drink in the voluptuous effect of my breasts hanging down as I knelt, doggy style for his pleasure. I silently dared him to reach out and squeeze them and reading my challenge, he did, but gently, running his fingertips all across their velvet fullness, then fastening, lightly, but firmly around each erect nipple.
Then, quite deliberately, he took a small bottle of astroglide and several condoms out of his jeans pocket and tossed them on the bed right in front of me. “Well?” he demanded.
“...Okay,” I replied, with girlish hesitation.
“I’m so relieved we didn’t have to have our first quarrel over anal sex,” said Castor, taking me around the waist with one arm, leaning up on the bed on one knee and bringing the spanker at the end of the crop down on my bottom in a shower of crisp smacks, evenly distributed from cheek to cheek and thigh to thigh, not unbearably hard but hard enough to make me catch my breath with every swat.
This set the pattern for the rest of the night. His style was a little dynamic, a little extreme. But I was ready for it. Then just when I was thinking, “He’s a lot more B&D than he is spanking scene,” he sat on the bed and pulled me down across his lap.
“Oh how I have wanted to do this!” he confided, bringing his hand down on my bottom hard and fast for less than a minute, but it was a very full minute. Then he lay me back on the bed and spread my legs, telling me that if I didn’t have a wet pussy he would use the crop on it until it got wet. It was wet. He put two fingers in to test. I squeezed him hard to let him know what he had in store. I’m reading this back and it’s getting fairly pornographic. Even though I was very, very wet, I urged him to do what he said with the crop, to get me even wetter. I have always wanted someone to crop me on my Venus Mound. He seemed enchanted that it wasn’t shaved, but fleecy. I stopped the crop before it came down the first time and asked him to please go lighter now. He pretended to be annoyed but adhered to my request. I asked him to play Love Me Two Times, the original Doors arrangement. He actually had it. Then he had me, two times.
That’s all I have time to write. Have to get to the dining hall or I’ll perish. He is a hot head. I wonder if that’s how he’ll ruin this for himself.
Same day, afternoon
On reading this over, Castor comes across like a soulless meanie. Therefore let me hasten to add that we slept locked in each other’s arms and kissed incessantly throughout the night and he gave me a gold ring with a small but blazing sapphire stone that he said had belonged to his late mother.
But I can’t let him think he owns me now. I have to keep him hungry for me.
I’m going to ask Thalia if she wants to go to Random Point with me for the weekend. It’ll get me out of Castor’s reach and allow her to finally meet Hugo.
December 5th, Random Point, Cliff House
Susan Ross invited us to stay at Anthony Newton’s house with her over the weekend. Thalia’s mind is blown to get her own room overlooking the coast. Susan picked us up at the station, drove us up to the house and put herself at our disposal for the rest of the day. I had explained to Thalia that Susan met her famous lover, the composer Anthony Newton, through Hugo, about five years before and in addition to securing one of the best financial set ups on the planet, she loved the guy. Thalia said she too could use a sugar daddy as soon as possible. Her college loans were already mounting.
I told Thalia that if we made a good impression around Random Point we might get to shoot there when we started our project. So Thalia changed in the car from a cotton button down shirt to a ribbed woolen sweater that dramatically hugged her high, well-rounded bosom. I noted the improvement.
I decided to introduce Thalia to Hugo as a girl who wanted to do some modeling for the magazine, not the horny little sophomore who wanted to fuck him, which she was. Thalia thinks about and has more sex than I do, but she studies much less and smokes a lot more weed. I do like her!
Susan was the soul of hospitality, giving us the beautiful rooms and taking us out to a most elegant lunch in the village at the Ball And Feather Inn. A light, flaky snow was beginning to fall when we arrived at Hugo’s shop in the late afternoon. Susan visited with her sister Laura in the front of shop where a fire was blazing in the hearth, while I brought Thalia into the back where Hugo’s offices were. He was expecting us and ushered us into the lounge graciously, smiling at me while regarding Thalia with interest. In addition to the sage green sweater she had on, she wore a brown tweed skirt and calf high brown boots, all wrapping pinup girl proportions. Hugo seemed genuinely pleased that I had brought him a beautiful new model and praised her physical charms without reserve, knowing how much models like this type of thing. Thalia, who doesn’t think she’s especially pretty, only seemed to listen vaguely, unable to help staring at him in a moony fashion. At the first opportunity I took him aside to whisper, “She has a crush on you.”
He looked harassed and replied, “Amanda, you’re not setting me up with your friends!”
“Isn’t that how the scene works?” I asked.
“In most cases,” he replied, patiently enough, “but as you very well know, I’m still pressing my suit with Laura. Where do you get off throwing bosomy nineteen year olds at me in front of her?” (I admit, I hadn’t thought of that. I must have gone very red in the face because he stared at me.) Then he said, “Yes, you may well blush for shame!” My heart raced as I tried
