The Storyteller Read Free

How unoriginal. Like something from a bad porno movie. Yet what did it matter? These were her words. She owned them. This was her dream and her way of getting off. She could say whatever she wanted.
    “Please, fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
    Perhaps because in this new setting, where she had no fear of getting caught, new fantasies started to come to her as she worked her way to orgasm. In her vision, she saw the scene change. Something was very different than before. This was totally amiss.
    The faceless man was there, but he was no longer on top of her, thrusting her to new heights of pleasure. Instead, she saw herself in this very same bedroom, but bent over the bed. The faceless man had a belt and was about to take it to her naked ass.
    “No,” she protested. “I don’t want a whipping!”
    She had never been spanked as a kid, in any way, shape, or form. She probably should have been, but her parents didn’t believe in that type of discipline. In Sex Education it was discussed, but the teacher clearly did not want to dwell upon the topic. To her, the idea likewise seemed weird. Why would someone want to feel pain instead of pleasure? Why spank when you could fuck? How could pleasure and pain ever merge as one?
    In her unexpected fantasy, all bets were off. The faceless man took the belt to her and whipped her red. The first strike brought excruciating pain, but with each blow the displeasure changed into enjoyment. She was experiencing exactly what she thought was impossible.
    She screamed and started to blubber like a little girl, but this was consensual, and even though she could have ended the punishment at any given moment, she chose to endure. She knew the fucking would be twice as hot once her strange disciplinarian had finished.
    More strikes came and she could see her own bottom now glowing with a fiery red.
    Then she orgasmed.
    The shout she let out was that of a wounded animal. Her cries were profane and her emotions totally out of control.
    At last, it was finished.
    The punishment man was gone. She was alone, sweating and panting on the bed, looking up at the ceiling and feeling totally exhausted.
    This was what her future held for her – uninterrupted, lustful, satisfying release. Plus, if she wanted a real man’s touch, she could find one on campus with no problem whatsoever. This was not Bisbee, and the field was open. She could rub off or finger herself any time she desired. If she wanted to fuck or suck, and she was, contrary to popular belief back home, no virgin, then she was also free to do so.
    It was then her thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing doorbell. Horrified, she thought her parents had returned, but looking out the window from her apartment that led into the parking lot, she saw no truck.
    “What the fuck?” she muttered as she rose from her position. “Who?”
    Still naked, she went into the living room and peaked through the drapes, trying to figure out who was on the other side of the door. She could only make out part of a male form, but it was too inconvenient to open up and see what he wanted when she was unclothed.
    While she was considering finding some proverbial fuck buddies down the road, she was not yet ready to make an open invitation.
    Thus, she waited. The doorbell rang once more and then fell silent. Listening, she thought she heard the door to the apartment next to her open and someone enter. A neighbor had come to call.
    At first she panicked, thinking her cries had been so loud they had vibrated through the apartment walls and someone was coming to check on her. Breathing heavily as before, she waited, but no one knocked at the door or rang the bell again. There were no police sirens. Once more, she was alone.
    She considered her previous fantasy and even bent her head with her back to the mirror, expecting to see marks on her ass, but there were none. Instinctively, she rubbed her exposed rear, thought there was no real pain. It was the strangest experience she had