This short story is an entry in the 2002 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Adult
The Flavor Is Tart
By
Mara Maharakshasa <MaraMahaRakshasa@aol.com>
Miles' Sketches of Spain is playing softly on the turntable. Her outstretched fingers absent-mindedly brush the loose ends of the knotted stockings on the bedposts. It's near the end of the afternoon siesta, and the last fishing boats will soon return to the harbor, and the village spring to life again.
Springtime is always the sweetest season here, inspiring her to paint. But soon, the tourists will return: The jovial Germans, the lewd French, the raucous English, the drunken Scandinavians, each with their own perversions. And she'll return to drifting from ca to bar to disco, hawking her watercolors. Joining in the drunken revelries, looking for men who'll pay 'the tart' for sex.
Today, though, she's still 'the bug lady,' the reclusive foreigner in the old villa at the seashore. The 'bug lady,' because she rejects any marketplace vegetables that seem unnaturally healthy, preferring 'natural' ones. And because the villagers suspect she has 'bugs in her head,' with her strange habits. The nudist, the English witch, others call her.
She's scorned by the women, the object of ribald amusement to the men for her shamelessness during the summer months, her total lack of concern about local customs. She's been seen bathing naked in the sea, or gardening without a stitch of clothing. But the Guardia Civile has never been able to catch her for these transgressions. She'd even complained to the provincial government about their spying, and had it stopped. Friends in high places, the local jefe had grumbled.
She swings her feet to the floor, stretches, then walks from her bedroom, not reaching for her dressing gown, on to the verandah overlooking the bay. At the door, she picks up an orange. Soon, she detects a glint of light from one of the fishing boats, a mile or so away. Inspecting the merchandise, she thinks with a smile, boosting herself up to sit astride the railing, and give the watcher a better view. It's one of the first days warm enough to be out here for long, without the sea breezes whipping at her bare skin.
Maybe that's Rodrigo, she muses. Or maybe it's Pedro, the lithe teenager with his insatiable curiosity about women's bodies? Well, if whoever it is has earned his thousand pesetas today, she'll be happy to entertain him. But she hopes it's the hulking Rodrigo with his burned-blacked skin, his wiry carpet of curling hair. His gradually learned taste for being her plaything, excites her, and she gently combs her pubic hair, pressing the heel of her hand on her mound, recalling his awestruck reverence for her, each time she orders him to undress and show her his prodigious cock.
She peels the orange slowly, feeling the juices spray on her bare breasts and trickle down her midriff. Yes, I'll be this wet after I've finished birching him, she sighs. And I'll sit on his face, my pussy just as sticky and tart, and made him lick me until he's earned the right to fuck.
The End
© Copyright by Mara Maharakshasa, 2002. All rights are reserved by the author. Do not retransmit, store (except for personal use) or publish without permission.
Reviews
Margaret <wessyLA(at)aol(dot)com>
I liked the descriptive word picture that this piece evoked. I felt as though I was in Europe on a hot Summer day. If I had to quibble, I wish there had been more exposition of a storyline, but enjoyed it nonetheless. Thank you for submitting this.
John <johnb(at)ssec(dot)wisc(dot)edu>
A dreemy, languid piece, a quiet reflective decadence coiled tight as a spring, to discharge later after the story's close. A nicely drawn image, naughty-sweet, of a woman one might like to know.
Kate <ecattiva(at)aol(dot)com>
This story paints a vivid picture that leaves the reader with a sense of being one of the townspeople spying on the main character. Very lovely and descriptive. The spanking reference seems a bit of an afterthought.
Steve <steve(at)circuslights(dot)com>
It's descriptive, it's quite well written, but it just doesn't work for me. I think it's a mixture of it being written in the present tense - of it building up to nothing....