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From: "Frances LaGatta" <lori111c@worldnet.att.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} {ASSM } F.  LaGatta 'Man At Helm' (Rom,D/s, M/F, spank) 
Date: Wed, 19 Jun 2002 10:10:06 -0400
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{Assm } F.  LaGatta 'Man At Helm' (Rom,D/s, M/F, spank)



Man At Helm


by Frances LaGatta



She closed the door and pressed her back against the woodwork,
instinctively guarding what was about to be punished.  Even the
air seemed to be holding its breath as her eyes adjusted in the
dark.  The captain's government green front office with its
husky, brass trimmed, polished wood furnishings, and heavily
mirrored walls came into focus.  A slice of yellow light at the
base of the adjacent door indicated that he was in his master
stateroom, probably sipping Crown Royal from the quaint rattan
bar, enjoying his nightly cigar, his large frame comfortably
stretched out on his favorite leather chaise lounge.

Somehow she did not imagine he'd be reading, as was his usual
practice before he retired with her into the bedroom.  He'd been
too livid, too preoccupied with taking her to task.  If only she
could diffuse his anger. . . .   Maybe she could dissuade him
from spanking her by  soothing his frustrated lust?  She knew
just the sort of submissive seduction that might possibly make up
for all her horrid behavior.  Her heart beat as erratically as
her frantic thoughts; she should run for it while she still had
the chance.  Before she could turn to do just that, a startling
flare illuminated his chiseled face in the shadows.  He framed
the matchstick with his huge hand, staring at her through the
flame while he cuffed his cigar to life.  He seemed to take up a
lot of space while he sat on that armless antique chair with his
knees planted wide. She blindly fumbled for the light switch on
the wall.

"Leave it," he commanded in a tone that reduced her spine to
overly cooked spaghetti. "And C'mere."

She shivered not from a chill, but dread as she shuffled forward
to stand between those massive thighs.  Head lowered, her
polished red toenails digging into the plush white carpet, she
offered him her hairbrush like a grail.  "I deserve it. I know. 
.  . but before you spank me," she whispered softly.  "Please,
darling.  Let me show you how truly sorry I am."  She sank
gracefully to her knees, and with her hands together as if in
prayer, she brought her parted palms hovering over his crotch. 
She licked her generous lips suggestively, her dainty fingers
searching for the tine of his zipper, and slowly, she began to
ease it down, her head lowering with abject deference.


 The hairbrush came before her pert nose, thwarting her intended
destination.  "Hoping to change my mind about using this?" she
heard him say around his sweet smelling cigar, and the applied
pressure of the brush under her chin left her no choice but to
look up at him.  His dark eyebrow was arched, his steely stare
determined.  "Or are you praying I won't be able to resist such a
tempting offer after denying me with your lying lips?"  He
touched the flat of the brush to her moistened mouth as if to
both silence her and reaffirm his aim.  "You certainly place more
emphasis on the word cunning, when it comes to cunninglingus." 
The brush came away and he smacked it down into his open palm. 
She flinched at the sound, and dropped back onto her haunches,
shielding her bottom.

"The first lesson you're going to learn is that you can't use sex
as a bargaining chip to manipulate me.  And that's just the tip
of the iceberg when it comes to your misbehavior."  He set the
hairbrush on the polished mahogany desk beside him and
effortlessly yanked her up to her feet while he remained seated.
"I can see you still like to bend the rules to suit you. You
didn't follow my orders to the letter.  And I didn't I find you
here when I arrived.  Care to enlighten me before I turn you over
my knee?"

"B-but I went to the gym to.  .  .  prepare," she wheedled.

"No.  You went there because even in the face of all you have
done, you still want the upper edge of doing things your way."

"I-I was scared," she protested.

"Not scared enough to do as you were told."  He scrutinized her
black runner's bra and spandex leggings, the apparel she usually
donned as fitness instructor for exercising cruise enthusiasts
aboard his ship, and definitely not the outfit he had
specifically order her to wear. He expelled an aggravated stream
of sweet smelling smoke over her bare torso.  "While there's no
question you're going to receive the work-out of your life, I'm
not a man who'll settle on second best. During your little dance
tonight,  I caught more than an eyeful under that sexy red number
you had on. Along with every other man there."

"I threw it in garbage can!  I never want to look at it again!"

"Oh, but I do," he replied matter-of-fact, and then picked up the
phone, placed the receiver to his ear, and punched one of the
many hailing buttons on the com.  "There's a ladies red dress
stuffed in a trash can somewhere in the gymnasium.  I want you to
find this dress and bring it to my stateroom." He tapped his
cigar ash into the crystal, anchor-shaped tray while listening to
the voice other end.  "If you have to tear the ship upside down,
you'll find it before it reaches the incinerators, mister," he
growled around the cigar and then slammed the receiver down.  "At
least my men know how to follow orders." He stabbed his cigar in
the tray and then hooked his fingers into her waistband.  "These
are tighter than skin on a wiener, but they'll keep you from
kicking."

She gasped and her face colored fiercely as he roughly peeled her
leggings and panties down to her knees. She folded her hands over
her over her recently shaved mons (per his request) with
confusing rushes of fear and anticipation and embarrassment.  He
reached for something to the left of him on the floor and swung a
black leather footstool around which he promptly planted before
her feet.  He then clasped her waist and brusquely lifted her on,
and when he let go, she teetered for balance with her legs locked
in black spandex.

"Now."  He perched his fists on his thighs and jerked his strong
chin closer to her pubis.  "Spread yourself open so I can look at
your clitoris in full bloom," he demanded, and the crisp bite to
his words made her wonder if he about to pleasure her, or punish
her, or both, because surely this was torture.

"Do it!" he snapped at her hesitation and she complied with a
thumping heart and heated face.

He flicked on the desk lamp, the only cover of dignity left to
her, gone in a blaring blinking of her eyes.  His gaze focused on
her splayed, denuded, damp lips, pulled up, her scarlet stamen
betraying her and standing at his attention.

"I may love all the textures and juices and spices of you," his
warm breath fanned her swollen nub as he reached around to gently
cup her buttocks.  "But if I'm going to tongue this."  He pulled
apart her cheeks and cold air puckered her anal maw.  "I want you
clean and fresh as flower."  The hard tip of his tongue flicked
her clit and sent stars shooting through her in a shameless and
instant reaction that had him issuing a deep-throated chuckle. 
He thrust one, and then two, thickset fingers into her drenched
vagina and piston pumped her canal until she whimpered for
release.  "And I'll have you as well lubricated and as
comfortably stretched when I finally decide to stick my neglected
dick where the sun doesn't shine."  He then withdrew his slippery
fingers as impersonally as a gynecologist.

She covered her denuded sex like Eve realizing she was naked for
the first time in Eden.  Her emotions rioted with queer and
conflicting mixtures of love and contempt and shame and fury at
her vulnerably to him.  He had made her hunger, and feel
undeserving of pleasure in a bittersweet warfare of arousal,
turning the tables, her very words on her, with denial, and
insult, all in the space of a few moments.  "I'm n-not a whore."

"You certainly gave an Oscar winning performance of being one on
that dance floor tonight.  It's time to get your shapely bottom
the appropriate shade of red. . .  until your dress arrives and
you can really play the part. For me!"  He hooked an arm around
her waist, flung her over his lap with a harrumph, hiked her
bottom with a muscular thigh and he pressed her head low.


Her blonde pony tail tickled the plush white carpet beneath her
scrabbling red fingernails.  She glanced up to see his nostrils
flaring with his arm arched high. The oval oak hairbrush looked
small and insignificant in his large hand until it descended in a
blur and hit with a lightning force and thunderous crack.  She
winced and pressed her pelvis into his lap to escape the searing
sting that spread heat through her flesh.  His pectorals then
moved in rhythm with his shoulder, arm, and hand as they swung
the hairbrush up, and then down, like the never-wavering, painful
beat of a metronome.  Strong.  Insistent.  Monotonous.  Maddening
as she struggled to free her imprisoned legs.

She bit her lower lip to stifle her yelps and groans and clamped
her eyelids shut with a vow not to cry.  And as physically fit
and toned from all her workouts, her gently curved buttocks
bounced and wobbled and jiggled, embarrassingly, like twin bowls
of Jell-O during rough seas.

He flipped the brush back and forth over her bum, strategically
alternating stings from one cheek to the other, dead center, and
far below, as if he was some crazed Picasso painting an oyster
white canvas with salmon pink strokes, scarlet streaks, and
magenta splotches.  She screwed up her face and breathed in and
out through her teeth. Perspiration misted her forehead and
runneled her nape when his efforts brought the blood circulating
to her radiating cheeks in two small concentric circles.

When he stopped and waited and then whaled her, these surprise
attacks of 'there she blows' were the worst.  She hated
anticipating what was about to happen, hot cheeks clenched
tightly for the horrendous sideswiping motions that exposed her
anal opening.  She inhaled sharply as he smacked her directly
over this office before her cheek flapped back into position. His
thumb then skimmed between her cleft, melting her tautly
straining muscles with a delightful, unexpected zing.  He dipped,
deeply, into her vagina, and while she moaned for more of the
same, his dredging fingers immerged.  He spread her cheeks apart,
and circled her pink anal bud, moistening her with her own
juices.  When he gently worked the tip of his index finger inside
her rectum, guilty heat coursed through her core.  He then
strummed her clitoris while he slowly sheathed his finger to the
hilt.  Her empty tunnel began to tremble with a need to be
filled.  Her calves and spandex imprisoned knees levitated under
this intoxicating magic, her pedicure red toes stretched straight
out in the air behind her.  And on the verge of spiraling into
oblivion, he abruptly withdrew, and then cruelly cracked her
bottom with his open palm, putting a sharp, painful stop to what
she mewed for.


The despised brush returned to her buttocks, resting on her
flaming skin in an awful reminder that her penalty wasn't over. 
"Did you know I had to suffer through crude comments about this
cute little ass and pussy during your little dance? "  Shallow,
short smacks on her most tenderized spots were delivered with a
speed that had her squirming sideways, almost off his knees.  He
yanked her against his solid center, and continued with an
unfazed concentration that hurt like unleashed hell.

When she reared up, frantically looking around for escape, her
bottom resembled two red apples nested in pink cotton candy. 
"Please, no-no more, no-more" she pleaded, not caring how pitiful
she sounded, gulping in big drafts of air on his wild roller
coaster ride of pure pleasure alternated with strict pain.

He pulled her leggings off and tossed them on the floor before
her nose.  "Well now your baring every naked inch of it to me." 
He then hiked her higher, his polished heel planted on a low rung
of the chair, her body nearly jackknifed, her feline whiles on
full display.  He shoved her exercise bra down until her breasts
were exposed and jutting. "They talked about these as if you were
some dancer for hire in a sleazy nightclub."  He tugged on her
nipples as if he was milking a cow and an invisible cord
connected from her breasts to her clitoris responded in a hated,
heated electrical charge.

"I didn't know--"

"How it feels to be humiliated and powerless to do anything about
it?"  He deftly worked his thick thumb into her tight rectal
ring, an index finger deep into her canal, and his remaining,
fisted knuckles kneaded her swollen nub, a grinding pistol n'
mortar of mortification and need.  "You've been sticking it to me
all month, haven't you, Sky?"

"Yes," her voice quivered with shame so acute, she wanted to
disappear into the carpet.  He popped his fingers out and colors
exploded behind her eyes when the paddle of old faithful broke
away from the handle.

"Spread your legs wide.  Wider!  Hold your cheeks open for me."

She complied; feeling the pulsating heat of her punished flesh
under her splayed fingers and the cool rush of air on her anal
bud and over the unfurled folds of her creaming and inflamedsex.

Ever hear of the expression pussy-whipped, Sky?"  His brawny
fingers smacked her wet labia, blazing a trail reminiscent of a
scarfed five-alarm chili pepper while her clitoris pulsed in
confusion.

She let go of her bottom and wriggled wildly under the relentless
claps of his enormous palm that followed, calloused flesh
striking soft sore flesh in a heartfelt applause.  In her upended
view of the world, she was flung over a horse bucking back to a
barn while hornets stung her bared behind.  Her pelvis ground
into his thighs for climactic release while her boobs bounced
painfully as if she were jogging topless.  He ignored her crazy
full-throated shrieks and picked up his pace as if he was a long
distance runner just breaking his stride.

"Pleeeasse," she implored in misery, not sure if she meant
'Please stop' or 'Please more.'  And he covered every nook and
cranny, hill and valley, until her bum was as hot as the cigar
that had glowed in the dark.  Until something switched off in her
brain, and she became conscious only of power, his power, an
awesome conglomerate of pure masculine power, a sharp scalpel of
dominant realty that sliced opened her floodgates, and freed her.
 .  .  at last.

The moment she allowed her tears to fall like rain, she shattered
into a thousand million stars, exploded into an all encompassing
orgasm that rocked her body over his sprawling lap, his iron hard
arousal nudging encouragement against her soft tummy.

"That a girl," he rasped, spreading her cheeks and fleshy folds
apart with his fingers as if watching in amazed wonder.  "Let it
all go, darling.  Give it all up to me."

Her surrendering vagina twitched with awesome, apoplectic relief
and release while she wept aloud.  "I hate you," she croaked
feebly.

"No you don't," he murmured with a resonating chuckle, gently
rubbing her lower spine with a coaxing palm, watching her hot
crimson bottom cheeks contract and relax in a spasmodic
culmination of so many different and novel sensations.

"I-I don't understand--"

"Shhh. . . "  His handsome, dark head descended, and he inhaled
deeply, as if savoring her scent.  "Don't think it to death my
beautiful girl."  His warm breath fanned her skin and he pressed
his sensual lips to her sore orbs in a reverent kiss.  "It just
is."  He came up on a long exhaled sigh as she lay limp across
his lap, emotionally, and physically depleted, a deflated life
raft adrift on a sedentary, submissive sea.

                                                         X   X  
X



Copyright/Frances LaGatta  <lori111c@worldnet.att.net >

Visit my erotic romances site at: www.wickedvelvet.com 

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