Back Seat Brat – “My Daddy’s not here, so you have to pay for my fries,” she said plainly, looking bitchy and bratty at the same time.
Pain and Worship – A meeting in a Speakeasy leads to exploration. She heard what he did to her old roommate. She saw the marks on her ass. She wanted the same. She wanted pain and worship.
Friendly Examination – A little game they played when they went out. She wanted to be a good girl, so she always let him check to make sure she was properly smooth.
Written – She had twelve cards. Twelve requests. She could only write on one side of each card. So she had to decide what was important to her. The first card always read, “Thank you, sir.”
Writing Group – To be honest, my favorite part of our old writing group had to be Lisa Tan’s pussy.
Word of Mouth – Downstairs, in a bar that’s a half secret, there is a party that is supposed to be kept quiet. It was my first time at that particular soiree, and I was told when the door closed, things get interesting.
Watching – He always knew his wife and his ex would meet one day. He didn’t expect to watch them flirt from afar.
Want – We were going out for drinks. That was all. Just to see if we were both alright. This was after our break up and after the crying. Somehow we ended up back at my apartment.
The Other Side of the Wall – The sounds that came through the wall of her apartment every Friday night. The sound of someone getting spanked.
A Useful Girl – Becca loved when Jean made fun of her. She loved getting spanked. But more of all, she loved being a useful girl.
He was never content just to receive. He was never happy with just one form of stimulation. If they kissed sweetly, his hand would inevitably find her breast. If they cuddled, his palm would find the roundness of her ass.
The Understudy – She’d do, in a pinch.
Stockings and Whispers – Two in the front, two in the back. She stood when I did the back snaps, towering over me. She held up her slip for me and I skated the line of taking my time to enjoy and hurrying for her.
“No one ever did that to me before. No one ever scolded me. I mean, not since I was a little kid,” she said a little quieter. He looked over to her and smiled knowingly.
Pigtails – She was okay with being naked. She didn’t mind walking past my open windows or if I snapped a picture of her every once in a while. I liked that. I liked how much she enjoyed her body, lounging and showing off her curves without a hint of the embarrassment that is drilled into women. But the pigtails made her mortified.
Or Else – She said if I didn’t do exactly what she said, she would scream. She would scream and scream and then tell everyone how horrible I was. How I looked up her dress. How I showed her dirty stories.
Macaron – When Margaux bent forward, nude, her thighs together, a split peach appeared between her legs, or so I said to Rose, who sat next to me.
Lucy’s Game – It started as just a little game between Lucy and me. How I’d tease her and how she’d blush and pout. “You know the only reason I like you is because of your big tits,” I’d say, pushing her into a corner and feeling her up.
Little Fantasies – As Elle squirmed under the covers, she thought about growing up as an only child, how she lived inside of her head, in worlds of fantasy. As she got older, she had what they called a “rich inner life.” In college, she was never happier than when she was left alone to daydream.
His Hall – She missed his wall, his hall. That place he always threw her against when she came into his apartment.
Garter Boy – He knelt on the hardwood, the cracks of the old Lower East Side apartment’s aging floor pressing against his knees through the thin material of his black tuxedo trousers.
The Front – I realized Maria was coming on to me, so I did what any red-blooded boy would do. I suggested we play Truth or Dare. She was very enthusiastic about that idea.
Little Cakes – For his birthday, the table was lined with Petit Fours and Macarons in pretty pastel piles.
Burden – In her eyes, forever, there was a Midwest kindness. But New York City had let her down, and most of the time she was sad under those thick black bangs.
Bound Crush – The key was not letting on how he felt. Let the rope take over. Let the familiar routine play out like a dance number he had memorized. Disappear into his dominance.
Betty the Bruiser –
“Don’t you think I’m pretty anymore?” She kissed my cheek, catching just the edge of my lip. “I think you’re drunk and sweaty and you have a black eye and probably a sprained ankle,” but she was already pulling me in for another kiss.
Beg – Cultivate a desperation in her. Plant seeds in whispers and midnight missives. Give her little tasks that propagate the cycles that will undo her.