Hitting with Words

The first kinky sex I ever had was all talk.


Before any slapping, spanking, scratching, or biting, all my boundaries were verbal. Before I ever tied anyone up, choked them, or held them down while while fucking them up the ass, I whispered honest things in her ear as she did the same. Some of them blend together into memories that are only half formed, but there’s a string of words that planted the seeds.


First there was Kaity on my bed with her uniform skirt around her waist as she refused to be quiet. The window was open, my mother was gardening, and she begged me to fuck her with no volume control at all.


“She’s going to hear you,” I whispered.


“Good,” she moaned, “let her know you’re fucking me. I don’t care, just don’t stop.”


And then a year later I knelt on the floor while Stephanie talked to her ex on the phone. I ate her pussy and she stopped trying to pretend otherwise in the middle of the call. She came with him on the other end of the line, my tongue against her clit and my fingers inside her cunt.


It was Melissa who whispered, “I want to fuck your roommate” into my ear one morning when I was inside her, and I made her tell me about it in detail. When we came she was practically screaming his name, but we hadn’t once raised a finger. Without words we were simply two sweaty teenagers, fucking on a tiny dorm bed.


The fighting and bruising all came later. The belts, the cuffs, and the wax followed along, but it was always the words that hit me the hardest. Even years later, when Alison lay over my lap, her ass red from my hand, it was her words that made me hard.


“I promise I’ll do better,” she moaned, my fingers finally pushing into her wet cunt as I struggled not to come beneath her.


-gny

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Disappointment Enough (or Leave Them on The Chair)

“I want to spank you with your skirt still on.”


“But I haven’t done anything wrong.”


For some reason we had gotten in the habit of negotiating over dinner. Schiller’s was packed, and we had destroyed the tray of oysters in front of us, but we ordered a final round of drinks so we still had time.


“I don’t always spank you for being bad,” I said, swallowing the last Blue Point. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. Beneath the table I could see her bare thighs each time she shifted in her seat.


“I always pretend that I have, even if you don’t say it. It’s not always other boys or something like that. Sometimes it’s just that I’ve disappointed you. Those are the hardest times.”


“Hard in terms of how you come? Or how you struggle?” I didn’t look up when the waiter put down our manhattans.


“Both,” she said, finally breaking eye contact. “But, of course, how do I get punished if I don’t do the wrong thing? It’s a conundrum.”


I reached out and took a hand. I raised it to my lips and kissed her knuckles while lifting my drink with my other hand. She raised hers as well and we toasted silently, watching each other’s brains work.


“Take off whatever’s under that skirt,” I said. She wrinkled her nose, but didn’t pause. We both eyed the room as she lifted off her seat, just enough to slide her panties down and hand them to me beneath the table.


“If it makes you feel any better, I can always find something. No matter how hard you try, now matter how good you are, I’ll find a reason. And tonight I have at least six of them. Let’s finish our drinks and then go. I want you over my knee with that skirt around your waist.”


We stood up and gathered our coats, finishing our drinks in gulps that were way too big for anyone. Just as she tucked in her chair I leaned in and took her hand. She clutched the bundled ball of white cotton with a confused look.


“Leave them on the chair,” I said. “You’ve already disappointed me enough tonight.”

gny

(If you enjoy my writing and would like to support the blog, you can buy my novel or one of my dirty e-books on Amazon here.)

Squirmy, Wiggly, and Difficult

“So what if I’m being bratty? What are you gonna do? Spank me?”


She was squirmy, wiggly, and difficult to say the least. I had her on her stomach on the bed, and I was holding her hands firmly behind her, but she was not being helpful. In fact, it was clear that she wanted to be punished, and she wanted it to happen her way. She wanted my hand on her ass, bringing out her favorite color, and she wanted to feel the sting on her cheek. She wanted me to hold her down, take her over my knee, and make her beg me to stop until I couldn’t help myself and I had to fuck her.


“I don’t think so,” I whispered as I loosened my grip. “You don’t get to choose how I punish you.”


“What are you going to do?” There was still defiance in her voice, but it was wavering. A sliver of  uncertainty slipped in between her words, as if she suddenly remembered my options.


“Well, if you don’t want to be a good girl, I’ll simply have to make a phone call.”


“Are you going to make your friend spank me again?” There was hope mixed in with a hint of snark.


“No Babygirl. I’m going to call your little friend instead. What’s her name again? The cute one with the blonde hair and the big eyes? The one who always sits on my lap when you’re not looking and whispers in my ear?”


“Lilly,” she whispered with horror in her voice.


“That’s the one. If you can’t be a good girl, then maybe she’ll have to do.” I was leaning over her, but no longer touching her body. My lips were inches from her ear and her whole body quivered as I spoke. “Maybe she’ll take off her pretty dress for me and kneel on your pillow. Maybe she’ll make me hard in her mouth without needing a slap to remind her to focus. And maybe, as you lie here watching, she’ll open her pale thighs, and I’ll fuck her perfect cunt as I tell her how much better she is.”


She was crying as the words came out, and finally I caressed her hair once more. She sat up and threw herself into my arms, burying her face into the crook of my neck.


“I promise,” she moaned. “I promise I’ll be good. Please don’t call her. Please.”


I held her tightly, kissing the top of her head as she sobbed loudly.


“You’ll try, Babygirl. I know you’ll try.”


—GNY

Ms. Smith’s School for Wayward Catholic Girls

There’s a strip club on the 23rd floor of an office building in midtown. It has a name that’s something like Ms. Smith’s School for Wayward Catholic Girls, and it’s exactly what you would expect it to be. One stage has two long rows of lockers with an open shower at the peak. The other has two rows of desks leading up to a blackboard. There’s one large desk in the middle with an old wooden chair where the teacher sits.

They tell me all the uniforms were bought at auction from the Academy of the Holy Angels in New Jersey, but I can’t verify that at all. All I know is they’re plaid and they’re more real than anything you’d find at the sex shops in the West Village. The girls wear saddle shoes and knee socks, and if they put on too much makeup they get punished.

We walked in one Thursday night, and as enticing as the it was, we passed by the cheerleaders stripping off their clothes and jumping into the shower. We walked into the backroom where a ridiculously handsome man in glasses and bow tie was writing something on the blackboard as six pig-tailed girls sat in near attention.

My date and I sat down on a thick leather couch, and I pulled her onto my lap before ordering drinks. Two minutes into she show, Jessica raised her hand as she sipped her cocktail on my lap. I shook my head, amazed at how quickly she cut to the chase.

“Father James, Stephanie was totally texting under her desk.”

One of the girls looked over her shoulder at us with a grin that was somewhere between evil and adorable. She snapped back to attention when she heard the loud whack of a ruler hitting her desk. The bow-tied teacher looked down at her and before we could start to applaud he hauled her up to the front of the room. She trembled as she looked over her shoulder, and with a sheepish grin she placed her phone on the desk.

“This is my favorite part,” Jessica whispered in my ear.

The girl on stage was quickly turned around and bent over the desk. Father James circled her three or four times as the other girls fidgeted with their hair and played with the buttons on their blouses.

“How many does she deserve?” he asked the audience. There were shouts of ten, twenty, and fifty, as the room was suddenly full of filthy expectations.

“Over or under?” he asked even louder.

The audience was in total agreement on that one, and seconds later Stephanie reached beneath her skirt and slid her white cotton panties down over her knees and onto the ground. She kicked them off one leg, picked them up and folded them carefully on the desk.

“And the skirt,” he said as he smacked the ruler against his open palm. The poor girl lifted her plaid up onto her back as she leaned over the desk; the room went crazy.

“He’s going to bruise her, I know it,” Jessica whispered between kisses. “He’s the mean one.”

The first smack lead to more applause from the crowd and a loud cry of “one” from Stephanie. By the time she counted five her ass was crimson, and the audience was a pack of feral dogs. He pushed her thighs wider with his knee as he ran his hand over her, and suddenly the rest of the class was shifting in their seats.

“They’re being naughty” Jessica whispered in my ear, and we watched the other five girls gently slip their hands up beneath their skirts. I could see one of them pinching her nipples and another clearly had at least two fingers inside herself.

At fifteen, the cries from Stephanie’s mouth were somewhere between ecstasy and misery, and not one person cared which it was. Her skin was red up and down both thighs, and more than once Father James ran his fingers between her legs before showing the audience his soaking wet fingers.

By the time he got to eighteen the whole crowd was counting, Three of the girls had lost their shirts, and Father James was clearly hard in his pants. Jessica was rubbing against me as I slipped a hand beneath her skirt, and the room smelled like the ocean. Everyone counted the last five together, and at least two of the girls on stage were coming as they watched.

When Stephanie finally reached thirty she nearly collapsed onto the desk. She was panting and moaning as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and the teacher had sweat running down his cheek.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?” he asked, his voice deep and loud.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“I mean yes Father James,” she quickly corrected herself.

“Now be a good girl and go back to your seat.”

She stood up slowly, straightening the back of her skirt as she did, and when she finally turned around her cheeks were flushed. She trembled as she took the smallest of bows, and then walked slowly back to her desk. The other girls in the room watched her in wonder as she sat down, their own clothes a mess on the floor.

When she finally sat down the lights went out and the audience burst into applause. Jessica kissed me again, her own breathing finally returning to normal as I pulled my hand from her skirt.

“I love this bar,” she said as she collapsed against me.

“And I love you,” I whispered.  

Guy New York

(If you enjoy my writing, you might like my new novel, The Island on The Edge of Normal, now available on Kindle and in Print.)


©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#568)
“Would you have sucked his cock?”
She was quivering on my knee as she tried to speak, but somehow the words didn’t come. I slipped her panties down over the curve of her ass until they rested on her knees, and I rested the palm of my hand against her warm skin.
“Do I need to ask you again?”
“No,” she whispered.
“No, I don’t need to ask, or no you wouldn’t have sucked his dick?”
“The first one,” she said even quieter.
My hand came down without warning. I moved between her ass and her thighs, listening to the sound with great interest. The deeper the sound the more power, but the higher the notes the more sting she would feel. In between the seventh and eighth I pushed two fingers inside her to find her as wet as she got. I had no idea if it was my hand or my words that drove her there. Possibly it was his cock.
“Tell me what you need.”
“I need you to fuck me,” she cried between powerful strokes of my open palm.
“And why is that?” I asked.
She was silent as the next few blows fell, but her body moved up to meet me even as her groans grew louder. Her thighs no longer touched, and her hips had a mind of their own. She tried to look up at me as I held her over my lap and her breath was hypnotic.
“Please,” she said.
“Please what? Tell me what you need.”
“Please fuck me so it goes away. Please make me come so I don’t think about anything but your cock.”
I pushed her off my lap and stood up next to the bed. She rolled onto her back and covered her eyes with her arm. For the briefest moment I wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be alright. Instead, I opened her thighs as I climbed between them. I let the back of my hand fall against her flesh six times before I pressed my cock against her, and it wasn’t until she begged that I fucked her.
“Do you forgive me?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you in the morning,” I said, before covering her mouth and closing my eyes.


Guy New York

©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#568)

“Would you have sucked his cock?”

She was quivering on my knee as she tried to speak, but somehow the words didn’t come. I slipped her panties down over the curve of her ass until they rested on her knees, and I rested the palm of my hand against her warm skin.

“Do I need to ask you again?”

“No,” she whispered.

“No, I don’t need to ask, or no you wouldn’t have sucked his dick?”

“The first one,” she said even quieter.

My hand came down without warning. I moved between her ass and her thighs, listening to the sound with great interest. The deeper the sound the more power, but the higher the notes the more sting she would feel. In between the seventh and eighth I pushed two fingers inside her to find her as wet as she got. I had no idea if it was my hand or my words that drove her there. Possibly it was his cock.

“Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to fuck me,” she cried between powerful strokes of my open palm.

“And why is that?” I asked.

She was silent as the next few blows fell, but her body moved up to meet me even as her groans grew louder. Her thighs no longer touched, and her hips had a mind of their own. She tried to look up at me as I held her over my lap and her breath was hypnotic.

“Please,” she said.

“Please what? Tell me what you need.”

“Please fuck me so it goes away. Please make me come so I don’t think about anything but your cock.”

I pushed her off my lap and stood up next to the bed. She rolled onto her back and covered her eyes with her arm. For the briefest moment I wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be alright. Instead, I opened her thighs as I climbed between them. I let the back of my hand fall against her flesh six times before I pressed my cock against her, and it wasn’t until she begged that I fucked her.

“Do you forgive me?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” I said, before covering her mouth and closing my eyes.

©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#538)
Someone needed a little reminder…

©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#538)

Someone needed a little reminder…

©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#468)
I miss the sound of her counting.

©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#468)

I miss the sound of her counting.

©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#447)
Sometimes the boy needs a good spanking too. 

©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#447)

Sometimes the boy needs a good spanking too. 

Miss Ginger Millay  /  ©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#423)
Hey Jack, remember when you spanked Miss Ginger Millay in my office? That was awesome. 

Miss Ginger Millay  /  ©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#423)

Hey Jack, remember when you spanked Miss Ginger Millay in my office? That was awesome. 

Guy New York’s New Years Resolutions

1. Spankings are meant to sting: don’t hold back

2. Use the word “rye” whenever ordering a Manhattan

3. Be present in every single goddamn fucking moment

4. Don’t leave my ties knotted on the bed posts

5. Don’t request dirty photos from my followers even if I want to

6. Cook naked, but avoid hot oil

7. Don’t write blog posts during intercourse

8. Thank everyone in the room after sex

9. Don’t sleep with the new intern.  No seriously.  Don’t. 

10. Only post self-nudes on Instagram when I’m drinking

11. Publish my novel

12. Write so much smut my wrist gets sore

13. Always wear really nice socks

14. The King Tut is attainable.  Don’t back down. Follow your heart.

15. Say I love you BEFORE sex

16. Only eat dates if they’re stuffed with blue cheese and wrapped in bacon

17. Remember “what’s up bro?” means “let’s get it on”

18. Throw that pajama themed brunch time sex party

19. Have sex in other parks too.

20. Find each one of my followers and send them flowers and kisses

Kissing Katie

There was a girl hanging from the ceiling, another getting spanked on the couch next to me, and all I wanted to do was kiss Katie.

Katie was there with someone who’s boundaries I didn’t know, and she wasn’t playing. She was sipping a whisky neat and wearing jeans like she owned the place. She watched with a detached caution that I wanted to break through.

"That hurts," she said catching my eye.

"The spanking?"

"The tiny little stick. It’s evil. I mean that’s it’s name. The evil stick and it stings like a motherfucker."

"I prefer hard to stinging," I offered. "Tonight I’m mostly just watching, though."

"Nothing you want?"

I tried not to choke on my drink, and I mostly managed. She was looking at me without an ounce of judgement, and I was being tempted by honesty. It’s a fetish I have to live with.

"Actually, I’d rather kiss you than fuck anyone else in the room," I said without thinking.

"That’s awesome."

What the hell did that mean? Do I lean closer or walk away? She was smiling and looking at me and I couldn’t read her at all. Fuck it.

I slid an arm around her waist and slipped a finger through a belt loop. She leaned in ever so slightly and I kissed her. Just like that I touched her lips with mine and pulled her to me. She put a hand on the back of my neck and began to squeeze.

As her fingers tightened she sucked my bottom lip between her teeth with a firm and unyielding bite.  The pressure on my neck tightened slowly as she bit me harder, and the pain moved through my body slowly and fully.

When she finally let me go, the release hurt almost as much as the bite. She caressed my cheek and looked down.

"Like that?"

"Like what?" I asked, hardly able to speak.

"Hard. Not sharp."

"Just like that," I muttered before kissing her again.

 Guy New York

The Reprimanding Department

"Are you free to lend a hand?  An open hand?" the text message read. 

His new partner was quite delightful, but seemed to have a habit of getting herself in trouble.  I was pretty sure from the text he wanted some help in the reprimanding department. 

When I walked in the door she was standing in the corner with her back to us wearing a simple orange dress and no shoes.  Her hands were clenched in fists and her head was down.  He put a finger to his lips as he waved me in, and he poured me a whisky over a solid block of ice. He walked me towards her and I could see her tremble at the sound of our feet on the hard wood floor.

"She’s done terrible, terrible things," he said to me, quietly.  "I normally would punish her myself, but her eyes grew so wide and scared when I suggested someone else’s hand, and I just couldn’t resist."

I simply nodded, and I guessed from his body language that he had not told her who I was.  I would remain silent.

"I was thinking you might remove her underwear and blindfold her.  You might then take her over your knee and see what sound your open hand makes. She’ll count out for you as you hit her, and if you like, you can slide fingers into her mouth if she tries to scream."

She was visibly shaking now as he described what was to come, but so far she was silent.  He suggested in more detail how I might hold her hair as I hit her, and he thought I might be curious to see how wet it made her between slaps.  As we walked closer to her he lifted the back of her dress, and said one more thing that completely sent her over the edge.

"Once you’re done with the spanking, if you’d like to help yourself to her, I’d be delighted to hold her down while you fuck her.  She’s rather tight you know."

She was coming before he finished speaking, and she was no longer quiet at all. Her voice echoed through the apartment, and she trembled and moaned without so much as a finger having touched her.  She shook and she screamed. She called out and she begged. 

I finished my drink and I left. 

—Guy New York

Enough

I like to tell you what to do. 

Go into the bedroom and stand at the foot of the bed. I’ll leave you there just long enough that you begin to get nervous.  When I finally enter the room I say nothing and I can see the tension move through your body.  I tell you to put your hands on the smooth wood and lean over slightly.  When I tell you to open your stance I hear you suppress a sigh. 

I like to walk slowly around you in silence, and I like to move your hair from your face.  I lift your skirt up around you waist without warning, and I feel the warmth of your skin.  When I slide your underwear down off your thighs and place it on the bed in front of you there’s confusion in your body. 

I tell you to lean over more until your bare ass is in exactly the right position, and I hit you without warning.  You often whimper quietly, and I know you’re struggling to understand what it is that you did wrong.  I vary the speed and strength of my palm striking your flesh and you remember that you’re not allowed to flinch.  Just the memory makes it even harder and you take deep breaths as you try to relax.

When I finally let you kneel in front of me you’ve already told me what you have guessed.  You struggle to discover the ways you may have displeased me and you worry even more in the telling. When you finally beg for my forgiveness, and I let you take me into your mouth I often forget our story.  As you please me more and more I forget to redden your cheek with my hand, and I simply close my eyes and enjoy the sensation of your lips, tongue, and throat urging pleasure from me. 

When I finally come the forgiveness flows like wine and I tell you just how wrong I was to be angry.  I hold you against me and kiss your cheek as I whisper over and over again how much I love you.  I remind you over and over how much you please me and how hard I know you try.  I tell you again and again that sometimes—especially for a girl like you—trying just isn’t enough.

—Guy New York