NSFW. Erotic Fiction. May Include Spanking & Other Kinky Stuff.


Flor blew her nose on the proffered tissue. The Captain applied the arnica gel on her bruised buttocks. He acted as if rebellion and resistance were all part of these explorations. And acceptance of the behavior came with the territory. At heart, he wasn’t interested in the pushback. It was far more important to Flor than it was to him.

The kink dragons unleashed by the spankings weren’t all rapacious monsters. They were also playful little buggers. So when he finished with her aftercare, he told Flor,

“Looks like Greta is at the gym now, Beryl will take you back to the house.”

Great,” she thought. “More players in on the game.”

The Captain opened the door, called her name and the Symphony In Flannel that was the gardener, that leering gardener, came inside.

“Flor needs some body work. Can you help out in Greta’s absence?”

“Sure. It would be my pleasure.”

The word sounded simultaneously innocuous and creepy.


The walk back to the house was absent of tension or menace. It was down right relaxing.

“Let’s stop in the kitchen and get some cold bottled water.”

Beryl told Flor she was the trainer for her college softball team after her playing career ended and that she knew how to work with bodies strained by exertion and tension. Instead of the bedroom, Beryl took Flor to what was a training room, with the type of stainless steel whirlpool bath found in training rooms and body work tables. Through the glass partition, she could see the weight room where Greta and the chauffeur Barrows were working out.

“Let’s get you in the whirlpool for a while before I work on you.”

Matter of factly, she helped Flor into the tub and started the jets working.

“I’ll set the timer and be back in a short.”

When she returned, Beryl wore just her tee-shirt and spandex bike shorts. Flor immediately appreciated the muscled body, one of those female gym rat bodies that looked unattainable to pedestrian wretches like her.

Beryl helped her out of the bath, wrapped her in a large towel, took her to a massage table. There was a face cradle for Flor to place her head. Flor welcomed the relaxation and Beryl’s expert work.

As the tension vanished from her back, Beryl commanded, “Turn over” Flor turned over, her breasts, belly, her bare mound and vulva opened to Beryl’s view. She wondered if Beryl would want more, would take her as if she were another conquest, a stripe on her Butch sleeve. The suspense excited her.

Beryl worked on her thigh muscles, avoiding Flor’s lady bits, at least for the time being, then she moved to Flor’s pectorals and the massage caused Flor’s nipples to harden.

Crap, she knows I’m liking this.”

Silently Beryl pulled on nitrile gloves, then took out a bottle of lube. Flor wanted to look, but she surrendered to the feeling, not caring really what Beryl would do. Then when her hand entered Flor, she sighed a slow and heartfelt Yes.

No one had touched her, claimed her, caressed her, used her, captured her like this. Intuitively Beryl’s tempo was exactly what Flor wanted. The tension came to a crescendo and Beryl’s gloved hand brought about the squirting Flor read about in Cosmopolitan and what other women whispered about, but didn’t think would happen to her. O-R-G-A-S-M. In Technicolor.

More release. At the hands of a stranger. And a little more of what she held inside came out.