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Naughtybynature
Spanko
Username: Naughtybynature
Post Number: 117
Registered: 04-2005
| | Posted on Saturday, January 21, 2006 - 03:41 pm: | 
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The special builder had ignored her instructions, and had designed the apartment entirely to his own specifications. Only the finest materials were to be used, but this would force the final bill to the limit of her financial budget.
“I cannot let you do this,” said Leslie as she studied the plans in her apartment.” “Why do the walls have to be so thick? And why use hardwood when you could use pine? This is going to clean me out, Blaine, and I still have to buy furniture once it’s finished.”
“Look, Leslie,” said Blaine, “I’m sure you’re great at your job… whatever it is you do… but I guess you’re just going have to trust me a little bit. “I’ll tell you what I want you to do. Take down this number. I want you to call one of my previous clients and ask them about me. When you check it out, then call me back and approve the fee.” After he walked out the door, Leslie decided to call his bluff. She telephoned the number he had given her and asked to speak to Mrs. Irene Lassiter.
“Blaine Feller? The man’s simply a genius. He changed my life. He rebuilt my duplex with a selection of the oddest materials, things I would never have dreamed of using, but it worked! Inlaid redwoods and ash in the kitchen! After that I had him completely rebuild my other properties. If you would like to see some pictures of his work I could send them over to you…”
“That won’t be necessary, thanks,” replied Leslie. After hanging up, she sat by her office window and watched the people in the city streets far below. It looked hot down there. Sometimes, working alone in the air-conditioned silence of her office, she felt completely cut off from the outside world. Perhaps it was just and aftereffect of leaving Daniel, but she was beginning to question the point of working so hard and sharing so little with other people. The couple she was staying with were being so wonderful to her, cooking almost every night and filling her spare evenings with easy conversation. Still, she knew that there would be a limit to Peter and Joan’s hospitality. At dinner she made the seating numbers odd. She was a single that others were always trying to pair up. She knew that despite all protestations to the contrary, there would be sighs of relief on both sides when she eventually moved into her own apartment. Without further hesitation, Leslie called the special builder and gave him the order to start work immediately.
A week later, she pushed open the door of the apartment and stepped into an explosion of brick and plaster debris. A dull thudding shook the room as she lifted her high heeled shoes across the planks that covered gaping holes in the floor. The aftershocks were coming from the bathroom, where, insulated within a storm of plaster dust, the builder stood swinging a sledgehammer at a mangled set of twisted pipes. Coughing, Leslie stepped back and watched from a distance as he lifted the hammer above his head and slammed it down onto the plumbing again and again. Finally he saw her and approached, wiping rivers of sweat from his forehead and flicking it to the floor. He was stripped to the waist, and wore only his faded jeans and cowboy boots. Although it was unintentional, Leslie could not help noticing the powerful defined pectoral muscles of his chest and the thick line of dark curled hair that trailed across a hard tanned rippled stomach into his jeans.
“I advise you not to come in here, Leslie,” he stated rather abruptly. “The walls are not safe at the moment.”
Leslie took a step forward, then another step and immediately Blaine propelled her out of the bathroom raining spanks to her clothed bottom while leading her to the living room. The assault to her bottom ceased when they arrived into the center of the living room.
“I think you will find that listening to me is advisable,” he stated.
Leslie avoided his gaze and concentrated on brushing a smudge of plaster dust from her suit. She found herself lost and struggling to regain control of her emotions. “I would advise you, Blaine to never lay a hand on me again!” she said stiffly.
“I think you will find that I’m more than capable of handling this project and you Leslie,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips. Did she imagine it, or was there a hint of sexual suggestion in his voice? Could it be that she was acting the uptight New Yorker with this amiable Midwesterner whose gaze was as direct and unflinching as his attitude? Not caring to analyze her feelings any further, she left the chaotic apartment with a promise to return in a week’s time. He was to call her office if he needed to pay cash for any builders’ deliveries. The difficulty of the current situation made it necessary for her to ask him to limit his calls to emergencies and requests for money. She was sure he understood.
When she returned to the office, she found herself in the middle of a crisis. Her secretary had been frantically trying to contact her. Where had she been? Leslie was suddenly aware that she had slipped away to the apartment without telling anyone where she was going. The motive for this course of action still proved elusive to her as she headed back to Peter and Joan’s at the end of the day.
“It’s really not too soon to start thinking about dating again, you know,” said Joan as she spooned linguini onto her plate. “You don’t need to be told what a terrific catch you’d make for someone.”
“Goodness, Joan, you make me sound like a teenager,” Leslie started to carefully wrap pasta around her fork. “Dating is not a fun activity for a thirty-year old woman, believe me. You had the taste and good sense to marry Peter when you were twenty-six. I’m past that point and moving into the Twilight Zone as far as males are concerned.
“I think you’re just being skeptical,” said Peter, who had the annoying habit at dinnertime of holding his wife’s hand under the table as he ate.
“It’s not just skepticism. After a while you get to know all the types and their differences. The divorced men who are either looking for reincarnations of their ex-wives or want to tell you about their plans for getting back custody of the kids. The ones who admit that they only beat up on their girlfriends when they step out of line or make eyes at someone in a bar. The late bloomers, the health nuts, grown men who still go to discos, for Goodness sake…” She fell silent, toying with her pasta embarrassed.
“Do you know when the apartment will be completed?” asked Peter in an attempt to change the conversation which looked exactly like an attempt to change the conversation. “Before Christmas, right?”
Hopefully before Thanksgiving,” said Leslie. “I have to get furniture in before Christmas, but it’s going very slowly at the moment.”
“You know,” said Joan carefully, “if you were staying there you could keep a much more watchful eye on the work, and maybe speed things up.”
Leslie realized than her friends were anxious for her to name a departure date. She finished her meal in forced good humor and went to bed early. When she arrived at the office the next morning, the first thing she did was speak to Mr. Feller.
“I guess I could finish one of the bedrooms in the next week or so,” he said in that infuriatingly slow voice of his. “You wouldn’t disturb me by moving in.”
That’s nice to know, thought Leslie, angrily shoving a disk into her computer. Jeez, I’d hate to inconvenience you. She shoved the silky black hair from her eyes and stared hard at the computer screen, not seeing the paragraphs that unrolled in front of her.
That night, Leslie visited the Redlight Club with a young, supposedly hot new novelist from Canada who went by the unlikely name of Dig. She picked her way home through the garment district at five the next morning with little more than a business card and a hangover to remember the evening by, although she was sure that nothing very interesting had happened.
The following Saturday afternoon she moved into the apartment. As Blaine had promised, the bedroom was at least liveable. The room had been cleared of planks, bricks, and plasterboard, and the door closed as far as a door without a lock and door handle could. The light in the room was a soft yellow, the color and smell of light pine, the walls awaiting fresh paint or clean bright wallpaper. She lay on the mattress and gazed up at the ceiling as the afternoon sun fell below the water and threw slivers of light across the ceiling.
She could hear Blaine working… quietly, for once… in the next room. It sounded as if he was planing wood. She could hear the metal edge dragging lightly and then lifting as he inspected his work, running his fingers across the grain, checking the finish. The man was a fifties creation. He probably took women to bed by throwing them over his shoulder and spanking their bottoms. She wondered where he lived, who his friends were. She had forgotten that there were men like him, guys who worked with their hands and didn’t spend their time smart talking women around in circles. How had Allie come to meet him? The slow back and forth of the plane on the wood gradually lulled her into a light sleep.
She awoke to find the room half in darkness and the builder’s backlit silhouette filling the bedroom doorway. He was standing very still and looking in, plane in hand, still stripped to the waist. She raised her hand to her forehead, shielding the remaining light from her eyes. He was watching her with a content half smile on his face.
“What is it?” She raised herself on one elbow and smiled back.
“You called out. I think you were dreaming.”
“Really? What did I say?” Leslie was intrigued. The builder looked down at his boots, hesitated.
“Oh, nothing much.”
“Come on, what did I say?”
“You called my name.”
“I wonder why I did that.”
Suddenly he walked to the bed and dropped down onto her, his broad, full lips fitting over hers in a powerful kiss that forced her head back into the pillows. His right hand found her forearm and pinned it beside her head as he used his free hand to tear open the front of her shirt. She twisted in protest, raising her leg to find it met by his powerful thighs as he lowered himself on top of her, the heavy base of his manhood a denim column pressing into her center. With her free hand she tried to prevent his hairy chest from pushing down onto her breast, but found her fingers digging into his back and sliding down into the waistband of his jeans. In a single swift movement he tore open her thin silk bra, cupping her right breast with his broad, warm fingers, tweaking the small nipple between thumb and forefinger. Lowering his head, he ran his tongue into her cleavage, leaving a trail of wetness between her breasts, continuing down to her flat, pale stomach. Feeling no resistance now, he freed her arm and used both hands to lift her bottom and rip open the seam at the back of her skirt, pulling it to one side and allowing it to slide from the bed. Swiftly he flipped her up and over his lap before she was aware of her position. His fingers probed inside her panties, forcing them down around her thighs. The wide palm of his hand came down rapidly covering her whole bottom. His hand continued spanking in earnest, spanking hard, and it was all she could do not to scream bloody murder with every spank. His arm leaning against her back pinning her to the bed, she felt trapped to escape the onslaught of spanks rapidly crashing on her bottom. Leslie started to scream and struggle as her bottom was warmed more and more, her eyes wide with the sensation. Every nerve of her body seems to be excruciatingly receptive, alive to pain, pleasure, and the shocking combination of both sensations.
The wide palm of his hand which those minutes before that had warmed her bottom, moved to cover her sweet blossom, his hot fingers stroking slowly then forcing her open, seeking refuge. He lifted and laid her down onto her back, his eyes, darkly glittering, caught hers and held them as he fumbled with the opening of his jeans, freeing himself from within. She felt his hands exploring her, his pelvis pressed down and the head of his manhood slowly entered her. She cried out, the builder’s thick shaft following the rhythm of her ragged breath as inch by inch its entire length was enclosed by her shuddering body. The weight of his torso eased as he partly withdrew, holding himself aloft for a moment before pressing down hard into her, retreating and plunging again and again, the muscles in his dark arms lifting and broadening with each stroke until she felt their powerful mutual climax reach flashpoint within her and flood out in streaming neutral pulses, causing her to scream now in involuntary spasms of pain and gratification.
II
“It was weird.”
“Weird? Weird? The greatest sexual experience of your life and all you can say is it was weird?”
“That’s right.” Leslie thought for a moment, her elbows on the table, the coffee cup poised between her hands. The restaurant was almost empty, but she still spoke softly. “Dangerous.”
Allie lit a Benson & Hedges and gestured impatiently with it. “Explain what you mean.”
“He barely kissed me. Once, I think, hard. Then he spanked me to the point that I thought I was being assaulted. After the assault it was sex at the most basic level. No small talk, no protection, just a fast hard… fuck.
Afterwards, he sat on the end of the bed rebuttoning his shirt, refusing to even catch my eye. I was lying there with my clothes in shreds around me, feeling like I’d been in a serious car crash, and he wasn’t even out of breath.
He rose and walked to the mirror, flicked his hair into place, shove the comb into the pocket of his jeans, then went straight back to work.”
“You’re kidding. What did you do?”
“I guess I went a little crazy, called him a few names. He just looked up from his carpentry and smiled, so I left the apartment, took a walk around and tried to cool off. I felt so ashamed.”
“Have you seen him since?”
“Sure. The next day he turned up at the apartment, on time as usual, and began work as if nothing had happened.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I’m not sure. Obviously, the situation can’t be allowed to repeat itself.”
“But you need him.”
“To finish the job, I guess I do.”
Allie studied the end of her cigarette, a slim smile slowly forming on her face.
Did is a word of achievement, Won't is a word of retreat, Might is a word of bereavement, Can't is a word of defeat, Ought is a word of duty, Try is a word of each hour, Will is a word of beauty, Can is a word of power.
*(Unknown Author)
Don't take life so seriously.....it isn't permanent
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Ziggy
Advanced Spanko
Username: Ziggy
Post Number: 2200
Registered: 08-2005
| | Posted on Monday, January 23, 2006 - 07:45 am: |
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wow anybody have any ice, I need to cool off !!! what a great story!! my monitor fogged up. hehehe
when caught run faster then him !!
I am a TA junkie !!
Hubbie is due back home in march.................pout stomp !!!
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Smartnnaughty
Spanko
Username: Smartnnaughty
Post Number: 324
Registered: 05-2005
| | Posted on Monday, January 23, 2006 - 10:21 am: |
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"But you need him."
"To finish the job, I guess I do."
Now which "job" are we talking about? *grin* Great writing naughty!
I try to take one day at a time -- but sometimes several days attack me at once.
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Reader_girl
New member
Username: Reader_girl
Post Number: 45
Registered: 07-2005
| | Posted on Monday, January 23, 2006 - 05:00 pm: |
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*fanning self*
I'll take some of that ice as well, thanks.
Keep going, please!
Reader Girl
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Redhinney
Junior Spanko
Username: Redhinney
Post Number: 147
Registered: 10-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, January 25, 2006 - 04:58 pm: |
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Just got home a little while ago and now I need shower |
Tammynx
Spanko
Username: Tammynx
Post Number: 255
Registered: 10-2005
| | Posted on Thursday, January 26, 2006 - 10:23 am: |
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That was great!!!!! |
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