Atall woman in a peach-pastel pantsuit opened the door. “Hi. You must be Jeanette,” she smiled. “I’m Marcie. Please come in.” As Marcie guided me into the living room, I noticed her jacket pulling at her hips. Slightly overweight, and trying to conceal it with a loose layer of clothing, she was nevertheless an attractive woman, in a MILF-y, soccer mom-ish sort of way. I guessed that she was in her mid-thirties.

“Thank you for being so punctual,” she said, indicating the seat next to her on the sofa. I set my display case gently on the polished wood floor. “I’ll be chauffeuring kids once school lets out, but for the next hour, this is my time. What goodies did you bring us?” she asked excitedly.

“Well, Marcie,” I began, placing the case on the coffee table in front of us, “when we spoke, you’d mentioned your interest in flagellation.”

“Yes, my husband Ben and I enjoy spanking. I like being his naughty girl, and he likes playing the stern disciplinarian. We’ve graduated to paddles and rubber gloves and such, and I’m ready to take it to the next level.”

“Great! If there’s anything else you’re interested in, just let me know. I have more items out in the car.” I started to unsnap the case, but she put her hands over mine.

“I just want to say how much I appreciate your visit. There’s no way that I’d ever want to be seen in one of those…sex shop places. And ordering products from a catalog is difficult for me.”

“You prefer the personal touch?”

“Exactly!” she responded, with a nervous laugh.

“That’s why our company offers product demonstrators. I’m trained in proper use of these products, as well as holding certifications in sensual massage techniques and sexual therapy applications.”

“Ooh,” Marcie cooed, her knee touching mine. “You sound like a sexpert!”

I smiled as if I’d never heard that comment before. “But I have to point out that I don’t engage in any sex acts with clients for money, since that would be illegal. However, should we find ourselves enjoying the moment together, and you’d like to express your satisfaction with a tip, that’s perfectly fine.”

She nodded and winked. “I understand.”

“Now that we’ve dispensed with the legalities,” I grinned, unsnapping the sample case, “let’s get to the fun part.” Her eyes opened wide at the colorful array of vibrators, dildos, beads and balls. But since these items were not her main interest, I reached into the larger, bottom compartment.

I held out my prize for her perusal. “This sleek, little number is the Scarlet Beat Me Please Whip.” Her fingers brushed mine as they ran along the handle. “The handle is leather to help keep a firm grip on things. And the little loop allows you to hang it up between sessions.”

Fascinated, her fingers traced along the lashes. “Can we try it? On me, I mean.” Marcie’s face beamed like a child on Christmas morning.

“Of course,” I replied. We stood and Marcie removed her jacket.

“How would you like me?” she asked, meekly.

I patted the arm of the sofa. “Right here will do nicely.” She bent over, arching her body, and I gave her thighs and bottom a few cursory brushes through her pants.

“Can you make it snap?” she asked.

“No, a flogger is not a whip. It’s much gentler, but if you listen closely, you can hear it cutting the air.”

“You can do it harder,” she suggested. “I can hardly feel it.”

sales-callI shifted my footing and increased the downward momentum. After several passes across her bottom, my efforts were eliciting grunts from Marcie.

Her face was flushed. She turned onto her side. “Would you mind if I removed my clothing? I want to feel more of the sting!”

“Not at all,” I replied. As Marcie peeled out of her clothes, I pulled open my blouse. Less constricted, I felt that I could apply the flogger more vigorously. Plus, I was getting overheated. Marcie’s eyes feasted on the swell of my breasts, provocatively displayed in my low-cut bra.

Once she was naked, I patted the sofa arm with the flogger. “Assume the position,” I directed, and she obediently complied. Now, with her fleshy figure exposed, we could explore some of the more subtle aspects of the flogger. As a prelude, I dangled and raked the tails over her neck and shoulders, lightly dragging them down along her back and around her arse. She quivered at both the sensation and the anticipation. Finally, I gathered the tails and let loose with a blow across her buttocks.

“Oww!” she shouted. Before I could ask if she’d prefer a lighter touch, she added, “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Encouraged, I fell into a steady, even rhythm, alternating the contact from her plump ass to either her shoulders or thighs. Once we’d warmed up, she sucked in her breath or hissed with each swipe, grunting and gasping with each snap. After a solid ten minutes of this, I paused, and ran the tails along her pussy lips. She widened her stance to allow more access, and I put a hand upon the back of her neck, pushing down gently as I pressed the handle of the flogger along her slit.

“Oh, Jeanette! Yes! More!” she pleaded. I felt the blood rushing to my pelvis, becoming almost as stimulated as Marcie. I interrupted her reverie with a hard crack of the tails on her ass. Marcie’s legs kicked and she clenched her teeth, through which she panted heavily.

She turned her head and stared up with crazed, moist eyes. “Jeanette, I’d love a good fucking right now! Do you have a strap-on in your case, by any chance?”

“Let’s see,” I said, coyly. I reached in and removed a ten-inch, rubbery, black phallus attached to a belt. “Will this do? Shall I add it to your order?”

She ground her head on the cushion, laughing giddily. “Yes, please! Just a few more lashes and then stick it in me!”

I fastened the strap-on around my waist and retrieved a small bottle of water-based lubricant. “You’ll no doubt want some of this, as well.” I dribbled the lube along the length of my “cock,” coating the surface with obscene, wet strokes just inches from her face.

“Yes. Yes!’ she wholeheartedly agreed.

As I said, Marcie was a large woman, and I’m rather petite. But the Scarlet Beat Me Please Flogger acted as the great equalizer, and there was no doubting who was in control.

“Alright, Marcie,” I purred. “Brace yourself.” By the time I was finished with her, she would be a puddle of quivering protoplasm curled on the floor: another satisfied customer!

About The Author

Les S. Moore

Like most writers of erotica, Les S. Moore is a mysterious figure with a sketchy past. He has written extensively (and usually anonymously) for various adult themed sites. He ghost-wrote a series of erotic novels which were, unfortunately, lost forever during the Great Amazon Porn Purge of 2013. When not exploring erotic themes with his writing, he collects and arranges grains of sand and supports himself as a freelance chicken plucker.

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