FUCKING NICE GUYS
Nadine Thornhill © 2011

There are so many things I love about fucking nice guys. While the boys with swagger make smooth opening gambits with their offers of wine and pseud-choreographed dance gyrations; the nice guys – the sweet guys, the smart guys – can work my clit like a pro after watching me get myself off once.  Their unabashed enthusiasm makes sucking cock a delicious treat and stimulating conversation over post-coital pancakes is a sweet cherry on the top of the cake.

It has always been a challenge; however, getting nice guys to spank me.

Anderson, was my current playmate. He was kind and unassuming, with a sharp mind and a love of old school hip hop. We had met, predictably, at a bar, on karaoke night. He caught my attention with his rapid-fire rendition of a Grandmaster Flash jam. His pale skin and wrinkled argyle sweater belied his facility with lyrics and I wondered where this cute, albeit rumpled, white man had learned to rap like that.

I also wondered what his penis look liked.

I saw him at the same bar again the following Sunday and this time I approached him. We chatted and he told me his karaoke licks came courtesy of his step brother, an upcoming, hip hop artist in Toronto.  On Monday, we met for after-work coffee. On Wednesday, I learned his penis was slender and slightly left-leaning, much like Anderson himself.  The first time we fucked, I could tell the man knew the basics of good sex well and it wasn’t long after that before he learned how to navigate the particulars of my intimate parts as well.

“That tongue can do more than more than set a microphone on fire,” I quipped breathlessly one afternoon.

Anderson sighed in mock exasperation. We were both splayed and sweaty on the carpet of my living room floor, coming down in the glow of late day sun.

“You didn’t like that?” I quipped teasingly, “Well how about this. ‘That tongue’s got more licks than Biggie Small’.  Or ‘You must not have to cook your food, ’cause boy your tongue is hot!'”

“Stop!” he implored. I blew him a raspberry and laughed, grabbed me and pulled me on top of him. We half rolled in an awkward way. I was instantly tempted to start things up again.

“I have things to do,” I told him.
“Yes. Me,” Anderson replied.
“Don’t try to be clever. That’s my thing,” I admonished, “Believe or not, I don’t spend all of my life naked, so I should do laundry and shit.”
“All right, get to it,” he relented.

And for the first time, he spanked me.

It was a playful, infuriatingly gentle swat on the bum. But it was just enough of spark to set a familiar flame burning.

“Do that again,” I commanded.
“Do what again?”

I wiggled my bum at him, in what I hoped was a seductive way. He gave me another light swat and looked up at me with mild confusion.

I had my work cut out for me.

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Nice guys, as awesome as they are, often balk at giving me more than a playful pat on the rear. The idea of pain as source of  pleasure is a tough leap for some people to make. I seemed especially challenging for the mild mannered men I often fancied.

I decided my best bet would be to ease Anderson into the idea gently. First, I would lay my cards on the table, which I chose to do, aptly enough, when we were laying out on his dining room table.

“Hypothetically speaking,” I said as I adjusted a fork, “What would you say if I asked you lay me across this table and put some pink in these dark cheeks of mine?”

Anderson set down a wine glass and squinted at me. “Sharon and my Dad are going to be here in half an hour,” was his incredulous response.

“Hypothetically,” I re-iterated.

“I dunno. I’ve never really thought about…that.”

“Well can you do me a solid and think about…it.” Then I lifted my modest knee-length skirt to give him a quick peek of my immodest decision forgo underwear for the evening.

He didn’t spank that night, but we spent more of dinner salivating over each other than the food. The moment his parents left the apartment, he did pushed me against the closed door, hiked my skirt up to my waist, dropped his jeans and fucked me but good.

Progress.

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The following week I invited Anderson over to my place to for movie night. When he let himself in, I was deeply engrossed in my favourite corporal punishment porn. His eyes darted towards the screen, then back to where I sat on the couch, clad only in underpants and a thin tank top. I met his gaze squarely while I slid on hand up under the fabric, along my body to my breasts.

“I started without you. I hope that’s okay,” I drawled.

I made sure he was watching as I teased my nipple with the fingers of my left hand. Meanwhile I reached out with to him with my right hand, while on screen a callypigan godess was being paddled with vigour.

Anderson glanced back breifly at my television. “That looks like it really hurts,” he said dubiously. My right hand was still on his. I brought his fingers to the opening of my jeans.

“It really does,” I confirmed as I made him unzip me, “That’s what I like about it.”

“Why?”

“I like the sting of it. I like the heat of it” I told him, guiding his hands into my under pants. “I like being bare and vulnerable and open and wet.” I pushed his hands down to the opening of my cunt, urging him until he slid one finger, then another inside me.

“I-I don’t know,” he said in that husky tone of voice that meant that blood was racing away from his brain.

“That’s okay. I’m not asking you do it tonight. I just want you to feel how much this turns me on.”

Anderson worked me and his fingers deft fingers made me wet. Meanwhile, I kept my eyes on the screen, imaging it was my hide being tanned to climax. I came quietly, but intensely while rush of fluid came forth, flowing in and around Anderson’s deft fingers. His normally pale face was pink. When he stood, I saw the outline of his erection straining against his pants.

“I can take care of that for you,” I purred contentedly. I turned my attention to his zipper, did away with his denim and took his left leaning penis in my mouth.

“Thank you,” he said, as he always did when I finished.

“Well,” I said, my voice dripping with suggestion, “maybe you can do something for me sometime,”

“Maybe, I can.”

One step closer.

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Karaoke had now become something we did together on Sunday nights. The work-a-week crowd stayed away, meaning the rotation was light and we could usually get in three or four songs a piece.  On Labour Day weekend; however,  the place was packed with folks looking for one last hurrah before the summer ended and they went back to their fall routines.

I’ve always been a people person, so I didn’t mind but Anderson can only take so much of crowds. I wasn’t surprised when he asked to leave after only an hour.

“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” I asked as we stepped out into the night air.
“Yes,” he answered, his voice uncharacteristically firm.

And then he spanked me. Hard.

I stared up at him, shocked. My right ass cheek stung in the most heavenly way. My left cheek began to tingle in jealous anticipation of the same treatment.

“Let’s go to my place,” he said in a commanding, yet kind tone. I grabbed his hand and pulled him along. I was in a such sudden frenzy of desire. I barely knew how we got back to his apartment. All I was that Anderson had spanked me and I had lost my fucking mind.  My gentle man was about to do rough things to me and the force of my arousal was already so powerful, it overwhelmed me.

“Do you really want to this?” I asked breathlessly as he lead me into his kitchen.
“I do. Do you want me to this?”
“I’ve wanted you to do this since I first heard you do, ‘Mama Said Knock You Out'”

I undid his belt and found his erection. I gave it a bold stroke through the fabric.
“God,” he moaned and  kissed me hard. His hands were on me, spining me around and pushing me down against his small kitchen table. He pulled my blouse from the waistband of my skirt, and ran his hands lovingly over the arch of my back.

He was teasing me, making me wait for what I so desperately wanted.  Goddamn, he was good!

“Lift up your skirt. Slowly,” he ordered. I slowly slid the fabric up my thighs and over my bum. This was slow mad genius. I felt him hook a single finger in the waist band of my underpants and slide them down. As the soft fabric dropped away from my body, the crack of a second blow echoed through the room without warning, heating my left side with the exquisite sting I’d been craving since Anderson’s opening gambit.

“That’s two,” he said.
“How many do I get?” I asked.
“You’ve been baiting me for weeks,” he replied, “I say that’s earned you at least twenty.”

I about came right there.

His hand was on my back, holding me firmly in place against the table. I heard his sharp intake of breath as he hesitated for a split second, but I literally could not wait anymore

“Do it. Please,” I begged in a low feral growl. There was a woosh of air as he struck me again and again, hard enough that each blow pushed my body across the table a little bit.  He alternated one cheek, then the other, like a pro and the tiny part of my brain that was functional wondered if he had read a book on corporal play. A moment later, the thought was banished along with the last of my lucidity. The only thing that registered was the magnificent throbbing of my backside. I closed my eyes to better experience the sound of his palm striking my skin. I parted my legs and was exhilierated by the cool, kitchen air against the intense heat of my cunt and my ass.

When he saw me adjust my position, Anderson paused. “Are you okay?”

“Yes! God! Don’t stop!” I cried. He slid his hand down to the small of my back and slapped me again. I squirmed harder and began making high-pitched gasping noise. I began grinding my hips, and put a hand between my thighs to stimulate myself.  I wanted to make this last and yet I couldn’t bear for it to stop.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck I’m close!”
“You are?” Anderson asked note of surprise and obvious pride in his voice.
“Don’t stop!”

He continued, now striking rythmically, quickly, in time with my rapid breathing. I clung to the edge of the table with my free hand, while the other was moving faster and faster between my legs. I felt a familiar tension starting beneath my navel.

“Oh god. I’m coming,” I rasped, “

Before I knew what was happening, Anderson he came up and over and slid deep inside of me. I came crazy hard as he began to thrust with forcefully. I loved the feeling of his hips against my tender backside as my cunt contracted around his cock. He increased the pace and strength of his strokes, giving me more. I reached behind me and squeezed his testicles which were high and tight. I was grunting with pleasure, which drove Anderson to thrust even faster. It wouldn’t be long now. His balls were taut and his body tensed in anticipation of the awesome release. By now I knew his body better than my own name and as he came, I maneuvered my hand so that my thumb was firmly pressed her thumb against the base of his penis, momentarily blocking the flow.

“MOTHER FUCKER!” Anderson shouted. He bucked and swore. his way through one of the most intense orgasms I’d seen him have. Utterly  spent, I lay face down on the table, panting, while Anderson collapsed onto the cool tiled floor. I rolled to the side and looked down at him.

“Good?” he asked.
“Very good. Surprisingly good for novice,” I answered breathily.
“I may have read a book,” he confessed and I laughed at having my suspicions confirmed.
“Clever man. I don’t think I’m going to be doing much sitting tomorrow, I said, “Thank you.”

“That reminds me. Wait here!” Anderson suddenly lept to his feet and fled the kitchen.  He appeared in the doorway holding a decadently large and fluffy pillow, wrapped with with a red satin ribbon tied into a tragic bow, that he had obviously made himself.

“For when you do need to sit,” he said and the kindness in his eyes melted me.

Like I said, there are so many things I love about fucking nice guys.