“At the Globe.”
“Just happened to catch your eye, did it?” I asked.
“Yes, I was looking for something erotic to read, as a substitute for sex, because my girlfriend doesn’t put out. Except maybe for her father!”
“That’s an ugly thing to say,” I replied, trying to walk away, but he blocked me.
“Don’t walk away from me. I want to know what kind of game you’ve been playing with me. Why have you been stringing me along for weeks, pretending to be pure and renunciant when all along you’re planning to ...” he looked up my ad for the video cast and read aloud, “write, direct and star in your own spanking video this year!”
“Gee, you really read that thing from cover to cover, didn’t you?” I marveled. “I’m surprised it held your interest to that degree.”
“I’ll tell you what really holds my interest, spanking the hell out of you for holding me in a state of suspended hard-on for over a month... for what? Fun? To see how long you could frustrate me before I went raving mad???”
I protested, “I thought you were old fashioned... a traditional Latin male, who would value me more highly if you had to woo me a bit.”
“A bit? One kiss last week was as much as I’ve gotten from you. What kind of stereotype do you think you’re dealing with? Some sort of Ramon Novarro mamma’s boy, confessional-kneeling pansy? I was born in Manhattan in the 1980’s, not Mexico City in the 1880’s. You think I wanted you because you were pure?”
“Does this mean you aren’t going to continue tutoring me?” I asked.
He looked at me for a moment before replying, then practically jumped down my throat with renewed indignation, “Oh, I’ll tutor you all right. I’ll goddamned drill you mercilessly. Be at my room tonight at nine!”
He turned to stomp away before hearing my reply. I called, “Castor!” The moment he turned to look at me I snapped him with my camera.
“What the hell are you doing?” he growled.
“I’ve never had a scolding from a college boy before,” I told him, tucking the camera away, “I wanted to capture your face.” He scowled and walked off. I studied the face on the way back to my dorm. Short, soft brown hair, wide-set hazel eyes, high brow, high cheek bones, pencil moustache tapering off to a sexy five o’clock shadow, strong chin, golden skin tone with an under flush now he was aroused - quite the most beautiful boy in all Boston. Oh goddess of love, let him be as potent as he looks!
December 3rd
Completely and most dreadfully in love, I write this first thing before class. Spent the night with Castor and ran back from his dorm just now in a freezing rain. The sky is like lead and it looks to rain all day. Only two hours before class and I’m starving, should shower and change, but let me just say....
I had knocked on his door on the second floor of Wigglett at ten p.m., dressed in a navy wool dress with a white linen collar and three quarter sleeves, sheer cream thigh high stockings and high, stack heeled, chestnut leather roll top knee high boots. He called for me to come in and was waiting for me, sitting on a chair with a riding crop between his hands. Dressed in black jeans, some kind of hot black boots and a tucked out grey cotton shirt. He sprang to his feet (as I started at the crop) and hastened to lock the door behind me, as if I might bolt if he didn’t at once. It was a single with a window on the yard, with the hardwood floor and dark wood wainscoting that makes this dorm so desirable. Lightning struck, then thunder, then it started to rain and continued raining all night.
“Where the hell have you been? I thought I said nine.” he demanded, taking the books out of my hands and tossing them on the desk. My eyes went to the neatly made single bed with its grey comforter and white linen. It looked inviting, like a page out of a Restoration Hardware catalog. It even coordinated with my navy outfit. The whole room was meticulously organized and uncluttered. God, he’s anal.
“I had to read my assignments for tomorrow,” I explained matter of factly. Being unprepared would be a hell of a lot more embarrassing than what he was about to do to me. “What are you doing with that crop?” I asked.
“What do you think I’m doing with it?”
“Are you saying that you’re in the scene?”
“You think I found that magazine by accident?” he summarily turned me around and unzipped my dress down the back with adept confidence.
“What are you doing?” I turned in surprise. That was fast!
“Two months ago, I would have let you keep your clothes on for your ...spanking.” (He pronounced the word with a certain savor.) “Now I want you naked. Immediately. Do you understand me?” He turned me back around and kissed me masterfully on the mouth. The next thing I knew, the dress was on the floor and he stared at me -taking in my fitted, cream lace décolleté teddy, hose and boots. A full-length mirror affixed to the wall opposite me reflected my ... I must admit, rather dainty image. (Note to self, insert photo of self in cream lace teddy and boots for reference.)
“Don’t look at yourself!” he snapped at me, giving me the first slap on the bottom of the night with the palm of his hand. Then he deftly and confidently reached between my thighs, expertly unsnapped the teddy crotch and before I knew it, had it up over my head and off. Now I was in nothing but the stockings and boots. It was a little cold in the room and my nipples were standing up and very pink. He circled me and looked at me. I stood up straight and arrogantly thrust my bosom out at him. He didn’t have to say anything, I could read his mind at that moment and he was thinking “they are even more perfect than I’d dreamed,” as sure as my name is Amanda Sands.
“Get up on the bed,” he ordered crisply, “On all fours. Right now!” He slapped the crop against his own flank for emphasis. I obeyed, but slowly. “Hurry up!” he snapped, shaking the crop at me. “Insolent little slut.”
“You don’t know that,” I protested.
“Yes, I do, actually. I’ve been asking around ever since I found that magazine. Apparently you’re already a legend in this dorm!” He came around to stand in front of me, tearing his gaze from mine to drink in the voluptuous effect of my breasts hanging down as I knelt, doggy style for his pleasure. I silently dared him to reach out and squeeze them and reading my challenge, he did, but gently, running his fingertips all across their velvet fullness, then fastening, lightly, but firmly around each erect nipple.
Then, quite deliberately, he took a small bottle of astroglide and several condoms out of his jeans pocket and tossed them on the bed right in front of me. “Well?” he demanded.
“...Okay,” I replied, with girlish hesitation.
“I’m so relieved we didn’t have to have our first quarrel over anal sex,” said Castor, taking me around the waist with one arm, leaning up on the bed on one knee and bringing the spanker at the end of the crop down on my bottom in a shower of crisp smacks, evenly distributed from cheek to cheek and thigh to thigh, not unbearably hard but hard enough to make me catch my breath with every swat.
This set the pattern for the rest of the night. His style was a little dynamic, a little extreme. But I was ready for it. Then just when I was thinking, “He’s a lot more B&D than he is spanking scene,” he sat on the bed and pulled me down across his lap.
“Oh how I have wanted to do this!” he confided, bringing his hand down on my bottom hard and fast for less than a minute, but it was a very full minute. Then he lay me back on the bed and spread my legs, telling me that if I didn’t have a wet pussy he would use the crop on it until it got wet. It was wet. He put two fingers in to test. I squeezed him hard to let him know what he had in store. I’m reading this back and it’s getting fairly pornographic. Even though I was very, very wet, I urged him to do what he said with the crop, to get me even wetter. I have always