Simple Simon

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Keiko Kimura stood near the foot of the bed, a sheer white peignoir hanging from wispy straps to veil her still enticing form, thinking both that the American’s fledgling erection was unimpressive and that his blood was going to be the devil to get out of fine silk.

But she could not deny the rapture of that warm, red wetness rolling over her, nor the heights to which a scream could take her, and looking upon the pale body that was willingly four-pointed to the bedposts, she knew that ruined lingerie was an acceptable trade.

“Do me, mama-san,” the American beckoned with eyes hungry and limbs tugging joyously at the bindings he had insisted upon in pursuit of some masochistic fantasy. “Hurt me.”

“You want Keiko to spank you?” She skated one foot across the wood floor, then the other, until she stood bedside, black hair draped over either shoulder and dark eyes sweeping his body. As she sat upon the mattress her tongue slid into view and slowly wet her lips.

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