The Woman From the Penthouse

I was just finishing breakfast when I heard a light tap at my door. Nothing unusual you may think, but I live in a block of apartments and had only recently moved in. I hardly knew any of my neighbours. It was only natural then, that I should wonder who was at the door. My external intercom system hadn't beeped, so it was unlikely to be anyone I knew coming into the building, but I had a look at my security screen anyway, and was surprised to see the neighbour from the Penthouse, which was just one floor above my own apartment. I'd seen her occasionally, and although she always acknowledged my presence with a slight nod, we'd never spoken, which was almost standard for these types of apartment blocks. I opened the door. She smiled a smile which I presume was her most dazzling, it certainly dazzled me, my heart beat that little bit faster.

'Oh, thank God you're home,' she began. I smiled back, uncertain what was coming next. 'Our boiler seems to have broken down, and our water is freezing. I know it's an awful cheek, and I hate to ask, but could I possible use your shower? I have an important business meeting at 11 o'clock; it's an emergency or I wouldn't impose on you like this. Please.' she added. I opened the door wider and invited her in. What else could I do? When a beautiful stranger, tall, dark, and stunning asks a favour, I'm inclined to say yes, and I did. You of course would have told her to bugger off, right?

While she was showering, I loaded my breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and made a pot of coffee. I reckoned she might appreciate that, being in such an awful hurry and all, but the smell of fresh coffee is always a winner. I knew she was married, or at the very least had a partner. I'd seen them in the car park, with their matching Porches, occasionally exchanging a peck on the cheek as they left for work. He was something high powered in oil, and she, as far as I knew, helped run a public relations company, the biggest in the city. They had money, no doubt about it - the Penthouse apartment must have cost mega-bucks. My own apartment was expensive enough, but I knew theirs was way above my pay grade. At last the bathroom door opened and she appeared, hair damp, with that warm, fresh glow about her that comes from the shower room.

'Coffee?' I asked, holding up a cup, and she hesitated, then smiled

'Oh yes please, I'm so damned stressed,' she said, accepting my offer. 'I must look a sight, wet hair and no make-up?' I assured her that she looked marvellous, and she smiled again. I offered her toast, or something, but she declined, saying the coffee was just what she needed, adding that it was delicious. She knew how to be a charmer alright.

'The pictures in the bathroom - they're marvellous,' she said, just making conversation I presumed. 'Where did you get them, I'd love something similar for my own apartment or office,' she continued, so I thought perhaps her admiration was genuine after all. I was growing far too cynical in my old age I thought. I rose from my chair and walked across the apartment, beckoning her to follow, leading her into my office/workroom. On my desk, the angled drawing board contained a picture very similar to the ones she'd just seen in the bathroom. 'Oh my god, you're an artist,' she exclaimed in surprise. 'You're a bloody genius, they're fantastic.' I fairly glowed with pride, basking in her praise.

'Just an illustrator, but it pays well, and I can work from home,' I explained, which wasn't quite true, because I owned the magazine I was illustrating for. It was a Fetish and BDSM magazine; work I'd almost fallen into a few years before, through some friends, but I'd identified a gap in the market, and the growing Fetish scene had lapped up the chance to have a high-class erotic magazine that catered for their specialist interests. The illustration on the drawing board was a simple picture of a submissive woman being spanked, a more or less standard subject, but making them appear different was the trick.

'It's not just an illustration,' she protested, 'It's a work of art. I've always liked this kind of thing,' she added enthusiastically. 'I find that whole fetish world fascinating, although I'm not involved personally you understand,' she said, back-peddling almost as soon as she realised what she'd just said. I looked into her eyes then, saying nothing. She blushed, and with no make-up, it couldn't be hidden.

'But you like the idea?' I almost accused her. She looked away, and said nothing, so I decided to let it slip.

'I find it strangely intriguing, but only from an intellectual viewpoint, and as I said, it's not something I've been involved with personally.' she admitted, her voice sounding rather less confident and distinctly shaky.

'Have you tried anything like this?' I asked quietly pointing to the illustration. She shook her head violently, once again protesting that she had never done anything like that at all. 'Never!' she said finally.

'Would you like to?' I asked slyly. Her none reply, the silence, confirmed what I suspected. She couldn't hold my gaze and turned her head away.

'I must be going,' she finally got out, changing the subject. 'I really do have to go, I have a meeting, the one I told you about,' she spluttered. 'Thank you for the use of your shower, I'm really grateful, and for the coffee,' and by the time she got to the end of the sentence, her smile had returned, and she was all efficiency and in control of herself again. As she was leaving, I suggested if she'd like to find out more, my door was always open. I even gave her an excuse for coming back by saying I'd dig out some more of my illustrations for her to look at. She nodded almost apologetically, 'Yes, I'd love to see them... sometime,' the dazzling smile came again, and then she was gone. 'Sometime,' I thought ruefully as I closed the door, 'sometime, never.' Oops, there goes that cynicism again I cautioned myself, but you have to be realistic too, and I knew I'd never see her again.

I was wrong. The seed I had planted had obviously germinated, and about two o' clock that afternoon, I heard a knock at my door again, and I could see from the screen that it was her. I opened the door and invited her in. She was dressed differently this time; a smart expensive business suit, dark sheer tights, they couldn't be stockings I thought, that was just too much of a fantasy, black patent leather shoes with very high heels. She brandished a bottle of wine. 'Just a little something by way of appreciation for the use of your shower this morning,' she stated. I took it from her, with thanks and ushered her into the lounge.

'It's nicely chilled, would you like a glass,' I offered. She smiled and said she thought I'd never ask, so I fetched two glasses, and poured us both a generous drink. 'So, you've come back to see more of my work?' I suggested. She seized upon the excuse, as I thought she may, and confirmed that she'd love to see more, so I led her into my work room again. It wasn't hard to find more illustrations for her to look at, because I kept them in a big cabinet designed precisely for that purpose, so it was easy to pull a few out for her admiration. I went for the milder ones, so as not to scare her off. Women with their skirts round their waist, being spanked by men, and other women too, or women with their panties round their ankles, or women with no panties, legs spread wide offering their luscious bottoms for punishment. As I showed her drawing after drawing, I listened and watched for signs of excitement, a change in her breathing, a softening or tremor in her voice, but if she was excited she was hiding it well. We went and sat back down in the lounge where I poured us some more wine.

'Your work is just so amazing,' she said, adding to the fulsome praise she's already bestowed on my efforts. I thanked her again.

'Did you find it exciting?' I asked going straight for the jugular. She blushed, and again, this time, despite the immaculate make-up, I could see her cheeks flush. She looked around the room, in a, 'little girl lost,' sort of way, almost like a timid animal frantically searching for a way out, before admitting, almost in a whisper that she had. 'You hide it well,' I said.

'Women often hide what they think or feel - after all, despite our struggle for equality, it's still a man's world you know. It's especially true for a woman like me in a very competitive business, like PR.'

'What about your husband?' I asked, 'does he know that you'd like to relinquish control, let this super-efficient, cool and capable facade that you project drop when you're in the bedroom?' She shook her head, and looked at me. I held her gaze until her eyes dropped, and I knew from her body language that she was instinctively adopting a submissive posture. 'Tell me all about it,' I said firmly. She glanced at me once more before looking away again. I let the silence grow between us until she finally answered in a quiet, matter of fact voice.

'No, he hasn't a clue, I've tried to lead him into being more adventurous, but it all flies over his head. He's horrified at the slightest suggestion that he could be a bit more assertive, or dominant. He's been brainwashed, ironically, by feminist propaganda I think, to believe that he must treat a woman with velvet gloves at all times, but that's not what I want sometimes.' I knew it had taken a lot for her to confess that her seemingly, 'perfect,' and wealthy lifestyle wasn't making her happy.

'What is it you want; to be dominated?' She nodded. 'Perhaps a little pain, spanked for instance?' I suggested. She closed her eyes, and sighed deeply, and I could see her shaking from across the room. Bingo, I'd hit the vital spot first time and I knew - now that she'd voiced her desires, the protective wall she'd built around herself was crumbling - fast! 'Well, I'm no sadist,' I informed her, 'but if a woman finds pleasure in pain, then to pleasure her, I would have no hesitation in giving her the good spanking she desires.' I got up and walked over to the wall unit. Opening a drawer, I took something out, then came back and handed it to her. She examined it, and looked at me quizzically. 'It's a collar, sometimes called a collar of obedience. If you put it on, you relinquish all control to me.' I could see her hands trembling, and now I could hear that she was excited, her breathing fast and shallow. I decided to take control, and taking it from her I unbuckled it; she sat there passively, as I started to put it round her neck. She swept her long dark hair to one side making it easier for me to fasten it, but I told her she must put it on herself. She took it from me, and hesitated momentarily, her beautifully manicured hands trembling, and just before she buckled it, I warned, 'You understand, once you put it on, you are mine until you take it off again?' She nodded, pulling it tighter, before fastening the buckle. Her dark hair fell back in place, and she looked at me. Psychologically her submission was complete, there was no going back, and she knew it.

'What now?' she asked, her voice almost a whisper. I went to her, and taking her hands, I pulled her to her feet. I led her over to the dining room table and told her she must bend over, face down on it. She complied immediately. I went into the kitchen, and returned with the biggest wooden spoon I owned. There was a black silk scarf on the table that I had placed there earlier, and I used it to blindfold her. By now she was shaking and trembling with excitement and anticipation. I told her if she was ready, all she had to say was, 'please,' and I waited a moment or two for her to say it, and when she did, her voice was so quiet, I almost missed it. I took a moment or two to savour the sight of my new-found submissive. Facially, she was beautiful, with strong even features, beautiful dark eyes, and a full, sensuous mouth. She had a killer body, which I was just about to see in all its glory, and long, shapely legs, which she had conveniently parted for my access. I don't know if she was even aware of that, if it was merely instinctive, offering me the prize, but that was how she was standing. She waited, obviously excited, but awaiting my pleasure, until at last I went over to her and felt her bottom through the material of the skirt. She moaned slightly at that, and I slid her skirt up her long legs, revealing stocking and suspenders, to my absolute delight, as I worked the skirt higher.

'You dirty bitch,' I said, insulting her. She liked it. 'Whose bitch are you?' I asked her and she replied quietly that she was my bitch. I made her repeat it, louder, just so she knew who was in control. With the skirt now round her waist, I stroked her bottom gently through the thin material of her tiny panties, rubbing lightly between her legs, touching her pussy through the almost non-existent fabric of the panties; she moaned again, pushing back against my fingers, but I pulled back leaving her wanting more. 'Say please,' I teased, and she pleaded and begged for more. I let her plead, pretending that I couldn't hear her, making her repeat it louder for me. 'Do you want me to touch your wet, slippery hole?' I said, being as crude as I could.

'Yes please,' she pleaded. Once again I asked her what she wanted and she told me she wanted me to touch her wet, slippery hole, and I made her repeat it, knowing that humiliation, for submissives, often added to the thrill. I asked if she really wanted me to touch her dirty, stinking pussy, and she pleaded with me to do it. I said nothing more, and slid her panties down, over her silky-smooth bottom, down her long legs, and off. Now she really spread her legs, exposing her shaven pussy to my appreciative gaze. Her labia were thick and swollen, big generous pussy lips, that protruded and pouted, and dribbled her juices gloriously.

'Oh yes bitch - you have the most wonderful wet cunt. I love it.' I told her. She thanked me profusely, and while she was thanking me, unsuspecting, I smacked her hard with the wooden spoon. She jumped and mewled in surprise, and I hit her again, then again and again. Her legs, her whole body was trembling, as I covered the wondrous globes of her arse cheeks with reddening imprints of the wooden spoon. 'More?' I asked and she cried out, pleading for more. I tried to cover as much area as possible, pulling her arse cheeks apart to get into the crack. She loved it all. I let the rough wooden spoon, gently stroke the inside of her thighs, and somehow she was rubbing her pussy against it, desperate for contact. I stopped, and gently massaged her bottom, giving her a rest from the pain, then let my fingers rub along the wet open crevice of her pussy. She began to come, and so I smacked her with the spoon again, which only seemed to intensify her pleasure. She writhed and squirmed on the table, wracked by waves of intense pleasure, moaning and whimpering in her ecstasy as I rubbed her pussy and clitoris with one hand, and smacked her with the other. When at last her orgasm had dwindled she thanked me over and over again.

Commanding her not to move, I reached under her as she lay face down on the table, and unbuttoned her suit jacket, stripped it from her shoulders, her black lacy bra followed. I left her skirt on, because I find a woman with her skirt round her waist where it shouldn't be, is a turn on, and I made her stand, and turn to me so I could see her tits for the first time.. They were gorgeous as I expected, a nice size, but not huge, although wonderfully shaped and damn near perfect in my estimation. The areola were small but dark, her nipples were nice, brown and swollen. I sucked them and she whimpered with pleasure, and I pinched them hard between finger and thumb.

'Harder?' I asked, and she nodded, so I pinched them harder until she cried out with the pain, and then she thanked me, so I did it again, harder still. I could feel her legs trembling and shaking again and knew her excitement was mounting once more. Rather than go for the pain option again, I dropped to my knees to worship her wonderful cunt, and as she sat on the edge of the table, legs splayed, I licked, sucked and fingered her to another shattering orgasm. Once again, as she recovered, still gasping for breath, she thanked me over and over. I told her she should be the most grateful bitch on the planet since I'd pleasured her filthy, stinking, pussy with my mouth, and she agreed, begging me to let her know what she could do to make up for it. I told her I'd think of something, and kissed her, letting her taste her own pussy juice. She licked all round my mouth, cleaning her juices from my face, and I chose that moment to slide my cock between her still open legs. I slid in with little or no resistance - she was too wet for that.

She let out a long shuddering moan as I slid home to the hilt into her soft, warm, wetness. I knew she couldn't hold out for long, she was far too excited, and so I withdrew, making her turn over and entered her from behind, doggy style. I reamed her sweet pussy, varying the angles, trying to make sure no part of her was left un-fucked, and as I felt her begin to come, I reached for the wooden spoon again, and spanked her mercilessly. She came long and hard, frantic with her pleasure, pushing back, bucking against me, almost throwing me off, but I stuck with her all the way until at last I felt she was coming down. I'd been trying to hold back, but now I felt it was time for me, and I rammed into her, feeling that unmistakeable feeling in my cock, and then the pulsing as I shot and squirted my come into her depths. She felt it too, and her dying orgasm burst into flame again, coming with me until we were both drained, spent and exhausted. I withdrew with a slurp, watching my come leak from the exquisite pussy, dripping on the wooden floor. Her chest heaved up and down as she fought to regain her breath. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled under her, and she had to hang onto the edge of the table for support.

'You've been fucked bitch,' I said quietly. She smiled at me. 'Now, get dressed and fuck off before your husband comes home,' I warned. 'You're a good girl, and an excellent fuck, I'm very pleased with you,' I said patronisingly. 'Come back some other time.' She nodded, and collected her clothes, dressing as she headed for the door. As she got to the door, I called, and pointed to my neck, 'Hey bitch. Don't forget the collar.' She smiled and reached up, unbuckling it, leaving it on the hall table. 'Whose bitch are you anyway?' I asked her.

'Even without the collar? I'm your bitch of course,' she admitted with a smile, closing the door gently as she left. She'd be back I knew.

'Fuck it,' I thought, as I went to get myself a drink. 'I still don't know her name.'

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