Naughty But Nice?

This started life as a 500 word add on to a post on Oh Get A Grip. I’ve developed it a little with the help of the folks in the Erotic Readers and Writers Association.

It is a dark little thing that is not at all nice and goes way beyond naughty.


“Naughty But Nice”

© Mike Kimera 2010

I shouldn’t have been hard but I was. After the Valentine’s night I’d had, any normal man would’ve wanted to be deeply asleep. I’ve never thought of myself as a normal man and what I wanted was to be deeply inside Christine.

Darkness greeted me as I pushed into Christine’s apartment. The blinds
were down, blocking out even the moonlight.

Before I could reach the switch, Christine had me pushed back against
the front door. I could feel her nakedness as she pressed into me, clamping her thighs around one of my legs.

“Well,” she said, “did she let you do it?”

There was so much hunger and malice in her voice that for a moment I
pictured huge fangs ripping at my throat.

“No. She didn’t let me.”

The hand that had been stroking the length of my erection through my
trousers suddenly grasped me hard enough to hurt.


I laughed.

“She didn’t let me. She begged me.”

“Sally begged you to fuck her arse?”

“On all fours, arse in the air, looking back at me over her shoulder.”

“Good boy,” she said, unzipping me and roughly yanking my erection out
where she could get at it. “You followed my instructions?”

“No condom. No shower afterwards. Left as soon as she fell asleep. Yes ma’am.”

Christine nodded her head slightly, acknowledging my obedience while failing to detect the mild mockery in my voice.

“I can smell her stink on you.”

She bit my neck and worked my cock with her hand.

“I have to taste it.”

Christine slid down my body, took me into her mouth and sucked hard.

Getting a blow job from Christine always feels risky, not just because of the semi-public places that she often chooses to deliver them in, but because she worries at my cock like a dog with a bone, owning it so completely that it seems possible that she might never give it back.

Usually, Christine would take me deep in her mouth. She was proud of her ability to swallow me whole. She knew the symbolism wasn’t lost on either of us. This time she was focused on tracking down any hint of Sally’s scent on my sex, so she worked me with her tongue, glazing me with tremendous skill.

Sally gave blow jobs like she’d only just discovered they existed. She
delighted in how hard they made me. She would ask me if I preferred it like this or like this and how did it feel when she flicked the tip of her tongue just like that?. She’s the only woman I’d ever met who could laugh and fellate at the same time.

Sally was nice.

I of course am not.

“The Valentine’s gift worked a charm,” I said.

I’d been working my way into Sally’s affections for months. Valentine’s day was the deadline I’d set myself for getting her to give me her arse.

I’d brought Sally the perfect Valentine’s gift, something that was literally ‘Naughty But Nice’.

The image of it blossomed in my mind: a camisole and panties in
a truly dreadful red silk with white lettering.

I’d shown it to Christine before I left for the date.

“Little Sally’s nipples pushed through ‘Naughty’,” I said.

“Her clit was a prominent ridge beneath the ‘I’ in ‘Nice’. I’ve seldom
seen anyone who wanted it that badly. Other than you, of course.”

Christine stood, wrapped one ballet-trained leg around my hip and fed
my cock into her wet cunt.

“And did you fuck her badly?” she said, grinding against me.

“I bound her wrists with my tie, pulled her to the floor, ripped off her ‘Nice’ panties, pushed them into her mouth and set to work giving her the rimming of her life.”

“Poor little Sally. You must have driven the frigid little bitch wild.”

So much hate for sweet little Sally. If I were inclined to commit psychology, I would speculate that hate like that has its roots in envy.

But I hadn’t come here to swap deep thoughts. I’d come to collect on a debt. It was time to get on with it.

I took hold of Christine’s chin and made her look me in the eye.

“I told you I could,” I said.

Christine stopped grinding.

“Yes, you did,” she said.

For the first time since I’d pushed through her unlocked door that evening, it seemed to occur to her that she might not be the one in charge of the situation.

I smiled at her. I let go of her chin and cupped her firm little arse cheeks in my hands.

“So I won my bet. I drilled your too-nice-to-be-true little sister’s arse. Do I get my reward?”

“Do you want it?”

I pressed my thumb against her anus. She grimaced and twisted away. Inside her my cock hardened just a little.

“It’s Valentine’s night. What could be better that having anal sex with two sisters on the one night?”

I’d done just about everything imaginable to Christine but she wouldn’t let me sodomise her. She said it wasn’t something that she wanted to do.

That of course, just made me want it more.

I’d used Christine’s hatred of Sally to create the opportunity for a wager: I’d get Christine’s arse if I could take Sally’s first.

Christine pushed my hands away from her arse, pulled my cock out of her but but kept hold of it.

“You know I don’t want to do this, don’t you?”


“But you want me to do it anyway.”

“A bet’s a bet,” I said.

There was a pause, then Christine squeezed my cock and said, “You are
not a nice man,”

“No,” I said, “I’m not.”

Pressing her breasts against my chest and rubbing my sex against her belly, Christine said, “You can have me until dawn. You have to leave
before my husband gets back tomorrow. You have to use a condom and if
you call me Sally I will castrate you.”

Grinning, I let Christine lead me by the cock to her husband’s bed.