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The California sunshine! Tony loved it. If your bread and butter depended on the weather, there was just nowhere else on God's green earth to live. This morning was no exception.
Antonio Leonardo Verdici stretched his well defined muscles and bolted out of bed. Able to function easily on just a few hours sleep, he rarely felt fatigued. He'd trained his mind and body during his years on the Pro Tennis Circuit. Traveling from tournament to tournament had been grueling at first, but he had survived and beaten the odds, and now, years later, it was paying dividends. His fitness and health regimen was second nature.
He mixed his usual breakfast concoction of wheat germ, bananas and a couple of raw eggs, honey and a smattering of strawberries, and started the blender. It jumped to life and Tony opened his diary. Eight-thirty Brigitte and Yvette Levine. Tony smiled. He always enjoyed his time with the Levine sisters.
He stopped the blender and poured the smooth, creamy mixture into a large glass. As was his custom, he took his drink and his diary out on to his porch and settled his near naked body into a deckchair.
The waves broke gently on the shore, and he let the sound wash over him.
A couple jogged by, their golden retriever chasing the seagulls and sniffing the sand hungrily. Life was good.
The voice came up from the sand. He stood up and walked to the railing, minus the diary, drink still in hand. A pretty face with white teeth and blonde hair smiled up at him. It was Heather Ramsey, the nubile daughter of Kent Ramsey, aging matinee idol and full time celebrity. Heather was the offspring of his second - or was it third - wife. Tony couldn't recall.
"Unusual for you to be up and about this early," he chided. He wondered how old she was. She looked to be in her early twenties, but he knew the kids of celebrities grew up fast. She could just as easily be sixteen.
"Dad's doing some commercial or something and woke up the whole house. I saw you."
She pointed upwards, and Tony saw the outline of a frilly pink curtain delicately hanging over an open window.
"What else can you see from there?" Tony asked, mocking her.
"You'd be surprised," she retorted, raising her eyebrows, then giggling.
"Want some juice?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
She didn't reply, but bounded up the wooden patio steps and into Tony's lair. She'd had a crush on Tony for over a year and had watched him from afar, until the last few months, when she'd struck up a casual beach friendship. This morning she was feeling particularly brave and had decided to attempt to further their friendship.
From her window she'd witnessed a lot of women come and go. Different ages, different models. She wondered if he was a gigolo and his tennis pro image just a cover. As far as she was concerned, he was certainly gorgeous enough to get paid for it.
The deep pile carpet felt good under her bare feet. She took in her surroundings. Gray leather sofa and matching chairs, with large burgundy pillows. Marble coffee table with acceptable coffee table books. Nice fireplace with requisite modern painting on the wall. Soft blue/gray carpeting and paint. Tasteful, expensive, decorated.
"Tennis must be good to you," she murmured, as she walked into the open kitchen area. Gray carpet gave way to gray and red slate floors.
"Always has been," he replied, pouring her juice and handing it to her.
Heather looked down at his boxer shorts, his only attire, as she took the glass being offered her. She was sure she could see the beginnings of an erection. Suddenly, to Tony's complete and utter shock, she grabbed the elastic waistband away from his stomach and spilled the juice down the front of his shorts.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled, jumping back.
Placing the glass hastily on the counter, she dropped to her knees and yanked them down. The sticky liquid had hit its mark, and she went to work, lapping at the juice dribbling down his extended shaft.
Stopping for a quick breath, she looked up at his astonished face.
"I like my juice on the cocks," she giggled.
Tony felt the blood rush to his head. Wherever she had learned to do what she was doing, she had learned it well. He succumbed to the pleasure, and balancing himself with his hands on the counter, he breathed deeply as her tongue licked and lapped his growing member.
"Heather you are a bad, bad girl," he mumbled.
His hands left the counter and moved to the silkiness of her hair.
Gripping the long blonde locks in both his hands, he pulled her to her feet and kissed her, gently at first, then roughly, bruising her mouth, his morning beard grazing her chin.
"You want to play, little girl? I'll show you how to play."
His voice was husky, his hands gripping her tresses like steel traps. For a moment she was frightened, but suddenly it was heart thudding excitement.
Excitement like she had never felt before.
With one quick movement he swept her up and carried her into his bedroom.
The king sized bed, still rumpled from his night's sleep, was sprinkled with sunlight piercing the thin window shades. He threw her down. His boxers were long since gone, and his toned, well defined body towered over her. She thought he was the most luscious thing she'd ever seen.
He sat on the edge of the bed and put a finger to her lips.
"Not a word," he whispered.
His eyes traveled down her face and rested on her breasts. His hands came up and ripped open her skimpy summer shirt. The buttons flew. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her bounteous young breasts stared up at him invitingly.
He grabbed one in each hand and began to knead them, watching as her nipples became decidedly erect. He pinched them lightly, tweaking them between his finger and thumb.
She was panting, afraid to speak. She could feel the wetness growing between her legs. The guys she'd been with had been nothing like this.
He lowered his head, sucking each nipple in turn, then licked down her torso. Her shorts were baggy, an elastic waistband barely tight enough to hold them up above her narrow hips. He slid his hand down the front of them.
"No panties, Heather?" he scolded. "You really are a naughty girl."
She moaned and wriggled as his fingers touched her sensitive little button.
"I can see what I'm going to have to do with you before we go any further," he said softly, a quiet threat in his voice. "You came into my house and accosted me, and on top of that, you don't wear any underwear.
Such brazen behavior for a young lady. I think it's time you were taught a lesson."
He held her gaze, a thin smile crossing his face. She felt helpless, excited, scared. Suddenly he grabbed her wrists and pulled her up and across his knee. He yanked down her shorts, exposing her smooth, round, well shaped bottom.
"Ever been spanked, little girl?" he demanded.
Her heart was racing. She was humiliated, but thrilled, emotions and sensations racing through her.
"No," she squeaked, "and don't you dare," she continued, wriggling on his lap.
"Daddy too busy with his wives to worry about you? Too busy with his stardom to discipline you when you need it? You're a spoilt little brat, but today, my dear, you've met your match. In this house, I'm the boss."
She struggled but he held her firm. The first slap fell, and he smiled with pleasure at the bright red mark that instantly appeared on her cheek.
The slap shocked her, and though her body was pulsating with excitement, she was suddenly filled with defiance. She bent her head down and bit into his leg.
Instinctively and instantly, she knew she'd made a mistake. The smacks suddenly rained hard and fast, and her ass began to sting fiercely. She wailed in protest, but to no avail. Finally it stopped. He paused as she caught her breath.
"You silly girl," he said calmly. "I think you'd better apologize. I can always fetch my hairbrush. I really don't think you want that."
Her bottom was burning, and she felt totally trapped.
"I'm sorry," she said meekly.
"Finally!" he exclaimed. "Now I'm going to spank you some more, and you will be still and quiet and take your punishment. Understood?"
"But you just did that," she cried.
He slapped her again.
"No, my dear, that was because you were sinking your teeth into my flesh.
Not very nice. Your spanking for your atrocious behavior is about to commence. Do you promise to lie still and take it?"
"Yes," she surrendered, feeling something odd she didn't quite understand.
"Yes, sir," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," she complied.
He paused a moment and waited, listening to her breathing.
"Heather," he said, "I'm only going to spank you further, if you really want me to."
"What?" she asked in disbelief.
"You heard me. If you want more, tell me, otherwise you may go. Leave.
Run on home."
"I - uh - I," she stammered. The truth was, while his slaps had stung they had also sent a surge of sexual sparks through her pussy, and she was aching for more. But to admit that - to actually ask...
"You've got three seconds Heather. If you don't ask me to spank you I'll take it as a no, and you're free to leave."
She wanted him desperately, and as ungainly as she felt, laying across his lap, she had never been so excited in her life.
"Please will you spank me?" she stammered.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. I'm sure," she replied, her voice quaking.
"I think you'll be very glad you made that decision," he smiled.
The punishment began, the smacks alternating cheek to cheek, slowly at first. Then his hand gained momentum and force. She bit her tongue so as not to cry out, her simpering and the song of his slapping hand the only sounds in the house. It wasn't long before she was promising to behave, pleading with him to stop. She prayed to a God to whom she had never prayed that she would never be bad again.
God heard her prayers. The slaps ceased.
Tony looked down at his handiwork. Her butt was bright red. Though he hadn't spanked her to tears, he knew her skin was stinging nicely. His cock was as stiff as an iron rod. He was happy.
Tony's passion was spanking women. Especially young women. He loved it.
And they did too. Maybe not at the time, but when he had finished warming their behinds they were wet and wanting and craving his cock.
She was whimpering. He soaked in the sight and the sound of her mewing, then he pulled her up and cradled her in his arms. He kissed her lips lightly, his hands traveled down her body, and he laid her on the bed alongside him. He caressed where he had just hurt, then gently rolled her on to her back. His lips were all over her, moving deftly, touching all the right spots. His cock brushed against the inside of her thigh, sliding slowly up to his mark.
She was more than ready, her juices flowing freely, her pussy lips opening to his touch. She raised her hips and moaned his name as he slid into her, and he let himself be engulfed in the pleasure. He rode her until she was panting and grasping at his back. Just as she was nearing her moment, he pulled out, and ordered her to turn over.
She groaned in disappointment, then did as she was told. He told her to rest on her elbows, and smiled at the red ass so beautifully presented. He reached across her to grab a condom from his bedside table, then once uniformed, repositioned himself. Grabbing her by the hips he thrust inside her, deep and hard. She gasped as his strokes began, and she was sure she would faint from the sheer power of his pumping. Her bubble was building, moving to its bursting point. She grabbed at a pillow and buried her head, waiting for the dam to break.
He gazed at her crimson ass, the blood rushing to his head. He slapped her lightly and felt her pussy respond. He slapped again, and a moment later her sugar walls began to milk him. She let out a cry and bucked up against him. He let himself go with a rush, exploding inside her. She squealed and cried, writhing against him, her convulsions rippling through her body, her crescendo bigger and better than she could ever have imagined.
Finally the spasms subsided. Panting heavily she collapsed on to her stomach. He fell on top of her, wrapping his arms around her, then rolled on to his back. She let out a long, deep sigh, and snuggled against him.
"You're amazing," she whispered.
"And what else?" he asked.
"The boss," she replied, a deep contentment in her voice.