A Peppermint Whipping And Blowjob
Here’s a festive peppermint-flavored whipping and blowjob for your Christmas Eve pleasure. It comes from the Blue Moon erotic novel Jeremy by Richard Manton. The villain of the piece confronts that eternal problem: the reluctant heroine who needs more whipping before she will suck him properly, which is difficult to deliver while he’s entangled up front. So he resorts to “enhancing” her whipped bottom with a bottle of stinging peppermint extract:
The tumble of her ringlets stirred as she as she made a pleading, wanting sound, and shaped a kiss to the fly-vent of his trousers. It almost startled him. But this was clearly a girl who knew what life was all about and what she wanted from it. She kissed the cloth again, her lips finding and feeling the shrouded bulge.
Jeremy smiled to himself. There was usually a point where the girl whom he was tanning did something like this, either in passion or desperation. He looked down, grinning, and watched her do it again. Sometimes girls had done this sort of thing because they were too sore to take more discipline. Sometimes they tried to persuade him by these little sounds of sexual hunger, pretending that the naked agony of the whipping had made them feel randy and submissive at the same time. But, almost without fail, for whatever reason, they were ready to give him a memorably good time. Because they really were randy or because they knew what they would get otherwise, did it really matter? When you came to think of it, Jeremy decided, the world was a remarkably simple place.
He unzipped his trousers. Theresa needed no lessons. She rounded her lips and slid them down the length of the shaft without the least fuss or protest. He reached to one side and drew towards him a tall stool on which he could sit while she performed. Interesting that she had not asked him to unstrap her before she began. Perhaps she really did get a thrill from being strapped down while she sucked. One never knew, these days. He put it down to the way that women’s magazines were full of sex, instead of knitting and cookery.
Theresa moved her mouth up and down the shaft a little faster than he wanted. Best not let her finish too quickly. He took her head between his hands and moved her commandingly, teaching her the speed he wanted. She learnt at once and obeyed. Then her tongue began to flicker and Jeremy’s toes curled in appreciation. After ten minutes or so, however, he thought she was getting sluggish. Needed smartening up a bit. Very difficult really to whip a girl while she sucked one. Problem of being in two places at the same time. Still, a little bit of ingenuity might do the trick.
He drew himself from her mouth and padded out to the kitchen, whistling softly. There was a little bottle of peppermint essence which Aunt Em must have used to cure her after-dinner indigestion. Absolute bloody fire-water, these old birds used on themselves. Humming a contented little tune to himself, he returned to the front room. Theresa’s ringlets brushed her bare shoulders as she tried to twist her head round to see what he was going to do to her.
Jeremy stopped humming. Before he opened the little bottle, he had to ask himself whether those handsome showgirl bottom-cheeks had been whipped quite raw. Well, almost but not quite. I want to be happy…. Where the hell was that sash-cord? There it was. …. till I’ve made you happy too…. Whip!… Whip!… Whip!… That last one was a beauty, right across the lower fatter cheek swell of Theresa’s handsome backside. No wonder it made her yell!
Schoolgirl or showgirl, they all yelled at about the same point and in much the same way. But only a bastard would do a thing like that last stroke to her…. Whip!… Whip!…. And there was a coincidence, she was actually calling him a bastard, as she screamed. What that old boy Jung had called synchronicity. Best make it a dozen. Whip!… Whip!… Whip!…. The way those Amazon bum-cheeks compressed and contracted in torment! Whip!… Whip!… Whip!…. And now how she stuck her backside right out at him, trying to writhe away the torture that lingered so long after each stroke…. But really seeming to ask for it too! And about to get it! Whip!… Whip!…. Whip!… Whip!…. Wait a minute. He had lost count. Must have gone way past the intended dozen.
Ah, well. No point crying over spilt…. Talking of which, where was that little bottle? Ah, there it was. Several times he filled his palm and smoothed the scorching peppermint essence wetly over the blaze of Theresa’s bottom-cheeks. She was yelling more in panic than in anything now, realising that it would sink into the whipped flesh like white fire. And Aunt Em’s sitting-room was stinking like a candy-factory. C’est la vie. The little bottle was almost empty, alas. But there was just a capful to be administered between her rear cheeks, finger-tip dabs right on her backside’s tightest and most intimate little…. And the scorch of that in so sensitive a rear dimple almost made her hair stand on end, he thought. And just look at the beetroot-crimson blaze of her bottom cheeks themselves…. Theresa must feel as if she was sitting bare-bottomed on a red-hot stove.
He stood before her again. I’d say you’d be really in the mood for a gallop now, he remarked pleasantly…
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