When I was 19-20, I worked as a production assistant for a TV show which I won’t name. It was not a huge deal. It was steadily successful in a small way, and is still on today. It was a fun job. Most PA jobs are not. You run shitty errands and never get appreciated. Usually the boss treats you like shit. This job was different. People were friendly.
They were all geeks and counter-culture people who blew off the norms of Hollywood bull-crap. Several of them were British, and certainly, the star of the show was. And because this was a small show, he was generally considered the boss because he was also producing by that time. I had a crush on him, as most of the women who worked there (and an alarming number of the men) did. He was quirky, tall, handsome, and his accent was charming. He was smart, and funny. He treated us all remarkably well. We all hung out together often. That’s unusual for a crew really. You see the cast and crew of TV shows constantly say in interviews that they are all great friends, but in reality, they usually don’t get along that well off camera. The fact is, you put high profile people with artistic temperaments together for fourteen hour days and no, they don’t want to go to dinner after work. Or ever. In our case, the show was done fairly quickly each evening, and we had time. So we often had sushi at a place down the street from the studio, and that evolved to hanging out at someone’s house. Since the boss made the most money and had the nicest house (by far) it was often his place that became the hang out of choice.
In the interest of privacy, I am going to call my former boss Ethan, though that is not even close to his real name. I just like that name. It works for this. Ethan, having been successful for quite a few years both in the UK and here in the states, had a very nice place. Nicer than the bohemian one bedroom apartments we all lived in. House in the hills, an old Hollywood bungalow from the silent film era. Swimming pool in the back. By Hollywood standards, it was modest, but he wasn’t the type to have a useless waste of space even if he could afford it. I liked him for that. Our little bohemian group got pretty close. Most of the older people that worked on the show began to politely leave out little group when the flirting began, as it inevitably did, among the younger of us, and Ethan, who was in his forties. They had no problem with it, but they didn’t want to be involved in case drama broke out. Understandable. That left about nine of us, including Ethan. The regulars, we called ourselves. I will change all the names, of course, but there was Nina, who was the prettiest of the girls. A half asian, half black girl of 25 with legs up to her neck. Andrew, who we just called “Drew” who was hilarious and cute, and gay. His boyfriend Danny, who was Irish. There were Melissa and Kate, who were quiet but in their off time that was not with us, they went to fetish clubs. They sometimes showed us custom made whips and floggers they made and sold at “scene” clubs. There was Mike, who was gorgeous, I mean, really gorgeous, and his girlfriend Kelly, who was not, and they were madly in love. And there was me.
I’m five feet tall, maybe five foot one if I really stand up perfectly straight. I’m cute. Very cute. I have that sweet, large eyed face that gets taller women into movie roles. I’m not a ten, but I am easily an eight. Back then, my hair was longer. It is dark chestnut brown and curly, hanging halfway down my back. I have huge blue eyes. That’s the kicker. That’s what makes people tell me “you should be a model” before they realize my lack of height and then say “but you’re pretty.” But the thing that can stop traffic is my tits. I don’t have ‘breasts’ or ‘lovely pillows’ or any nonsense like that. I have luscious, big, round, bouncy tits. At 20, though my tits are big, I did not need a bra. They sat up high on my chest, the nipples eternally perky and poking at whatever top I wore. My typical daily uniform was usually some combination of thrift store skirt (often in plaid), a tight tee shirt or tank top, and over the knee striped stockings which was sort of my trademark. With Chuck Taylors and my black framed glasses, a little dyed pink streak in my hair, I had a ‘look’ to me, I was told. But people usually just looked at my tits. My tits are a 10.
At our gatherings, it was run of the mill for people to make out on the couch, or by the pool. More than once, I saw Mike and Kelly fuck in the pool when they thought no one was looking. Our attitude toward sex was liberal. One day when Melissa mentioned that she was thinking about getting breast implants, she lifted up her top and tucked down her bra. Melissa was small breasted, a small B cup maybe, but they were nice enough. She showed us and asked for honest opinions. We gave them, and none of us thought she should mutilate herself with implants. It was Ethan who tugged her by the belt of her jeans and sat her on his lap, her blouse still up, breasts revealed. He gave a nod, as if to ask “May I?” (ever polite, he was) and when she shrugged, he cupped a breast in hand. She gave a little surprised gasp, and then licked her lips. He had her on his lap for about ten minutes, playing with her tits, lightly pinching the nipples, bending to suck one into his mouth. We were all watching. No one was shocked really, not in a bad way. Surprised a bit, maybe. And turned on. I closed my legs tighter, feeling my pussy getting wet. He gave her a little smack on the ass as he stood her back up and tugged her shirt down, then a kiss on the cheek. Pure gentleman.
“When you get those awful implants, you lose sensation in your breasts. If you liked that then why would you want to damage feeling that again, just to appease some fuckheads who think women are supposed to look like Barbie dolls?”
See, that’s why I liked him.
“Well, I’d love to have ones that look like… like hers!” Melissa pointed at me.
Feeling bold, I stood up and gave a “who, me?” look. Everyone giggled. I was known for my tits. ‘Tits that make you want to bite them, they look so good.’ Mike had said. This gathering was a week before my 20th birthday, and Ethan said,
“Yes, you, poppet.” Ethan sometimes called me that. Poppet. Totally inappropriate for work, I know, but I loved it. He patted his knee. “Let’s have a look at you, yes?”
Our little gang giggled and poured more wine as they watched me not only sit on his lap, but climb on and straddle him so that we were face to face, my legs wide apart over his lap. I smiled at him, daring him. I was a little drunk, but so was he. Still, we knew exactly what we were doing. That day I was wearing a short denim skirt, my usual striped socks up over my knees, and a little thrift store silk top that had tiny buttons. I even had my hair in pigtail french braids. No kidding. A walking hard on. He took my glasses off and set them down on the table next to us, and he smiled at me. The nod again, just to make sure, ‘May I?’ I responded to the silent request by giving him a kiss. His hands went to work on the tiny buttons, having trouble with the tiny pearl things. His hands were huge. He is a tall man, a very tall man, and his hand can cover my entire face. He finally just pulled the fabric apart, not ripping it but just separating the sides. No bra that day. Just bare tits, nipples rock hard. I was so turned on. He took a moment to admire them, and that I was not used to. I was not a virgin, but I had only had two previous boyfriends and both would just dive right in. There had been a couple of one night stands that were no different. They were my age. College boys who got excited. No finesse. No technique. This was different, aside from the fact that my best friends were watching. But I glanced to the side and saw that Mike and Kelly were making out, further than we had gone. But no one was watching Mike and Kelly, not even Mike and Kelly. They were watching us.
Ethan cupped my tits in his hands, gently squeezed, caressed, pinched a little. When he pinched my nipple lightly, I arched my back and gasped. He smiled at that, and he said out loud,
“You like the rougher stuff, then.”
It was half question, but it didn’t need to be answered, because he could probably feel me getting wetter through my panties, onto his jeans. That’s all it took, his accent, his huge hands, his sly look, and I would have unfastened his jeans, stuffed myself onto his cock and rode him shamelessly right then and there, but he was taking it slow. No hurry with him. Older men, I love them. By this point, my frat boy boyfriends would have already fucked me and finished. But not Ethan. Ethan was testing me. Looking at my face to figure out what I liked. A pinch, a flick of a fingernail over a nipple, a lick, sucking, biting. Feeling the need to participate, to return the favor, I reached for his cock, still under his pants, but he brushed my hands away.
“Patience Grasshopper,” he said, giving me a wink. “clasp your hands behind your back.”
I did so, but sloppily. A few more seconds and I was reaching for his cock, his shoulder, his anything.
“Melissa,” he said, almost sing-song. “will you please hold this bad little girl’s hands behind her back for me?”
More giggles, good natured, from the group. The sound of Melissa getting up and walking behind me. I felt her hands on mine, gathering my wrists and holding them there. With one hand she gathered my braids together and made a joke about ‘handlebars.’ I laughed and stopped immediately when I felt his mouth gather up my nipple, really as much of my breast as he could fit in his mouth, and begin to suck while flickering his tongue over the tip. I felt… fucking amazing. This was not tit-sucking 101 which was what I was used to. This was the work of an advanced player. He wasn’t just sucking my tits, he was tugging, pulling at the peaks, gathering my tits with his hands, up and under if that makes sense. He scraped a fingernail over them, then stuck two of his fingertips in my mouth for me to suck on before returning to my tits and using the wet to slick one nipple as he sucked the other. I was grinding on him, shamelessly really. I was trying to make my pussy rub against his thigh, to get some kind of relief because I was aching for a cock. I heard whispers from the group but I could not make out the words. I heard Nina say I was beautiful. That made me blush. All this and I was blushing from a simple compliment. I heard Kate, one of the kinksters, say,
“I’ve got my bag with me in the car. I can bring it in.”
Everyone knew what was in Kate’s bag. The whips, paddles, floggers and other toys she made. She was a master leatherworker.
“I don’t wanna scare the little kitten.” Ethan purred. Then he added, “Yet.”
When he called me Poppet, and Kitten it made me wetter. That never failed to get my panties wet, and now, with him biting and sucking at me, I was dripping, slowly fucking an invisible cock on his thigh. Somewhere in the back of my head, I was vaguely aware that this could cause some kind of rift in my friend circle, my trusted little crew. But no, they were fine. Sipping wine, half of them snuggled together anyway, and Mike and Kelly practically dry humping on the couch. I worried most about the gay boys, Drew and Danny, and suddenly, I said so.
“Are you guys ok with this?” I asked in general, meaning the whole group, but really meaning two of them. I saw Ethan smile at that, and he mumbled something about ‘cute’.
There were totally laid back replies. Of course. And from Danny with his Irish accent, “We’ve seen pussy, sweetheart.”
Giggles from me, and the group. But when I giggled, Ethan said, grinning,
“Good, because she’s gonna get fucked.” He took my braids in his hand. “Aren’t you, Poppet?”
It was like another person, much more whorish, replied from inside my body,
“Oh God, yes, please.” Me, already begging.
That cracked everyone up, and I heard them make a toast, clinking wine glasses together. I heard Drew mock playfully, in a Dickensian orphan voice, “Please sir, can I have some more?”
I picked up my blouse and tossed it at him, then was distracted again, by Ethan’s hands moving over me, patiently exploring. My arms, even my wrists behind my back, stopping to trace circles on the pulse points. My stomach, flat and yet still soft. Hips, thighs, outside and in, and what felt ridiculously good was his stroking the backs of my knees. I sat up more to give him better access. He peeled down the socks and scraped that fingernail over the soft skin on the backs of my knees. I was really grinding like crazy. I told him,
“You can fuck me now, I mean, I’m plenty wet.”
He grinned at that. At almost 20, I had never had a man take his time. I had got it into my head somehow that once I was wet, that was it, fuck me and be done with it. I had the idea that men, in general, wanted that, nothing more.
“I’m in no hurry, Poppet. Be still.”
But I couldn’t. I moved my hips again. He surprised me by giving me two little slaps on my face, my left cheek. Not hard, barely slaps really, but it turned me on so much I almost came immediately.
“She likes that.” I heard Melissa say. Melissa, who tied people up and down in the bedroom.
He gripped my face in his hand, by my chin, roughly and held it there, tilting my head up. He was almost holding my throat. This was a test, clearly, to see if I might like him holding my throat, without scaring me. I did. My moans proved that. Now I was pinned. Melissa still kneeling behind me and gripping my wrists. Ethan holding my face. He released me a moment, brought me in for a kiss, soft and sweet this time. He brushed a stray curl away from my forehead and whispered,
“You alright, luv?”
I nodded and kissed him like I was starved. And I was. I had never come. Never. And I was so close now and he hadn’t even touched my pussy. I had never been this turned on. My former lovers had not been skilled. I had not really minded, maybe because I didn’t know any better. He pushed my kiss away by taking a hold of my throat. His large hands splayed around my neck, and simply held me there. It was not tight- he was careful, but it was thrilling. He rubbed his thumb over my pulse and I was arching my back, desperate for any contact. Touch my tits, my pussy, anything! Please! But he let me writhe that way for a while, and just watched me, which was weirdly even more of a turn on. I heard someone get up from one of the chairs and heels clicking in the hallway. Ethan slipped a hand between my legs and slid two fingers along my slit, over the drenched cotton of my panties, gathering up moisture. Pinned there by my neck, he teased me, gathering up the panel of my panties and pinching it into a thin strip like a rope between my legs. He tugged it up, then back and forth, teasing my clit with it. The fabric slid through my pussy lips and sopped up some of the wet. He snapped the elastic back onto my skin with a popping sound, and then pushed the panel to the side and copied the action with his long fingers.
“You know, she hasn’t come before, Ethan.” Nina said. I had confided this to her a few weeks before.
Ethan raised an eyebrow at me and then that sly, slightly crooked smile.
“Well, in that case…” He took his hand from between my legs, now wet with my juices, and he gave me another slap, this one a little harder. “We’re gonna play a game, my little wet kitten.” he teased. “You’re not gonna get to come until I give you permission. You can beg for it, if you beg sweetly.”
I protested, but I was half laughing, saying “that’s mean!” But I nodded. Kate looked pleased. I added, still pinned by my throat,
“What if I come without permission?”
“Spankings, Poppet, spankings.”
“I think she wins either way.” Melissa noted, to more giggles from the group.
Game on, I thought.
“Can I have spankings anyway?” I asked in my best British saucy tart voice.
“Umph.” He grunted and told Kate to go and grab that bag in the car after all. She sprinted up and out the door, much to the giggles of the now pleasantly drunk group.
Drew came back and handed a condom to Ethan, met with a “thanks, mate.” Ethan coxed me up off of the chair, still holding me by my neck. I struggled to find my steps without looking down. By my throat, he walked me to the coffee table, a polished oak thing that was big enough for two of me. He guided me to lay on my back on the table. Now I was in the center of the room, where I had an audience with a clear view. My heart raced. I felt fingers stroke my face and neck, tentatively, as if asking if this was ok. When I did not protest, the touches grew more confident. My friends were stroking my breasts, exploring me. Even Drew and Danny took turns at my breasts. I giggled, and said,
“I thought gay guys didn’t like boobs!”
“Honey, EVERYBODY likes boobs.” Drew gave me a grin. They were not interested beyond that, but they did watch.
My skirt was being pulled down my legs, as well as my panties. My shoes, off, but my stockings stayed on. Kate returned with the bag which she was rifling through, and Ethan knelt at the end of the table, opening my legs wide. Hands gripped my ankles and knees, holding my legs open. Whose hands, I have no idea. I was gone. In my own space. Delirious, delicious space. No one had done this to me before. The past boyfriends thought it damaged their masculinity. My couple of one night stands showed no interest and I did not ask. I closed my eyes and felt him open my lips, his tongue flickering over the wet, pink flesh. The neat little thatch of hair I had there, he gripped and tugged at, the feeling surprisingly pleasant. Kate and Melissa bent to suck at my nipples, the sudden sensation shocking me. I felt Nina tracing her long nails over the backs of my legs. I writhed a little on the table, and Ethan pushed up with his fingers, gathering the tight, hidden flesh with his fingers and pulling a little on it. At least, that’s what it felt like- like he had pushed down, gathered my clit and sort of push-pulled back up again. It brought my clit up and out more, and made it ache with sensitivity. This man did not fuck frat boy style. He held it that way, and I was ramrod still, feeling him softly lick at it, then increase the pressure and suck. He had a rhythm, alternating his licks and this soft sucking with little taps of his fingertip against the little nub, each time making me almost lose it. The sensation made me instinctually try to close my legs, to clamp down on his face, but hands held me tight. And again,
“Steady, Poppet… no one said you can come yet.”
And fuck, that really sent me flying. I wanted to come. Needed to come. I didn’t know what coming felt like, but I knew it was going to be fan-fucking-tastic.
“Please, can I come?” I asked, breathless.
“Not yet. Hold still.” He reached out to get something from Kate, who handed him a leather riding crop, which made me moan at the sight of it. I heard Melissa cheer.
Ethan held me by my pussy now, my clit and fleshy lips clamped in his fingers. With his free hand, he took the crop and aimed the little leather tab at the end to my swollen clit, and tapped it a few times. He built up a pressure, tapped harder, and kept tapping, until the tapping was a gentle whipping. I was losing what little control I had. A delicious heat welled up where he was snapping the leather against my slit, and my thighs began to spasm, then my inner lips. I made a noise from my throat that was not sexy at all, but sounded more like a dying horse, but I didn’t care because my pussy was spasming and I could not control myself. But I clenched, trying to control it. Failing.
“Oh, please, can I come? Oh God, please let me come!”
“Come for me, Poppet.”
And fuck yes, I did. I had a nuclear fucking meltdown of an orgasm. A first orgasm, and it was spectacular. My head spun. I bucked against his hand and he held tight, smacking my clit with that devil riding crop.
“That’ a girl…” He said. “Let it all out. Goooood girl!”
The explosion dimmed and he released me, now sweaty and out of breath.
“C’mon, little Poppet, up now. You’re getting spankings. You came before you asked.”
Yeah, I kinda did. I stumbled up on my feet and my friends assisted me, taking me to the arm of the sofa and bending me over it so that my feet hung a couple of inches off the floor. At barely five feet, I was just hanging there. Someone tucked my butt higher in the air.
“Ten swats.” Ethan warned me. “Count backwards.”
But I couldn’t think.
Swap!
“One!” I said.
Swap!
“Two!”
Swap!
“Ah! Three!”
Swap!
“Four… alligator…”
More giggles.
I got to seven before Danny said,
“Ethan, she’s counting forwards.”
“Yes, good point. Useful homosexual.” Giggles. “I can’t think when I’m hard.”
“Are you hard?” Kate asked, teasing. “Can’t see under all the clothes.”
“I could spin plates on it.”
I giggled, loud, and he swatted me with the crop, then told me to do it over, backwards this time. My ass was on fire, but I did it. Ten, nine, eight, seven… pussy dripping. When he was done, he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, shirking out of it, and unfastened his jeans, pulling out an impressively large cock. In case you’re wondering, it was eight and a half inches long, and I know because weeks later, I measured it. This was the biggest cock I had been with, by far. I waited there, bent over, and saw Nina kneeling down to suck Ethan’s cock. Melissa pushed two of her fingers into my pussy, and declared,
“She’s fucking virgin tight, Ethan. You might kill her.”
An exaggeration, but yeah, it was gonna hurt. I’m little, body, and pussy.
“Work her out a little.” Ethan told Kate.
Just hearing them talk this way, casually, like it was nothing, got me crazy excited again. Kate finger fucked me, adding more fingers and stretching me enough to better accommodate his size. When she was done, she held her sopping wet hand in front of my face and told me to lick it clean. To be honest, I was not exactly excited about licking up my own pussy juice. Some people might be, and I like that kind of thing now, but then, not so much. I did it anyway, and made a show of it. This was their fun too. Ethan’s cock nudged my pussy, and slowly, he inched in. It was a little painful at first, but once he was all the way in, it was heavenly. I felt completely filled up. He began moving in me, slow at first, but when I bucked back onto his cock, he sped up, faster, and harder, until he was fucking me wildly. He only slowed down to reached under me and grip under my stomach to lift me up higher, so that the angle was different. And oh yes, it was a good angle.
“Oh fuck, yes, he knows how to do it…” I said aloud, not really meaning to. Giggles again, but this time there was more tension. They were all turned on. And he was really fucking me hard now. So hard that the sofa was moving across the floor. And it hurt, but it felt wonderful.
“See, with a little poppet, you can do THIS!” Ethan said, pulling me up from the sofa and wrapping my legs around him while he stood up. I am tiny. This was easy enough for him. He kept fucking me, his cock never outside of me. He just leaned back a little, braced himself on the wall with one shoulder, and bounced me on his cock. My arms wrapped around his neck, and I was coming, and laughing at the same time, an extraordinary feeling. It was an orgasm, my second one, and it was a different kind. Less of a violent explosion and more a rolling wave of pleasure. He fucked me for a while after that, putting me back on the floor, and he stood me up and bent me over. But he was so much taller than me, he reached under me and lifted me up, making me giggle again, and he let me brace myself on a bar counter before he fucked me like crazy again. He came with a sudden stillness, a couple of jerking motions, and a low groan. When it was done, he hugged me to him, sweetly, and whispered,
“You’re so sweet. Thank you, Poppet.”
I gave him a pecked kiss on the cheek quickly, then squeaked as I ran to the bathroom, sliding in my socks on the wooden floor on the way. I heard them all laugh. I had just been fucked, spanked on my clit and fondled by almost everyone in the group, and NOW I was shy! In the bathroom, I cleaned myself up with a very quick shower, and found his bathrobe hanging on the door hook. I put it on, having left my clothes in the front room. When I came back in, the whips and paddles were zipped up in the bag, the group looked much as they did on any other night, and Ethan was back in his clothes, though barefoot now, and his crop of dark hair, slightly salt and pepper at the sides, was now a mess. Kate handed me a glass of water with a sliced lemon in it. Normal. Someone was putting a Ramones CD in the stereo. Normal. Mike and Kelly had glasses of merlot, and raised them up,
“THAT was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Kelly announced, breaking the silence. Nods all around, even Drew and Danny. “Thank you, Poppet, for letting us be part of that. It was a very generous gift.” Kelly, eloquent, as usual. I smiled that she called me Poppet, as Ethan had. It was pretty much my name from that day forward.
Ethan came forward and knelt in front of where I sat on the sofa,
“And thank you, for obvious reasons.” Everyone laughed, including me. “Ladies, Gents, discretion, please.” Nods again, a chorus of ‘of course.’
It was amazing. There was no weirdness, no jealousy, no disapproval from anyone. We had other play sessions, I suppose you could call them that. That one was the first, and to me the most memorable. It never affected our friendship at all. I doubt many can say that if they did the same.