Free Perversion Process by Miranda Forbes

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

    Oliver is the one who turned me into a pervert, or, at least, that‟s what I like to say. Before I met him, I was definitely more on the vanilla side. I might have gotten a light spanking or two, had ice cubes shoved up my pussy, had a lover hold me down while he slammed his cock in and out of me, but Oliver took all of that to a new level.
    He meant business, and he showed me that in the backseat of his car after our first date. It had been a blind date, a set-up by my friend Christine.
    „But what is it about him that I‟ll like?‟ I‟d pestered her for the umpteenth time over margaritas, my voice sounding whinier as the night and the drinks went on.
    She‟d shown me his photo and all but handed me his resume and, while he was cute, I couldn‟t really tell why she was so gung ho for me to meet him. Sometimes, though, I guess our friends know us better than we know ourselves, or maybe it was a lucky guess. I certainly hadn‟t confessed my kinky fantasies to her, or anyone else.
    And I wasn‟t expecting Oliver to do more than try to cop a feel, maybe get up my skirt, so I agreed to come in for a nightcap. He brewed us both strong cups of tea, but, instead of placing them at his dining room table, he brought them both over to a large chair, rested them on the small table next to it, and told me to come sit on his lap. „Like Santa?‟ I joked.
    1

    „Even better,‟ he said. So I did. I sat on his lap, even though my just-above-the-knee-length skirt meant my thighs would be bared to him. I shifted so I was straddling one of his legs, already feeling myself get wet. „Here‟s your tea,‟ he said, handing me the glass. It was awkward, sitting like that and not acknowledging it. His whole body was so solid and firm beneath me, but I just politely twisted my head around and asked him more about running his own car dealership and his travels, while he asked me about being a fundraiser for a non-profit.
    Then all of a sudden, he made me spill my tea. Well, maybe he didn‟t make me, but I wasn‟t expecting him to ask, „How do you feel about spanking?‟
    „You mean, parents and kids?‟ I asked, stalling for time, not wanting to let on that the word had instantly conjured up images of my bottom bared for him, of my ankles and wrists bound, of him thrashing me with all kinds of implements, of him spanking me all over.
    He took my hand and pressed deeply into my palm before pinching the skin there. My tea forgotten, he looked intently into my eyes and said, „Serena, you know that‟s not the kind of spanking I‟m talking about. Don‟t be coy; it doesn‟t suit you. I‟m asking you how you‟re going to like it when I take you naked across my knee and spank that sweet ass of yours until you scream?‟ He stopped playing with my hand, letting it simply rest against his.
    I swallowed hard, my face turning beet-red – I could feel it.
    „I‟d like that, Oliver. I‟d like that a lot,‟ I said, unexpected tears rushing to my eyes. He wasn‟t talking about a playful, fun kind of spanking. He wasn‟t talking about playing bongos on my butt and then whipping out his cock, or giving me a good squeeze and slap while I 2

    writhed on top of him. Oliver was dead serious, like spanking was the only topic that mattered – and suddenly, it was.
    „How much, Serena?‟ he said, inching closer, close enough so he could casually slip his hand down my skirt, toying with my thong by tugging it upward so it cut into my pussy lips, making me squirm. „How much would you like it? What would you do for me in return?‟ He let my thong slap back against my skin, then dipped his fingers into the area approaching my crack.
    „Whatever you want,‟ I whispered, my face hot, sure that even though we were alone in his home, everyone in our small town was somehow listening in and now knew exactly how slutty and submissive and spankable I truly was.
    „Whatever I want?‟ he asked, his voice suddenly rising