The Blue Butterfly

By Don Julian Winslow

Erotic D/s stories, each describing in exquisite detail the sensual power and fascinating allure of carefully chosen women. Some are beautiful, some merely pretty in an ordinary sort of way while others are quite exotic. For men who love women, each represents a shining example of her sex, with a seductive appeal that makes her erotic exploits so arousing. These extraordinary women are masterfully depicted at the height of sexual ecstasy by renowned erotica author Don Julian Winslow. The Storyteller Chloe is a bit a vixen as she weaves a delightfully wicked tale for her lover – of Nadia, a mistress of the dance, who properly disciplines miscreant pupils with the help of a wooden ruler and barre over which they present their tight bottoms for the spanking they’ve earned. In Sutter’s Back Room, the dimly-lit space becomes a backdrop for the sexually eager Bobbi to enjoy the naughty thrill of surrender at the hands of her dominantly inclined co-worker.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pink Flamingo Media LLC
• Release date: Oct 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781945648465

Book preview

The Blue Butterfly

by Don Julian Winslow

ISBN: 978-1-945648-46-5

A Pink Flamingo Media Ebook

Copyright ©2017 by Don Julian Winslow

Smashwords Edition

To some people sex is sex,

To Lisa, sex is theater

To me, sex is opera –

But then, I’m another story.

~ Tiffany Clark as Renee, in Hot Dreams

Author’s Note

Who is Don Julian Winslow? Let’s start with who he is NOT. He is not a certain DonWinslow who writes whodunits for a living. In a case of bad timing for that popular writer of mysteries, Don Julian Winslow came on the scene first, emerging in the golden age of erotic fiction and he quickly established an international reputation as a writer of quality erotica. Then along came the author with birthright to the name who, as he struggled to become a literary icon in his chosen genre, found to his alarm that people kept asking him if he still wrote those dirty books. One can sympathize with a writer who tries so hard to be taken seriously, only to find his reputation soiled by a common pornographer! And so it goes. Life is unfair.

And so we can tell you dear reader that Don Julian Winslow is an internationally best-selling author who has written some 20 books of erotic fiction. Hollis Compton, critic for New Age Publications, has characterized Winslow’s work as pure porn, unpretentious... but masterfully done. Enjoy!

Don Julian Winslow

Email: [e-mail]

Chapter One

The Storyteller

Like a rag doll flung down by some giant, Lewis lay sprawled in the middle of a pile of damask pillows. He was naked, spread-eagled, on his back, arms flung out far, and legs loosely parted. His eyes were closed; his breathing shallow. His flaccid penis nestled against his right thigh. But a closer look would reveal that the seemingly somnolent penis was in fact beginning to stir, slowly thickening, uncoiling with the very first hint of arousal. Maybe it was the exposure to the delicious coolness of the air-conditioned room, or an acute awareness of the satiny smoothness of those oversized pillows under his nude body. Or maybe it was the simmering anticipation of things to come; the exciting nearness of the girl who he knew was looking down on him, even though his eyes were closed. She stood over him, silently watching, studying his calm face, the gentle heaving of his lightly-furred chest, his responsive prick. But whatever the source of his excitement, his manhood was clearly taking reacting, expanding now with the first stirrings of renewed lust.

Otherwise, Lewis didn’t move a muscle, but lay as he had come to rest, his head propped up against the supporting sofa, his features relaxed in a placid expression, so that to the casual observer the man appeared to be dozing. But he wasn’t. Under that facade Lewis was keenly aware of the erotic sensations, the frisson of desire, every fiber of his nude body a-tingle with anticipation. He was waiting for her to begin.

And so Chloe began, like she always did, with the letting down of her hair; it fanned down, enveloping her softly rounded shoulders in a dark cloud as she stood over him, gazing down on the naked man. Smiling to herself, she would take her time, pausing to contemplate that well-made male body for a moment, before raising up a foot, reaching down to slip off a pump. Normally, Lewis enjoyed watching Chloe strip for him, but tonight he kept his eyes closed, knowing what she was doing. Moving methodically, she opened the front of her dress, slipped it of her shoulders, shoved it down her hips, and stepped free of it. Next, she reached back to find the catch of her bra freeing her softly-mounded breasts to settle. Bare-breasted, she dropped to her knees and came to him, squirming up under a cradling arm, while his prick tightened in eager expectation. The pretty girl, in nylon stockings and a slick, champagne half-slip, snuggled happily against the outstretched guy.

For the longest time the two lovers lay together like that, motionless, still but tense, both of them acutely aware of the simmering excitement that was building. It was only when she heard him sigh that she stirred, rising up to let a dangling breast brush softly over his arm and trail up his lightly-furred chest as she eased herself forward onto him. She tilted her head so that her silky hair spilled down in a fine curtain that partially shielded her face. And then she swayed back and forth, letting the slithering tendrils tease down his chest, and then trail across his taut belly, watching the flat muscles twitch as her hair and then her pointy nipples brushed across his chest with a maddening tickle. This calculated teasing forced a barely suppressed moan to escape from the man’s tightly-pressed lips.

Chloe lowered her head, and turned her cheek to lay her head on her lover’s heaving chest, to listen to his pounding heart. Lewis drew in a shivering breath, but otherwise held himself perfectly still. The woman could sense the quickening, the tension in his rigid body, as every fiber strained, taut with expectation as he waited for her to take the next step in the by-now familiar ritual.

Slowly, very slowly, the long-haired girl slid lower down, inching her way down her man’s hard body till she lay with her cheek comfortably resting on his belly, her eyes only inches from where his semi-hardened penis nestled in its fine tuft of springy pubic fur. She studied the blossoming manhood; watching, fascinated by the dawning awareness of her feminine presence that caused that eager cock to stir, swelling in anticipation when she brought her lips closer.

The girl pursed her lips and blew a thin stream of air through the wispy curls, causing Lewis’ cock to jump, electrified by her warm moist breath. She smiled to herself. Chloe knew her man, knew him so very well; knew how highly responsive he was to her slightest touch. She need only slip her curled fingers under his drooping soldier and give him a gentle lift, to feel his burgeoning potency swelling up under her ministrations. And as she held him there, between her fingers, watching him grow, magically blossoming to renewed prominence right before her very eyes. Holding his sex loosely, she would close her fingers and run her pointed nails down the under seam, scratching lightly, listening with delight to the low breathy sigh that turned into a half groan as the helpless male rolled his head from side to side. Then she would cover his furry scrotum, cupping him with her curved hand, lightly cradling his hairy balls, taking them up to roll gently in her soft palm. Suddenly, she closed her fist, giving his balls an urgent squeeze that sent his cock rocketing up, unfolding with a sudden surge of lust.

Once she had her man completely erect, she would begin to tease him lightly, using just the pads of her adept fingertips to trace along the shaft, till his prick became impossibly stiff and taut, the shaft quivering, straining with excitement. It was then and only then, that she would begin her story.

***

The stories this clever girl invented were only half-thought through, for Chloe made them up as her tale unfolded. She would lift her head and shift back a bit, rising up on one elbow, breasts swaying, dipping her fingers in wispy pubic hair to sample the tiny curls. She’d take a small tuft of crinkly hair between thumb and fingers, and tug gently. She idly played there, so close to his straining prick, but never actually touching it, while her eyes studied that vibrant manhood just inches away. In her lowered sexy voice Chloe began her tale of seduction.

And as a story unfolded, she would watch his reactions, acutely alert to the signs of what turned him on. In this way she would let his mounting excitement guide the narrative, Occasionally brushing her fingertips along his quivering length, giving him just a little of the touch he so desperately longed for, till she had that fully-erected penis throbbing and stiffening in an intolerable ache of desire.

***

Tonight, she began by telling him a story about a girls’ school, an elite finishing school where grace, deportment and good manners were instilled by strict discipline. The headmistress was a strict, no-nonsense woman named Nadia, in her younger years a very promising ballerina. It was said that she had danced with the Ballet Russe. Nadia was a striking woman with a tight-muscled, hard figure and handsome, though stern, features. She wore her jet black hair pulled back from her thin, gaunt face and tied in a severe knot; today her panther-sleek body was sheathed in a black leotard, for she was about to supervise a dance lesson. Tightly fitted to her lean form, with high-cut sides, the body hugging maillot left bare her long lean haunches and finely-muscled dancer’s legs. In her right hand, the headmistress inevitably held an 18" ruler... quite useful for pointing out errors.

The bevy of young girls who now entered the room were all barefoot; identically clad in Greek-style tunics. These flimsy one-piece garments were sleeveless, with a shallow curving neckline that dipped low in front and rose in narrowing shoulder straps to loop the shoulders. The wide scoop neckline left bare the upper part of the smooth girlish chest while the loose bodice fell in soft folds, gathered at the waist to form a little pleated skirt, the shortened hem leaving bare most of a girl’s trim young thighs. The brief skirts were barely adequate to cover the behind, and then only if a girl held herself perfectly still, for even the slightest movement would expose a bare bottom peeking out from below the flouncing hem.

Except for the sheer gym slips, the girls were quite naked, since, in their mistress’ firmly-held opinion, underwear unduly restricted the natural flow of the body’s movements. The pleasing result for the fortunate observer who might happen upon the scene, was to find that as the girls limbered up, stretching and contorting their supple young bodies at the barre before the mirrored wall, they presented a very inspiring sight indeed!

(Lewis, his eyes closed, couldn’t help squirming in smiling contemplation of the mental pictures his seductive storyteller was conjuring up for him. Meanwhile Chloe brought a small hand into play, running a the pad of a single fingertip up and down the shaft, tracing the outline of his masculine equipment at hand with a sure but delicate touch. Lewis couldn’t suppress the tight-lipped moan of desperation, or the shiver of pleasure that rippled through his tightened body.)

To Nadia, Chloe continued, freedom was as everything! She imbued in her young pupils the same spirit of freedom that she cherished so passionately. She constantly exhorted them to free themselves, to allow themselves to be loose, spontaneous and carefree. And should she be asked about the revealing gym slips in which she required be worn for exercising, she would shrug her shoulders with the nonchalant reply that such minimal clothing was, of course, quite sensible under the circumstances. Light, loose clothing liberated movement, thus encouraging her student to move freely in totally uninhibited dance. Of course, Nadia well knew what exciting effect the sight of so many scantily clad young women had on her eager male clients the ones who paid very well indeed to be secretly allowed the privilege of slipping unobserved into the secret chamber she had built on the other side of the one-way mirror that sheathed the dance studio’s wall.

Now she waited as the girls took their assigned places. They lined up side by side, each separated by a few feet, forming a wide arc centered on their instructor. When they were in place, Nadia ordered the warm-up exercises; her curt commands tight-lipped; her manner haughty, imperious. She would demand their best performance from her young ladies as she always referred to them. Now she trooped the line as the girls bent over from the hips stretching down to touch the floor, or swayed and twisted in place with arms held high overhead in a practiced choreographed routine.

The stern mistress of the dance seemed unusually impatient today, snapping commands, pacing up and down the line like a restless panther, rhythmically slapping her palm as though testing the thin ruler. She would pause momentarily to correct this girl or that, using the ruler to point out some error in posture: here a leg to be straightened, there a wrist to be bent, a delicate hand to be held just so. The dance mistress was precise; her standards, demanding perfection.

It was on the third or fourth pass when she had turned her back on two of the girls at the far end of the line, one of whom she had corrected repeatedly, that the trouble began. An alert observer would have noticed that the second girl from the end, a lively dark-haired girl with a slim willowy figure was making fun of her instructor, silently grimacing to the girl beside her who couldn’t help laughing at the crude caricature. Nadia’s head snapped back at the sound of the barely suppressed giggle and she caught the miscreant making faces at her behind her back!

At a ringing command all movement was instantly stopped and a deadly hush stilled the room. Nadia turned on her heel, and slowly closed in on the troublemaker who stiffened and held herself rigid at the approaching menace. The one drawback observers found with being placed behind the one-way glass was the inability to hear what was actually being said in the room, but this time the gestures were unmistakable. Nadia exchanged a few sharp words with the troublemaker, and then beckoned her forth, ordering her to stand before the group.

She was a thin girl with straight chestnut-brown hair pulled back from her plain narrow face and tied in a