Getting In (Amanda's Trilogy) (8 page)

I could do this for hours, pleasing her like this with my mouth, tongue, and teeth, but I can smell her musky juices and know she’s probably eager for attention elsewhere. I take her hand and pull her down on the bed next to me.

“Are you enjoying this?” she says.

“Very much.” My voice is husky as I place a hand on her thigh.

“Can I ask you to do one thing?” Lisette looks almost apologetic. “Could you spank me a little? Honestly, I really like it. You can use your hand, and it doesn’t even have to be that hard.”

I think about it, remembering how she responded to the paddling and whipping Jennifer gave her. Suddenly, I get an idea.

“Lisette, you know I don’t like being told what to do. And you really pissed me off this afternoon.”

Her face clouds over.

“I … I did?”

I stand up, cross my arms, and look down at her sternly.

“You kept texting me, even though I told you I was busy. I was trying to shop, you know, pick out a couple dresses.”

Lisette’s face relaxes. “I’m … I’m really sorry, Amanda. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

“Well, you did. And now I’m going to have to punish you.”

Lisette is trying not to smile. She knows what’s coming. She rolls down onto the bed, arranging herself across it, but I grab her legs and tug her so her ass is bent over the edge. She braces herself in place with her legs.

My first slap is tentative. I hate to admit it, but the only time I’ve ever hit anyone like this is when I bitch-slapped a girl in London who was getting too close to one of my dates. It ended up costing me a trip with a couple of coppers down to the neighborhood station, but nothing ever came out of it except an hour in a private cell to “cool off.” British police are so much more polite and understanding of jealous girlfriends than American cops are.

Lisette wiggles her ass a little so that her cheeks jiggle. The motion is clearly meant to tell me, “More. More.” So I slap her ass harder. I notice I leave a handprint on her skin. This time she makes a little squeal.

It’s actually kind of fun, spanking Lisette like this, knowing that she’s getting turned on by my actions. My next slap is even harder and this time I feel a burst of—I don’t know, aggression? Even anger?—bloom in my chest.

“When are you going to stop pissing me off? What do I have to do to get you to stop?”

Smack! This one makes her cry out. Her ass is bright red, now, angry looking. I wonder if I’ve gone too far, but Lisette has started rubbing her hips against the edge of her bed.

“Maybe I need a little help here.” My hand has started to sting so I look around the room. Lisette may like pain, but I don’t.

“In the nightstand,” she groans. “Bottom drawer.”

I yank it out where I find an assortment of toys that aren’t appropriate for display. My, my, little Lisette does like to play. I grab a small paddle.

“I’m going to paddle you as many times as you texted me this week, which I think was ten times.”

“Twelve,” she corrects me, her voice muffled against the bedspread.

“Well, now that you’ve argued with me, that’ll be thirteen.”

I draw the paddle back, then power it forward so that it cracks against her left cheek. In response, I hear a muffled cry.

“That’s one. I want you to stop your bawling and count for me.”

Smack!

“Two!”

Crack!

“Th … three!”

I notice Lisette repeats a couple numbers, but instead of “punishing” her further, I let it go. Finally at thirteen, she’s squirming and rubbing herself so hard against the bedspread that it would be cruel not to let her come.
 

I return the paddle to the nightstand then return to Lisette, who hasn’t moved, except for her excited grinding against the bed.

“Now I want you to listen,” I say. “I’ve never done this before, so I need time to explore. Get my bearings. Okay?”

Lisette turns her head and I can see the side of her flushed face. “It’s okay. I can come multiple times, you know.”

I smooth my hand down her reddened ass, which is soft, and give it a hard squeeze. “You see, that’s the problem. I don’t want you to come. I want to play with you for as long as I can. You remember what Jennifer said … discipline.”

“I’ll try, Amanda. I really will. But I don’t think I can stop.”

“We’ll see. I want you to try really hard.”

I’m actually kind of nervous. I’ve never been this close to a girl’s ass and pussy. Lisette’s ass, while not big, is fleshy and strangely appealing. I get down on my knees and begin to kiss the red skin I’ve given her from the spanking. Then I rub her cheeks, massaging them in circles.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Very good. It’s soothing.”

“I’m sorry I had to punish you like that. Maybe next time you’ll listen.”

“Un-huh,” she says. “But I’m not very good at obeying.”

I smile, and give Lisette’s rump one last smack.

“You don’t know how to quit when you’re ahead, do you?”

My fingers slip between her legs and find their way into her folds pressed against the bed. Lisette exhales a tortured moan as I slip my fingers up and down every slippery crevice, rubbing and occasionally spreading her folds apart.

“Oh, unh, unh.”
 

I look up and notice she’s biting her quilt. I push her legs open a bit wider, and I can finally see where my fingers have disappeared. Her cunt glistens with moisture and her labia, free of any public hair, is as plump and pink as I remember. This girl is turning me on so much I may have to reconsider the whole I’m-not-a-dyke thing. Maybe I’m not into guys like I thought I was? Maybe I don’t know myself as well as I think I do? Maybe everything I thought about my sexuality isn’t true, or that I haven’t explored it like I need to?

At any rate, Lisette is squirming even more, so I press down firmly on her ass to still her.

“I mean it, Lisette. Control yourself. Because I won’t play with you anymore if won’t do as I say.”

“I’m trying!” she cries out with the quilt between her teeth. “But I can’t help it!”

My clit is throbbing, too, but at least Lisette has someone touching the red, swollen button I’ve spotted between her legs. I’m careful with it; I know that the more delicate I am with her, the more exquisite agony she’ll have to endure. I spread her cheeks a bit and blow on her pussy. The reaction is immediate. Her ass bucks up uncontrollably. So I blow again, harder, my breath both cooling the juices of her pussy and ever-so-gently tantalizing her engorged clit. Then I slip one finger, two into her hole and spread them apart gently. Lisette is tight, but her vagina yields to me, so I slip another finger in and begin fucking her rhythmically with my hand. I take my index finger and search for the telltale bulge of her g-spot, which I put pressure on as I finger-fuck her with excruciating control.

Lisette is sobbing now into the bedspread, her grinding now an unconscious reflex to my digital pushing and prodding. Her legs are shaking and she can barely hold herself up. “Please, Amanda. I can’t stand this,” she cries.

I get up and go back over to the nightstand, wiping my wet hand on my jeans. I’m shaking because I’m so excited by the power I have over someone, but also because of something I spotted in Lisette’s nightstand. I pull it out, quickly strip off my jeans and underwear, and step into the harness.

The size of the dildo attached to it makes Tyrell’s cock look like a twig. No wonder she didn’t respond to him like your typical virgin.

I find myself wishing I had a real cock so I can feel Lisette from the inside when I fuck her, but know in the primal part of my brain it’s the pounding I’m about to give her that will send me over the edge. I adjust Lisette’s hips so she can accept the toy, then begin to slip the dildo in to her tight, slick cunt while reaching under her hips to touch her engorged clit. Unlike how she responded to Tyrell’s cock, her hole opens easily for me, accepting every inch of the dildo I carefully push into her. I slowly begin to move, testing the angle and rhythm, and then when everything feels synched, I grab Lisette’s hips and begin to grind myself into her sweet ass, pulling back and ramming her again and again as hard as I can.

The reaction she gives me is the one I’m looking for. She’s screaming out, begging me to stop, no don’t stop, harder, more, please, now, I’m coming now … it’s such a head-rush, looking down and watching her pert ass meet my every thrust, that I feel myself coming. Violent waves of release roll down my legs, up my belly, across my breasts. Lisette is thrashing about too, moaning, yelling out my name, reaching for my hand. I pull the dildo out and replace it with my fingers, where I can feel her pleasure quaking and pulsing against me, ebbing into stillness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I’ve gotten out of the strap-on and we’re both slumped across her bed, like two Girl Scouts who’ve exhausted themselves at day camp. I’ve stripped off my remaining clothes, thinking it’s a little dumb at this point to remain half-dressed while my partner lies next to me, stark naked and utterly spent. Lisette’s got her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Her long lashes rest on her freckled cheeks. I can’t help it: a wave of tenderness rolls through me, and I reach out and smooth her hair down.

“Mmmm,” she says. “That was … spectacular. The best.”

“Better than Tyrell.” It’s more a statement than a question.

She cracks an eye open. “Um, yeah.
Way
better, Sherlock.” She notices I’m naked now, but as she reaches out for my breast, I grab her hand.

“Don’t,” I say. I can see the confusion in her eyes, but she pulls her hand back.

“Were you abused as a child?”

“Were you a psych major in college?” I dart back.

Lisette shrugs and bends her arms back to rest her head on her hands. The position makes her breasts both elongate and point prettily into the air, so I roll over on my side toward her and idly swirl my fingertip around her still-pert nipples.

“Are you going to go back to
Staying In
?” she asks. I want to correct her, that it’s
Getting In
, but remember she knows the Angstroms’ sex den under a different name.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s crazy. Have you ever thought about, you know, saying something to someone? Doesn’t it feel kind of wrong to you?”

Lisette rolls on her side to face me. “Why would I say something? I told you how much good it has done for me. I don’t see how it hurts anyone. They don’t ask for money, and it’s not like any of us are being forced to go against our wills.”

“That’s not true,” I reply, sitting up and looking down at her. I tell her everything, about Valerie Gowan back at Lexington, the card she gave me, and how my participation in the “program” would influence whether or not I get admitted, even though my father gave millions of dollars to the school. I can see Lisette’s eyes widen when I mention the amount of my father’s donation, but she doesn’t comment on that. I’m beginning to see that Lisette has some class, not to mention smarts. And I have to admit, I admire her for her openness about what she enjoys sexually. She certainly knows what she likes better than I do.

“But you heard Tyrell … they like you. Stefan, especially. And he doesn’t like
anyone
.”

“And that’s what makes it even weirder for me,” I say. “I don’t get that. He must have spied on me when I was there. But I don’t see why he’s gung-ho on me.”

“Maybe because you’re beautiful? And strong? And you can push his wife’s buttons or something like that?” Lisette reaches down to her breast to hold my hand, which I don’t pull away. “Maybe that’s why you shouldn’t be so hasty. Maybe because they like you, seem to think you’re special, you can figure them out.”

“Hmm.”

We’re quiet for a few minutes, then I lean over and kiss Lisette on the cheek. She smiles back at me.

“Really. That was in my top ten of pleasurable sexual experiences,” I say.

“Just top ten? Not even top five?”

“Top five. Possibly top three.”

There’s no way I’m going to tell Lisette the truth, that it was number one. By a long shot.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The man in tan breeches looks back at me with a blank expression as he continues to fuck the woman from behind. What a way to spend eternity.

I’m sitting in Jennifer Angstrom’s Liberace Room, staring at the creepy coupled figurine on the side table. Another card arrived at the apartment this week, and instead of tossing it into a garbage can, I decided to take another blindfolded trip—maybe my last one—if only to get some closure on this whole screwed-up situation. Lisette’s talk the other day convinced me it might be worth my while.

After I’ve been scowling at Mr. Blank Face for a few minutes, the door at the back of the room opens, and I hear footsteps across the carpet coming toward me. I turn in my seat, and when I see it’s Jennifer, dressed like an employee at the New York Public Library in that beige sweater, I turn away from her and take a deep breath.

“Amanda,” she says, holding a hand out. I ignore it, don’t even bother to make eye contact.

“Sit down,” I say. “I’m here for some explanations.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jennifer’s face turn red, her mouth open, then close. But she steps around the table and sits down on the pale blue velvet sofa across from me.

Neither of us says a word. I may have been a terrible student in school, but I did learn one lesson from my father: never be the first one to speak in a tense situation. I’m not even sure I’m here to negotiate, really. But I am ready to reassert any power Jennifer may think I abandoned the day I stepped into her circus world.

The silence goes on for a minute. Two minutes. Somewhere a clock ticks its incessant beat. I watch Jennifer and she watches me. You know those staring games kids play on the playground? I never lost. I keep my sight focused on her pupils, my gaze never wavering.

Another minute passes and she sighs. She glances away quickly, then back at me.

“Fine,” she says. “What do you want to know?”

“Who are you, for starters? And why you recruit college kids to act out your perverted fantasies?” I pause for effect. “And try to blackmail some of them—like me, for example—into thinking they can’t get into college unless they do your bidding?”