Just A Spanking: Tales of Dominance and Submission (10 page)

The pressure on my nipple disappeared. Echoes continued to ripple through me. “Turn around. Spread your legs. Let me see your ass.”

My only desire was to please him. I turned and bent at the waist, gripping the back of a chair near the bed. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Your sweet white skin will mark nicely.”
 
His fingers trailed lightly across my backside. It was the first time he had touched me. I arched back, bulbing my bottom toward the bed and silently begging for more.

“I think that the first time I beat you, I should use a riding crop. Each stroke will hurt more than the last. The pain of a crop is sharp, searing, biting deep.
Eating into you, body and soul.
I'll beat you into
a lather
, my little pony. Your ass with look like it has been barbecued. You won't be able to sit down for days.”

I could see it all. I wanted it all, wanted it now. The delicate trace of his fingers on my flesh burned like the trails of fire he promised me. His silken voice made me weak with desire. My clit was a red-hot coal threatening to burst into flame.

“Touch yourself, girl. Show me how much you want to be my slave.”

I didn't think twice. Before my new Master, I knew no shame. I brushed my palm over my sticky pubic curls, then slipped my middle finger into my drenched cunt and grazed my clit. Lightning shot through me. My body began to erupt. He rested his palm on the small of my back, short-circuiting the climax.

“Cassie! Don't come, slave. Not until I tell you that you may. Can you do that for me?” His voice was gruff with lust. Joy sang through me at the realization. He wasn't doing this just for my benefit.

“Yes, Sir.”
I managed through gritted teeth. I pulled back, sliding my fingers along my slippery lower lips, avoiding the swollen nub that begged for my attention. Sensations prickled and sparked between my thighs. I spread myself wide with one hand and stroked with the other. The Master's magic fingers returned to my butt, kneading and caressing. I strained for control.

“Before your first flogging, I'll rope you up and suspend you from the ceiling. Wrists fastened together, arms pulled overhead. I'll secure a spreader bar between your ankles, to keep your thighs apart and make sure you're accessible. I've got a fine cat that I'll use to whip your shoulders, your back,
your
butt—strokes fast and then slow, each one slicing across your lovely pale skin and leaving fiery trails. When you can't take any more
,
 
I'll
just twirl you around and start on your breasts and your belly. Every so often I'll stop to use one of your holes.
Your mouth.
Your
dripping cunt.
Your tight, tender ass.
I'll fill you with my come. Then I'll go back to beating you.”

 
My fingers squelched in my cunt. I thrust them deep, trying to get my whole hand inside. My clit throbbed and twitched. I felt the orgasm coiling deep in my pelvis, winding tighter and tighter as his words and his stroking hand drove me toward the edge.

“The marks will show the world that you're mine. I'll take you out to my favorite
club,
lead you collared and naked through the crowds, so that everyone can admire the rosy tattoos of your devotion. Don't stop frigging yourself, girl. Work those fingers.
In and out and around.
That's right.”

I hovered near the peak of pleasure, dizzy, pulsing,
terrified
that I would topple over the precipice and disappoint him. I focused on his hand, still dancing across my butt, and his deep, controlled, hypnotic voice, painting pictures that seemed realer by the minute.

“Everyone will want a piece of you. I'll drag you up on stage and bind you to the padded horse. Then one by one, the mistresses and the masters will take you, however they choose.
Paddling you, whipping you, clamping your clit, forcing their fists into your cunt.
You'll take them all, for me, and you'll love it, won't you, my slutty little girl. Won't you?”

His finger traced its way into the cleft between my butt cheeks. I held my breath, unable to move, unable to answer.

“Finally, at the end of the night, when you've been beaten and fucked to exhaustion, I'll stand behind you, grab your hips, and ram my cock into your ass. And then I'll let you come. I'll pump myself into your butt and we'll come together, master and slave.”

“Come now, Cassie. Come now!”
 

He pushed his slick finger deep into my rear hole. One finger only, I knew it was just one finger, but I felt the thickness of his cock, the pain of being stretched, the dirty joy of being filled, the spasms as he emptied his seed into my bowels. I was there with him, in that club he described so vividly, jerking and convulsing as I came, impaled on my Master's cock.

The tension snapped. Fierce gusts of pleasure battered my body. I sank to my knees, face against the padded seat of the chair. It went on and on, swells of sensation spiraling up from my sex, shaking me until I was limp and exhausted.

The quiet finally roused me. I stood up, stiff and sticky, and turned to face Dr. Carver. He lay back against the piled pillows, his eyes shut, locks of silvery hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was completely still. The sheet barely moved with the rise and fall of his shallow breathing.

Oh my God! What had I done? What if he had suffered another stroke? I groped for his wrist. His pulse was slightly elevated. I cursed myself and my unnatural desires. I'd lose my license, certainly, but that wasn't what mattered. My only concern was for my Master.

“Master?”
I whispered. I grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Sir?
Please, Sir, wake up. I'm so sorry, Sir...”

His sapphire eyes flipped open. He favored me with a faint smile. “Don't be sorry. I'm fine, Cassie.” He placed his hand on mine, stroking a fingertip along my wrist and sending shivers up my spine.
“Better than I've been for months.”
Warmth flooded through me as his voice gained strength. “Now, put your clothes back on. Then you can help clean me up.”

He pointed to the growing damp area on the sheet. “For the moment, I'd like to keep our little arrangement confidential.”

“Yes, Sir.”
I wondered what the day shift would make of the smell of sex that hovered in the room. I donned my bra and reached around for my panties, which lay crumpled on top of the sheet. Dr. Carver grabbed them before I could.

“I think I'll keep these,” he said, stuffing them under his pillow.

“Whatever you wish, Sir.”

“And from now on, Cassie, I want you to come to work without any underwear. It will make everything more convenient. No brassiere, no panties. And wear a skirt, not those silly inaccessible trousers.”

“But, Sir...”

“Are you going to argue with me, slave?” His grin belied his cautionary tone.

I felt the gathering wetness soaking the crotch of my trousers.
“Of course not, Sir.
But I don't know if this kind of–activity–is good for a man in your condition
..”

“On the contrary.
Anything that gives me the motivation to suffer through the endless hours of physical and occupational therapy that I'm facing is good, in my book.” His smile was an affectionate challenge. “I'm determined to reach the point where I can flog you the way you deserve. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

I hugged myself, amazed and delighted. “If it pleases you, Sir, then I'd like it very much.”

Quiet Evening At Home

Even by New York City standards, the woman next to me in the elevator was exotic. Skin like dusky velvet, pomegranate lips, eyes that you could drown in. One earlobe displayed seven gold rings of decreasing diameter, while a gold chain looped through the other and dangled to her bare shoulder. Her jet hair, elaborately braided and beaded, hung down to her waist.

Full breasts strained against her crimson tank top, which was damp with sweat. Her cutoff shorts were ragged and dusty, but they showed off the lovely swell of her hips to fine advantage. Red nail polish screamed from her fingers and her sandal-clad toes, all of which were decorated with rings of silver.

She was laden down with two obviously heavy bags of groceries, plus a purse and a huge tote bag. There was
a sheen
of perspiration on her brow. I could smell her natural musk, delicately augmented by some floral scent. I took a deep breath.

As I surreptitiously inspected her in the mirror, I imagined how she would look dressed up. Then I imagined her undressed. I was starting to get hot and damp myself. I noticed that, like me, she was going to the seventeenth floor.

"Need some help?" I offered. "Those bags look like they weigh a ton."

Her smile dazzled me. "Thanks, but that's okay. It's not far, just around the corner from the elevator." There was
a softness
in her consonants, the barest hint of some foreign accent.
Very sexy.

She must be Michael's neighbor,
I thought. Bet he liked that.

We lapsed into silence as the lift continued to climb. I had the sense that she was watching me, too, and discovered to my chagrin that I was blushing. I'm attractive in an all-American-girl-next-door sort of way, but there was no way I could compete with a gorgeous Queen-of-Sheba type like her.

We reached seventeen and the door slid open. Awkwardly, each of us waited for the other to go first. "Please, after you," I said. "You're the one carrying the burdens of the world."
 
We both
laughed,
her laugh a husky, full-throated sound that sent a tingle down my spine.

"Alright, thanks. Take care."

"You too."

She swung around the corner and out of sight.

Meanwhile, I was rummaging in my bag for the keys to Michael's apartment. I knew that they were in there somewhere; I had seen them this morning when I was at the gym. Now they seemed determined to elude me.

It was probably only a matter of seconds before I located them, though it seemed longer. I turned into Michael's corridor, annoyed at my lack of organization.

And stopped short.
She was there, in front of Michael's door, trying to get in. Her bags were on the floor. I could hear her cursing under her breath as she tried to work the lock.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

She looked up, looking surprised but not at all guilty. "This damn lock always sticks! I keep telling him to get it replaced, but he never listens to me."

"You–you have a key to Michael's apartment?"

"You know Mike?"

I held up my own key grimly, already beginning to understand. "We've been seeing each other for more than six months."

A frown knitted her brow. "Seeing each other? You mean, dating?"

"Dating.
Having a relationship.
Fucking."

"That bastard!"
Her fury astonished me. It was magnificent, and scary. Fire sparked in her eyes. The muscles in her shoulders were knotted with tension. "He swore to me that I meant everything to him. That I was the only woman in his life!"

I stepped past her and turned my key smoothly in the lock. "Yeah, well, he lied. That's Michael."

I picked up one of her bags and gestured for her to enter the apartment. "Come on in. You look like you could use a drink." Her anger seemed to have dissipated as quickly as it had roused. Now she seemed limp, deflated. She sank down on Michael's trendy beige sofa, oblivious to the effects of her stained shirt and dusty shorts.

"Damn him, damn him!" she murmured. "I believed everything he said. How could he?"

Wearily, I shook my head. "That's the way he is. So sincere you'd trust him with your life. He even means it, when he says things like that. He just conveniently forgets any facts that contradict the current illusion. What else would you expect from an advertising exec?"
 
I poured two healthy doses of Dewars and handed one to her. "Hope this is okay."
  

"Sure, of course. Thanks." She took a long sip,
then
lay back, looking me over. "So you're the other woman."