Second Time Around (3 page)

I unzip, slide my skirt down, step out of it, taking care not to catch my heels in the hem. I only have to reach for James’s outstretched hand once throughout the process to keep my balance. And then I’m naked, but for my thigh-high stockings and elegant black pumps. I won’t say it doesn’t bother me that I’m so exposed in a public room, but somehow the danger, and the knowledge that anybody might come in and see my breasts and my crotch, only excites me more. In another world, I might have automatically kicked off my shoes too, but somehow, a sharp new instinct tells me that James prefers me with them on.

I stand, lifting my head as if presenting myself to him, and he walks in a circle around me, his blond head cocked to one side as if grading my posture, the firmness of my breasts, the smoothness of my bottom.

Should I bow my head? Be the perfect submissive? I decide not. I’m surrendering my will to James now, but I’m still me, still Willa, and he seems to like that. That delicious sexy smile plays around his lips, and as he returns to stand in front of me, looking into my eye, he winks and laughs as if acknowledging my choice and approving it.

Stepping close again, he holds me against him, one hand around my back, hugging me to his body, while the other one rests lightly on my backside. He presses his face to mine, breathing in deeply as he holds me. His erection is like a rod of iron in his jeans, jammed up against me, owning me with its size and might and hunger.

“I’m going to smack you now,” he murmurs in my ear, and before I have time to react or respond, he fetches me a hard whack on my bottom cheek, right on its crown. It’s such a shock that I cry out, but he jams his lips against mine, taking the sharp, high sound into his mouth. My bottom is afire instantaneously from the powerful stroke, but there’s no time to absorb the degree of pain and tingling because he repeats the slap immediately, catching me perfectly on the spot he hit before.

Beyond the control of my mind, which suspects I should be still, my hips begin to circle and move, rubbing my needy crotch against James and massaging his erection with the curve of my belly. I flutter at him with my hands, then slide my arms up to lock them around his neck again.

“Be still,” he purrs, his lips still on mine and his arm tightening around my back. His hand comes down hard on my rear, again and again and again as I hold on, cleaving to my rock.

I’m sobbing now, but he’s still kissing me as he spanks my bottom. I part my thighs, trying to rub myself on one of his, and though he permits it, he smacks me harder. In retribution. My clit burns too, just like my bottom, aroused by the thought of different, greater pains and punishments. The target area is blazing now, a mass of furious heat that soaks through my entire groin, centering on my clitoris. He’s starting to mix it up a bit, landing blows higher, lower, spreading the inferno. My head droops onto his neck, and my mouth settles against bare skin, just above his shirt. My lips open and I kiss him messily, wetly.

How can I like this? How does it arouse me so, even as I’m crying in the midst of my kisses? It hurts, it really hurts, but I can’t stop myself writhing about, enticing and encouraging him.

“Do you like it?” he murmurs in my ear, catching me with a sharp, devious blow right on the underhang of my bottom.

“Yes! No! I don’t know!” I gabble, working myself against him furiously. I want to clasp my fingers to my burning bottom, but I know if I let go my arms from around his neck I’ll collapse. He’ll catch me, of course, but I want to stay upright…to continue. He slaps again, the spank falling across the vent of my anus this time…and I go crazy. Orgasm swoops in from left field and I crush my pussy against the denim of his jeans, and the iron-hard muscle beneath. Great wrenching waves of pleasure seem to possess my very soul, they’re so massive, so all consuming, so much more intense in every way than any orgasm I’ve ever had before.

“James…James…James…,” I sob, and he holds me against him, with both hands this time. One hand clasps my sorely spanked bottom cheek, stirring the inferno, feeding the flames of the pain, and of my pleasure. Tears stream down my face and wet his too as I kiss him again and again in strange gratitude.

I never realized what I wanted until he showed me.

He strokes the heat, tantalizes the tender flesh, delicately caresses the rose of my anus and the sensitive area of my perineum. My climax surges again, but it’s a more peaceful wave now, gently cresting then gradually receding. I slump against him, unable to stand, unable to think, and for moment?or is it hours??we hold on to each other, silent but for our breathing, still heavy, and the sobs and sniffs and whimpers I can’t control. But I don’t feel embarrassed or troubled that I can’t contain myself. I feel liberated. Free and happy in a new and magic way.

“Thank you, my love,” I whisper at last, able to speak.

“Thank you, Willa,” he answers, kissing me again, even as his fingers curve lightly, teasing my soreness.

“But…but…” I want to quiz him, ask him if he wants me to do anything about the raging erection that’s still boring into my belly through his jeans. But I know that in good time, he’ll make his desires known to me.

“Don’t fret, love…” he soothes, stroking my hair.

“I want to please you,” I admit, then feel a new flush of heat rush through my body, “Because you pleased me.”

He shrugs, dropping a kiss on my cheek. “Seems reasonable.” He withdraws his hands and rests them on my shoulders, pushing down lightly.

It seems perfectly sweet and natural to drop to my knees. His eyes are like sapphires, lit from within as he looks down at me, and he fusses with my hair again as I grapple with his belt and button and zipper of his jeans.

He isn’t wearing any underwear! My neat, conventional, tidy, buttoned-up James has left off his briefs, and I feel a new pang of delicious desire at that, such a wicked excitement. I almost swoon with perverse yearning as his beautiful cock springs out and bounces up, magnificently stiff. He laughs, macho man, pleased with himself, and why not. Cradling my head gently, he edges me toward his shiny, rosy, inviting glans. The skin is taut and wet, awash with luscious pre-come.

I part my lips and admit him, loving the way he stretches my mouth and doesn’t hesitate, pushing in, making me take his heat and hardness. He holds me in place, thrusting. I know he could go deeper, he’s a big man, but even though he’s dominant, he’s not cruel, not a beast. He possesses my mouth confidently but respects my limits. Just…

Me, I don’t feel I have limits. I encourage him, grabbing his firm-muscled buttocks, squeezing and caressing, pressing the seam of his jeans against his cleft.

“Oh Willa, Willa…God, I’ve missed you!” His hips jerk as I press and press. “I’ve wanted this so long…so long. I don’t think I can hold on, love. I’m too excited. I’m going to come!”

Silently, I cry out to him to let loose, to come, to flood my mouth with his semen. He can’t hear me, can he? But maybe he can, and I want him to know it’s not an order, never that, just an invitation, extended happily, and with love. As if he has heard, his hips hammer, thrusting wildly now, the hard head of his cock butting at my tongue and the inside of my cheeks. But I don’t gag, I’m so relaxed, so ready for him.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” he shouts prosaically, but to me it’s like music. A sweet song I’ve not heard for over three years. My tears fall again, happy and salt, as he comes, copiously and freely in my mouth.

“I have a hotel room at the Greybridge,” I offer cautiously, once we’re out on the gravel. At one time, I’d have been bustling him into going there, organizing, controlling, but not now.

“Sounds great. I just came on spec. I didn’t plan that far.” He leans over and gives me a kiss. “Let’s go there then. Good thinking, love.” He reaches up and ruffles my hair like I’m a dutiful child who’s done well.

I glow, feeling like a dutiful child who’s done well.

“You wait here. I’ll get my car. Did you drive here?”

I shake my head, and he nods approvingly before striding off in the direction of the staff car park. He’ll only be a moment or two, but I’m already missing him. I console myself by surreptitiously pressing my hand against my bottom, and stirring the fading remnants of my pain, and my pleasure.

Smiling to myself, it’s several seconds before I realize I’m not alone. There’s a figure sitting on a bench, by the entrance. She’s got a glass of wine and seems to be sitting in the twilight, deep in thought, her brow puckered. I think of my own recent epiphany, and sidle over. I won’t push or pry, but she looks as if she might need a sounding board.

“Hello, Annette…how are you? Didn’t see you in there…How have you been?”

Annette Fraser is pretty and slender with long dark red hair, a bit of a Pre-Raphaelite babe. In our sixth form year, it was an open secret that she adored Mr. Laurence, who was the youngest and most handsome of our teachers back then. There were whispers and speculation that he liked her too, but he was always very correct, with no hint of impropriety.

“Same old, same old,” she says with a sigh, sipping her drink.

My God, she still likes him! After all this time…

Without thinking, I grab her by the shoulder and squeeze. “Look, Annie, go for it! He’s available now…he’s not married. Maybe he’s been waiting for you.” I think about my man, also waiting, and as I do, I hear a growling engine approaching. “Don’t hold back, love. You might miss out on something wonderful.”

As a rather rakish and slightly battered old gray S Type pulls up, and from within, James pops the passenger door, I decide I’m never going to hold back either. I’ll try anything, do anything…at his command.

I fling myself into the seat, and impulsively lean forward to kiss him. Then, as he laughs, and guns the car, I glance out and wave to Annette. She smiles back, abandons her glass…and then turns and walks smartly back into the building.

As we head out, I dearly hope she heads for Nicholas Laurence.

James narrows his eyes, and as they twinkle, I know he’s sussed me out. “Want some more?” He’s holding the wine bottle over my glass, but I know what he’s really asking.

“Yes! Yes, please!” I gush, almost the schoolgirl again, and he pours me an inch of Chardonnay, which I bring to my lips and gulp down thirstily as he laughs.

“Greedy girl…” He leans forward and his voice is low and gravelly. “But that’s all right. I’m feeling the need to spank you again, my love. And the need to play with you and touch your pussy and make you come.”

As my jaw drops, he’s suddenly on his feet, and moving round to my side of the table. “Let’s go. We can always have room service later when we’ve finished.”

The way he discreetly hustles me out of the restaurant takes my breath away, and I feel myself getting wetter and wetter and wetter as we walk to the lift. Traveling upward, he doesn’t touch me, but his eyes are on me constantly, as if monitoring my readiness. As I move restlessly, his nostrils flare as if he can smell my arousal.

When the room door closes behind us, I don’t know what to do. Me, who’s always known what to do, and what I want. But I love the sense of uncertainty, the excitement of the unknown.

“Kneel on the bed, Willa, facing the bed head.” His voice isn’t cold or hard or bossy, just soft and shot through with real power. I hurry to obey, not stopping to ask if I should undress or anything. Clambering onto the bed, I feel my heart thud, thud, thudding in my chest, and the beat of it echoes between my legs.

He moves to stand beside the bed, next to me, and I feel so wound up, so agitated I can’t even look at him. I just kneel up, eyes closed, my breath already coming in ragged gasps, and I jump a mile when he takes my jacket by the lapels and peels it off me, leaving me in my blouse and skirt. With a slow gentle stroke across my shoulders he calms me, then pushes down until I’m resting on my elbows, my back dished. My bottom is pushed up, presented to him, displayed with my skirt stretched tight across it.

“Forward, baby,” he instructs, helping me by tossing aside the mounds of pillows and edging me into position. Automatically I grab on to the brass rails and he fondles my hair approvingly. A moment later he’s fastening my wrists to the bed head with the silk sash of my kimono, which I laid across the duvet earlier.

Involuntarily, I moan, my sex aching already, and we’ve hardly yet begun.

“Shush, Willa, you must be quiet and good.” He speaks with gentleness, but there’s steel there, and power beneath the words.

Reaching beneath me, he pushes up my blouse in a bunch above my breasts, then reaches into the cups of my bra to ease them out of it. They feel swollen and heavy, aggravated by their own weight now they’re freed from clothing and support. James’s fingertips brush each nipple lightly and I have to bite my lips to keep myself from crying out.

Watching my face in profile, James sees this, and he touches my nipples again, more lingeringly this time. He takes one between his finger and thumb, delicately twisting and forcing the suppressed cry from me. Just the way he did back in the music room. He knows my vulnerabilities now, and he’s exquisitely ruthless. He pinches again and I groan, shaking my hips.

“Would it be easier if I gagged you?”

Would what be easier? I don’t know what “it” is. But the effort of keeping silent, of not being as “quiet and good” as he wants me to, is exhausting. I nod my head as he continues to beleaguer my nipples with little twists and squeezes.

“Good girl. That’s a sensible choice,” he whispers in my ear, bending over me and brushing a kiss against the back of my neck. A second later, he bounds from the bed and then returns with a soft silk scarf of mine that was draped across the back of a chair. His warm fingers part my lips, then my teeth, handling me like a stockman would a prize mare, and he slips the silk into my mouth, then ties the ends at the back of my head.

“Good…very good,” he murmurs again, then folds back the panels of my shirt and tucks them into the waistband of my shirt so that my breasts in my pushed-down bra are more exposed. “Look!” He gestures to the large mirror to one side of the room, and I see myself.

I’m kneeling, bound and gagged with my breasts rudely exposed and my nipples erect and ruddy. But my eyes are like stars, wide and glittering with dark, dilated pupils. I look like a model in a fetish photo. A totem of submission, yet an object of strange beauty.

I moan again, behind my gag, excited anew by my own reflected image.

“I love you, Willa.”

The words should seem ludicrous, incongruous in this situation, but they are perfectly apposite. I glance at James’s reflection too, and his tanned face is aglow as if he too is in awe of my transformation. He’s all power, all control, but the love is there in him.

And lust too. At his groin his erection is massive in his jeans. Moving over me again, his hands settle on my bottom, sliding the cloth of my skirt in circles over the skin and flesh beneath. A faint echo of my earlier spanking whispers in the muscles there, but it’s slight, almost nothing. My heart lurches at the thought of what might very soon replace that. Between my legs, I feel more liquid ooze, warm and slippery.

James slides my skirt up, exposing my silky panties. One hand curves around from the back, cupping my crotch and pressing the narrow strand of fabric between my thighs against my weeping pussy. Wetting his fingers as he dabs lightly at my clit and I groan again, free to now that the sound is muffled by yet more wet silk.

How can I get so excited? It’s not the sex we had before. It’s not the sex I’ve ever even thought of before. And yet it’s real. It’s true. And it’s full of love. On James’s part, and mine too. I want to pleasure him in these strange ways, as he pleasures me.

Making a low, masculine sound of approval, he pulls my knickers down to just above my knees. Then taking me by the thighs, he sets them apart, stretching the flimsy garment like a bridge. A great wave of my aroused odor rises up and envelops us.

“Gorgeous,” growls James, breathing it in. He inserts two fingers into my pussy and I squeal behind my gag, it’s so sudden and electrifying. My clit throbs and I beg silently for him to fondle it.

“Not yet, baby,” he breathes into my ear as if he’s read my mind. His fingers are still lodged inside me and he parts them to stretch and stimulate me.

I start to move frantically, shaking my hips apart to try to get some ease.

“Steady…steady…” He puts his free hand on the small of my back, pressing hard to keep me still while he plays around inside me. Tears of delicious, aching frustration form in my eyes. “I’m going to beat you now,” he says with perfect, quiet gentleness. “It’ll hurt quite a lot, but you’ll thank me for it afterward.”

I don’t know whether he means I’ll thank him for it because in some perverse way I’ll like it, or whether me thanking him is just a part of the ritual. Maybe it’s both. But I’ll know soon, as he withdraws his fingers, steps from the bed and fetches my wooden hairbrush from where I’ve left it on the dressing table.

Then, with no further word, he begins to spank my bottom with it.

It hurts! Oh God, how it hurts! He wasn’t wrong about that. The spanks resonate hugely, throughout my body, like a solid bar of fire impacting on the tender skin of my bottom, smack, smack, smack. Relentless…I shout and I curse behind my gag. I start to hurl my hips about, not avoiding the blows, just reacting to them, translating their energy into movement.

Within moments, my entire bottom feels like molten lava, and my pussy is dripping and drooling, my honey trickling down my legs I’m so aroused. My clit feels as if it’s swollen, enormous and throbbing. If I could just touch it, I know I’d come immediately.

But I can’t touch it, and the sumptuous torment goes on and on. Flexing my back in a concave dip, I push my bottom up to entice and encourage my own punishment, and at the same time rub my nipples against the duvet. My love permits this, but the smacks get harder as a consequence. I wiggle like some kind of she-beast, widening my legs as much as I can within the hobble of my knickers. My tears are falling, but I feel glorified, exalted.

James agrees.

“Oh Willa, you’re magnificent,” he gasps, voice rough with exertion. “You’re a wonder, my love…Now I need to see you come!”

Abruptly, he stops spanking, but doesn’t abandon the brush. Instead, her reverses his grip on it, and pushes the handle, warm from his hand, into my pussy. My channel clenches down hard, already rippling, and when he reaches beneath me, to stroke my clit, I break into pieces. Not literally of course, but in every other way that counts. Great, heart-stopping waves of the most intense pleasure I’ve ever known sweep through me. I seem to come in every cell, in every atom, as my pussy grabs at the handle. It seems to go on for hours and yet I know it’s only moments.

“Oh hell!” cries James, and then he’s off the bed, leaving me with the brush still sticking out of me, and still coming, while he kicks of his boots, pulls a condom out of his pocket, then swiftly and efficiently shucks of his jeans and rolls on the rubber. A second later, the brush goes skidding across the carpet and his rampant cock replaces it inside me. When he shoves hard, and in desperation, I ascend again and soar to fine new heights of rapture. Especially when he reaches around and caresses me, the delicacy and precision of his fingers on my clitoris quite at odds with the ferocious grip he has on my hip, and the way his body batters against my tingling bottom.

Of course, pretty soon, it’s all too much. Too much for me, as I collapse into a protoplasmic blob of overloaded nerves and orgasmic pleasure messages. Too much for him, as he shouts harshly and incoherently, and climaxes hard in a prolonged, jerking frenzy.

We lie in a heap for an indeterminate period, gasping and glowing and knowing, somehow, that we’ve finally come home even though this is just a simple hotel room.