He picked her up with an ease that made her squeak, then tossed her onto the bed. He let one hip lean to the side, just enough to look like a model, as he unbuttoned his black shirt. He didn’t take it off, just let it hang loose around him. She’d been entirely right about his physique. He didn’t have a six pack, just a trim, healthy appearance. That was awesome. She hated it when a dude looked like he spent more time at the gym than he did actually living.
He lay down next to her, and she reached her hands inside of his shirt, sighing at the warmth of his skin against her palms. She reached up to kiss him, but he dodged her, going for the sensitive skin under her ear again. She shifted softly, letting her thighs slip apart, and trailing her nails down his back.
“There are a million things I can think of to punish you,” he whispered, taking her earlobe into her mouth, his fingers trailing over the expanse of skin below her skirt, flirting delicately with the hem. “Tell me what you deserve.”
Her skin, from head to toe, shivered in response to his demand. The few times she’d tried to get a boyfriend interested in this kind of play, they’d shrugged and asked her what she wanted, and it was like some switch flipped in her brain. Not only did she not want them to do whatever she’d been fantasizing about, she didn’t even want to have sex.
Being asked what she deserved—her cunt was soaked. “I’ve—I’ve been a bad girl,” she said, trying out the words, surprised at the flutter of response in her clit.
“You have,” he agreed, nipping down to her breasts again, scooping her flesh out of the corset and taking his teeth to her nipple. She gasped, her hips rolling against the air as he worked the peaked flesh with his tongue, grazing his teeth over it. “I think I might need to punish you,” he said, after a moment, gripping her to him almost savagely. “Since you’ve been such a naughty, dirty little whore.” His fingers skimmed up her thigh, pressing over her mound. He didn’t reach for her clit or try to slip into her cunt, just cupped her pussy in his hand. She rocked against him, gasping at the pressure, whimpering when it disappeared. She wasn’t sure when she’d last gotten this turned on this fast. She suspected she might come just from him blowing across her clit at the right moment.
“Yes,” she murmured, her head tossing against the pillow as he kept the pressure on her mound, his mouth suckling her nipple again. Her hands still touched his back, but they wandered his flesh almost aimlessly, focused on what he was doing to her. “Yes, I need to be punished.”
“I think you need to be spanked,” he said, and she could hear the question in his tone.
It wasn’t something she’d ever specifically fantasized about, but right now, that was okay. He was playing her body like a fiddle, and she was fairly sure he was responding to signals she didn’t even know she was giving off. She didn’t mind just trusting him right now. “Yes,” she said. “I think, yes.”
“Take off your skirt,” he said. “Leave the panties.” There was a quiet moment as he considered. “Corset and shirt off, too. I want to have all of you laid out in front of me.”
It took a moment to get her fingers coordinated enough to work the zipper on the back of her skirt, and to slip it off her hips. The leather ties on her corset were worse. If she’d had a knife, she would have seriously considered just cutting them and calling it a day. Her body was screaming for more of his touch, and her brain didn’t want to take the time to slow down and consider that she was having sex—kinky sex—with a total stranger. Who was still fully clothed and wearing his mask.
He laid a few things out on the bed next to her. A small stack of pillows. The foil square that she sometimes joked was the trademark of her generation. A riding crop. His shirt, taken off slowly. She couldn’t help herself; she knelt on the end of the bed and reached for him, taking a turn at running her tongue teeth over his flesh. He seemed to enjoy receiving the attention as much as he enjoyed giving it, which was lovely. He let her have her fun for a few moments, and then turned her with a sigh. He bent her over the stack of pillows so that her ass was high up in the air. “I’m going to start with my hand,” he said. His matter-of-fact tone was becoming decidedly less matter of fact. “We’ll see whether or not that’s enough punishment for you. If not, if you are still not behaving better, then we’ll move on to the riding crop.”
“And what if I’m very very good?” Zoey asked, hearing the breathy tone in her own voice as well.
“Then I will fuck you until you scream,” he said. The first blow came at the end of his last word. It stung like a bitch, and she had to cut off her first response, of angry demand and irritation. Because underneath the stinging, behind the humiliation, was a sense of hungry need roaring like a forest fire. It soaked her cunt, making the scraps of lace that passed for panties even more pathetic.
“Peaches,” she breathed. “Plums. Apples and blueberries.”
He paused, and this time, there was laughter in his voice. “I don’t know if you’re just saying something because you need to say something, or if you’re mocking the fact that tomatoes are apparently not a vegetable.”
“First one,” she whispered. “I’m still very very bad.”
“We’ll fix that,” he said. “All in good time.”
The second blow hit another spot, and she writhed again, her back arching, but she didn’t cry out this time. She could feel her body gaping open, desperate and hungry. It was like those times when she’d taken a sip of water, and found that in fact she was hungry, not only hungry, but ravenous. “Fuck me,” she whimpered. “Oh, god, please.”
He laughed behind her, and his hand smacked down on her ass again. She cried out, her hips angling up with the sting, then grinding down into the pillows, desperate for something to touch her, to fill her up, to take away thought and focus and control. “Not yet, princess,” he said. “There’s more for you.”
The slaps came, fast and hard, each one just a little bit harder than the last, until he was skirting the edges of what she could bear. How he knew what was too much, she didn’t know. He kept one hand between her shoulder blades, holding her steady, and the other abused her tender flesh, slapping at her backside, and her thighs, paddling her until she was sure she’d bruise, paddling her until she had run out of voice with which to scream. She sagged over the pillows, but not in desperation—in release. As he hit her again, she moaned, feeling the sensations past pain, the quiet trust and delighted need that came from knowing he’d stop if she wanted him to—and knowing that she didn’t want him to.
And then came the unzipping of his pants. Her panties slid down her legs, and she heard the foil square tear, and she glanced back to watch him slide the latex over his thick cock, shiny at the tip with his own arousal. He wasn’t particularly long, she thought, but as he brushed over the length of her engorged slit, she groaned, making herself think relaxing thoughts.
His hands gripped her hips, and he guided her back, gently, respectful of the flesh he’d bruised. He pressed just the tip of himself inside of her, and in spite of how slick and hot her flesh felt, he had to pause, pull out a tiny bit, and then work himself gently into her. He was bigger than she’d anticipated, and it had been an embarrassingly long time for her. He didn’t seem irritated, though, or pushy, just filled her up with a series of patient, almost delicate motions. She buried her face in her hands and absorbed the sensations. The delicate pull on proud flesh, the incredible sensation of being full of him.
He sighed, a deep sound that seemed to come from his toes. “You feel gorgeous, princess,” he said. “Holy shit, do you ever.”
She wanted to say something, but she was blurry happy and floating as he started to move gently within her, testing her responses and her arousal. “Mutual,” she managed to gasp out. Then she was without words.
He reached down for her, lifting her up some so that her back was more or less pressed against his torso. His thrusts were short, compensating for his length and her position. Once, he slipped out, and he had to nudge her knees further apart. But once he got his position solid, he took her left breast in one hand, and finally—finally—found her clit with the other. He found a rhythm to match between the strokes of his body and the slow and steady motions of his fingers, and the soft burning of her skin flaring against the brush of his pubic hair and his own body. Sensations swirled through her, from her clit to her belly and back again, and her cries were wordless, desperate, urgent. Behind her, his motions started to become punctuated with little grunts, the slap of their bodies joining, harder and faster.
The orgasm slapped into her like an ocean wave, and she went silent and still, her mouth wide open, but no sound coming out. She threw her head back onto his shoulder, and he groaned, pressing just a little bit harder with his fingers to tease every drop of come out of her that he could. “Yes, princess, just like that, that’s my good little girl. Come for me, yes—” and then his own urgency shattered into harsh, abrupt thrusts. He bore her down to the bed, slamming into her with harsh force. If she hadn’t been so wide open from the aftershocks that were still slipping through her with shivery delight, she was sure she would have had to tell him to stop. But he burst within moments, drilling deep into her and locking himself there, his hands on her hips, tugging him back to give him that extra little bit of depth, rolling his hips as he spasmed.
He went limp, draping down next to her and sighing happily, his hands stroking over her back. It took Zoey a moment to collect herself, stretching her legs out down, laying flat on her belly. As the euphoria faded, her ass felt bright with a stingy sort of pain, a deep down ache that still felt wonderful. He ran his hand over the roundness of her butt, and she flinched.
“Anything hurt more than it seems like it should?” he asked. “There’s ice packs in the kit, if you think that’ll help.”
His tone was caring, but more removed than it had been since they walked into the room. It left her—not feeling used, but also not particularly wanting to linger. “No, I think I’m fine,” she said. And she was. It was, in a way, exactly what she wanted. She’d always liked the edges of pain that she could get in her relationships, and she wanted to find a way to know if it was something she wanted to seek out. The answer, apparently, was a crystal clear hell yes.
But the man stretched out across from her, still wearing the mask of all the ridiculous things—well, he’d been very clear. He was not a one woman man. And she even if this was her first experience with this kind of sex, she wasn’t a virgin, hadn’t been for a long time. She knew the euphoria that came from a partnered orgasm, knew how it was different from love, and knew it would fade given time. “Thank you,” she said, instead of all the flowery romantic nonsense that was darting through her head. “That was—um, a lovely first experience. Which is helpful. Because figuring this stuff out is hard. Oh, fuck, I sound like an idiot, don’t I?”
“No,” he said. “You do not. You sound like someone who just came very hard. Possibly harder than she’s used to?”
She choked back the giggle that wanted to escape. “Possibly.”
Zoey could see a war going on in the man’s eyes. After a moment, he sighed. “I had more fun playing with you tonight than I’ve had in a while. I—shit, I don’t usually do this, but if you want to play again, some time, ask Chris to get in touch with Andy. And if you need another sponsor to get into the club, just let me know, okay?”
It was an odd way to get an invite for a second date, but what the hell, times changed. So far, this was a hell of a lot better than online dating. “Okay, sure,” she said. “Thank you.”
He didn’t ask for her name. She liked that. He did stand up and start to clean himself up. She liked that less. When she started to move, though, he smiled at her. “No need to rush. I paid for the room for four hours. There’s a shower through there, if you want, and snacks in the fridge.”
“I think I’ll head home,” she said. “I feel okay now, but I bet that this is going to hurt more in a little bit. I’d rather be home, where I can sit on an ice pack without harming my dignity.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. After the ice, take a warm bath, if you have the time. But ice first.”
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks, Andy.”
Then, for the first time, he leaned in and brushed his lips, feather light, over hers. It sent a delightful little frisson down to parts of her that were too sore to respond. Much. “Any time,” he said. And then he was gone.