Lena

 

 

 

I can't breathe. I can't see. I can't think.

All I can do is endure this shattering climax as it rips through my core, the feeling of being torn apart and set right back together while my insides are doing somersaults. I've never lost control like this. I've never felt like this. I didn't know orgasms could grow so strong that they’re almost painful.

He loosens his grip around my throat after the first two waves of pleasure ripple through my body, and I wish he hadn't. As soon as I'm able to breathe again, the mist that has shielded my mind makes room for clarity, revealing a reality that I wasn't ready to face. Step by step, ecstasy is replaced by a different feeling, a feeling of being lost, overwhelmed, ashamed.

Tears are streaming down my face before I know it, blurring my vision as I try to find my bearings. His hands wander, leaving my core and my throat and finding my shoulders instead. He beckons me to sit up, pulling my shivering body into a seated position, only to let me fall into his embrace as he sinks down next to me. I'm wrapped in his arms, crying like a scared little kid, and I don't even know why.

He's holding me, not saying a word, but patting my back, comforting me while both of us wait for my crying to end.

What is going on? Why am I wailing like this?

"It was too much," he says, answering my unspoken question. "It's okay."

I open my eyes then, pausing to stare into the distance, my view still blurred from the tears.

He's right. It was too much. But it's not his fault. He didn't do too much, I just felt too much. The anticipation, the arousal, the climax – all of it was more intense than anything I've ever felt. It was stronger than any pain, stronger than any joy.

It was too much.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Hush."

He squeezes me even closer, wrapping his strong arms around me as if to protect me from danger. Suddenly, I'm awkwardly aware that I'm completely naked while he is still fully clothed. I free myself from his embrace and sit up, instinctively covering my bare breasts by crossing my arms. He's smiling and raising one eyebrow as he witnesses my silly attempt to cover myself in front of him. He has already seen more of me than anyone ever has before. Why am I suddenly shy?

"I'm fine," I assure him. "I'm sorry, I was just a little..."

"Overwhelmed?" he helps me out. "Trust me. You have nothing to be sorry about."

I cast him a coy smile. "Thank you."

"Thank you, huh?” he says. "Just to be clear, I'm not done with you."

Even his words send a bolt of excitement racing down my spine. Of course, he's not done. Neither am I.

"You came," he states, placing the tip of his finger below my chin. "Even though I told you not to."

His dark eyes flicker with foreboding warning.

"I want to say I'm sorry for that," I whisper. "But I'm not."

"You will be."

He leaves a little peck at the corner of my mouth, but withdraws quickly when I lean in for a kiss.

"So, you liked the choking," he says, tracing along my collar bone and up to my neck. "That was interesting."

I nod. "I liked it a lot."

"Have you been choked before?"

"No, never."

"Hmmm," he murmurs, his finger traveling further, tracing an invisible line around my neck, as if he was drawing a collar.

"Have you been spanked before?"

I blush and shake my head, evading his eyes.

"You have been a naughty girl," he continues. "I think you deserve a spanking."

I bite my lower lip, unsure what to say. As I lower my eyes, they wander down to his lap, stopping instantly when I notice the visible bulge that must be driving him crazy. I know it drives me crazy.

"Can I see you?" I ask, without looking away.

"See me?"

"You're wearing too many clothes," I whisper. "It's not fair."

"Fair?”

He sighs, and when he leans back into the cushions, moving his arm and granting me leeway, I decide to go for it. He can stop me if he pleases, and I know he would if my actions didn't comply with his rules. But he doesn't. He doesn't protest or hold me back when I straddle him, deliberately pushing my still wet core against his crotch, my fingers frantically seeking the buttons of his shirt.

I only dare a quick look at him, catching his dark eyes for nothing more than a second, only to see him smiling at me. He juts his chin forward, beckoning me to continue, while I unbutton his shirt with clumsy efforts. I was surprised to see him wearing a shirt and suit pants when he came down from a shower. He made me feel so utterly underdressed in my own home, but I guess that's just what happens when you're a traveling business man.

I sigh with accomplishment when the last button is undone and I can shove his shirt aside, revealing a marvelous chest underneath. I figured he must be buff from the way he felt when I bumped into his strong chest, and from the way his body felt against mine when he wrapped me up in his arms just now.

But buffed may be too minimalist of a word to describe his chiseled physique. I've never seen ripped abs like his up close.

"How much time do you spend at the gym?" I ask, my hands trailing greedily along the valley of muscles on his abdomen.

"Never enough," he replies in a low voice.

"Oh, it's enough," I disagree.

He lets me adore his marvelous body for a few more moments, before he pushes me off his lap. I pout playfully when he gets up from the sofa and positions himself in front of me. He takes off his shirt and I watch, mesmerized by the beautiful spectacle that are his muscles, tensing and dancing before me as he moves, luring me in while I'm forbidden to touch him.

"I'll need the belt," he says, pointing to his waist. "Remove it and give it to me."

My heartbeat hikes at the thought of what he plans to do with that belt, but I do as I'm told, unbuckling the belt as clumsily as I did the buttons on his shirt, pulling it out of the loops on his suit pants. I hold it up to him, but he shakes his head.

"Present it to me, properly," he demands. "Hold it up with both hands, and lower your eyes as you do."

I hesitate for a moment, trying to understand what he's instructing me to do. This is odd, new, and exciting. I want to do it right, which is why I'm reluctant to do it at all.

I hold the belt with both hands, slightly apart, my palms turned up as I lift my arms, lowering my gaze down into my lap as I do. My hands are shaking, and for a few moments, I fear I might be doing it wrong, but he appears pleased.

"Good girl," he says, and my heart skips a beat. "Now tell me what to do with it."

I gasp in surprise and look up at him, my eyes wide in question.

"Tell me what to do with it," he repeats, angling his gaze down on me. His eyes are narrowed and the expression on his face is serious, not even the hint of a smile.

"You... you decide," I stutter helplessly.

He shakes his head. "You have been a naughty girl. And what do naughty girls get?"

"A... a spanking?"

"Is that a question or an answer?"

I want to roll my eyes at him, but something tells me this may not be a good idea. If anything, it will only add to the punishment I'm about to receive.

"It's an answer," I say, trying to speak with a firm voice. "Naughty girls deserve a spanking."

He nods. "Turn around then, little girl."

My heart is racing, and a new wave of heated flush travels across my cheeks when I oblige.

"Hands on backrest," he says, as I turn around on the sofa, my feet dangling over the edge as I assume the position.

"Your skin is sublime," he compliments me, and I flinch when I feel the leather draping along my lower spine, down to my ass. "Has anyone ever told you that?”

I shake my head no.

"So beautiful," he whispers, as he traces the outline of my ass cheeks with the belt. "A perfect canvas. I bet this will leave gorgeous marks on you."

I close my eyes in shame, even though he cannot see my face. I don't know why, but his words arouse me. I've just retreated from one elevation, the highest I've ever been, and he's already escalating me to the next, just by speaking and caressing my back, barely touching me.

"What is your safe word?" he asks.

"Ginger."

"Never forget that," he lectures. "Stop or No won't do the trick. But if you say that word, I will stop at once. Understand?"

"Yes," I utter. "Yes, sir."

"Sir, hmmm," he repeats. "I like the sound of that."

I jerk again when I feel his hand on the right side of my ass, gently kneading my flesh before he caresses my skin, then he travels to the other side, where he does the same. A surprised shriek escapes me when he slaps me, once, twice, acknowledging both sides with a taste of what is to come. It doesn't hurt. It's nothing more than a quick peck, a sting that can barely be described as painful.

But I'm sure that is about to change.

"Hollow your back," he orders, no longer touching me with either his hand or the belt. "Show me that pretty ass."

My eyes are still closed when I obey his command, but they fly open when the first smack hits my back. I can tell that he's holding back, because it wasn't pain but surprise that made me jerk this first time. The second blow makes me gasp for air, and the third almost steals it from me. With each strike, the infliction grows, from a kiss to a slap, from a slap to a fiery sting, from a fiery sting to outright pain. My hands crawl into the fabric of the backrest, as if I was holding on for dear life, my face grimacing with every hit he inflicts on me, but I don't make a single sound.

After each blow, he lets a second or two pass for me to process the burn, and every time, I find myself leaning backward, hollowing my spine, begging for more as soon as the agony has turned into a sweet afterglow. More and more, the smacks start to feel like hot kisses, molten iron that burns into my skin, always evoking something other than pure ache.

I feel. So much. I'm blind with desire, gratitude, lust, a zest for life that has been put to sleep for so long.

My breathing speeds up and turns erratic - and so does his. Between my exhausted gasps, I can hear him panting behind me, and I wish I could turn around to see him, but even a quick glance is thwarted by another blow to my tortured skin.

And this time, I scream. He no longer holds back, and neither do I. My shriek is loud, unbridled, and fueled by agonizing heat.

"More!" I hear my desperate voice, coming from far away, a place inside me that no one has ever touched before. Not before him.

"More!"

He groans and unleashes another strike on my burning backside. And another. And another. Each is vital and bracing, like the storm outside. Each assault carries me further away from the person I thought I was.

And then he stops.

He throws the belt aside, and my heart sinks a little, until I hear him unzipping his pants. I want to lift myself up, I want to turn around and look at him, but I'm too far away, too dazed by the assault on my body. My heart is hammering, while unfamiliar warmth jolts through my core.

I hear plastic ripping and it fills my chest with relief, because I know what is coming.

Yet, when he grabs me by the hips, his fingers digging into my bruised skin as he positions me, my breath catches. I can feel his tip pushing against my entrance, teasing, threatening, taking his sweet ass time, while savoring the exhilaration of anticipation.

My impatience gets the better of me and I lean back, begging him to be inside me. His grip tightens when he holds me back, and I mewl in need.

"Naughty girls get punished," he announces, before spreading me with one brute push, shoving his entire length between my lips and spreading me with his incredible girth.

The groan that escapes my lips doesn't even sound human to me.