She Wants It Rough

by Meegan Melons

  My eyes shoot wide when two fingers slip between my legs.

  “I don’t fucking believe it!” Mr. Peterson scoffs. “Is this making you wet?” It’s true. His relentless spanks have turned my quivering pussy into a mess of fluids. His fingers pad around the dripping desire seeping down my thighs.

  “I knew a dirty little slut like you would require a harsher punishment.” I squeal when he swipes across my ass hard enough to make me stumble forward. “Don’t move.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I wouldn’t dare disobey him now. I don’t know what he has in mind, but I’d only make it worse by moving. So I do as instructed and remain frozen in place until he returns.

  “Spread your ass cheeks apart.”

  “M—Mister Peterson?”

  “Now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I reach around and curl slender fingers between my crack. “Like—like this?” I spread my ass cheeks wide and await whatever is coming with a sort of perverse eagerness.

  My ass clenches out of reflex when a warm liquid slicks down my crack, coating my puckered anus. Mr. Peterson lands a hard blow against a raw cheek, the hardest one yet. Tears well in my eyes and roll over flushed cheeks.

  “Keep them spread, Maddie.”

  “S-sorry—I mean—yes, sir.”

  I peel the cheeks apart again, fighting my own instinct to keep them shut, my trembling knees doing their best to support me.

  Tiny goosebumps raise on the surface of my skin at the sound of his pants unzipping. My pussy clenches when I feel the bulbous head of his cock circling the slick, puckered entrance of my asshole.

  I fling my head back, tossing my long hair onto the sheen of sweat of my arched back. His dick pushes into me, the tight, oil coated walls giving way to the pressure.

  My echoing wails fill the room when his cock slips into my ass. The thorough lubrication softens the pain, but only a little. Somehow, I manage to keep my cheeks spread, fighting through the urge to let my arms fall limp.

  The girth of him spreads my insides. The thick, long shaft continues its penetration into the depths of my ass. My head rolls to the odd pleasure of him entering me entirely.

  My hips lift on their own, writhing against Mr. Peterson’s hard abdomen while his balls tap my slit. The pain is a distant afterthought, shadowed by a heat of building pleasure deep in my core.

  My ass rock against him, taking him in whole as my tongue darts to the corner of my mouth. The sensation of his cock is a new kind of stimulation unlike anything I’ve put up my ass before. Nothing else could fill me so completely.

  My insides shudder to the push and tug of his enormous cock. My legs begin to quake. His hands clutch the sides of my waist while he plumbs my anal cavity, sending me into a fit of desperate moaning, ready to embrace the coming orgasm.

  But he pushes himself out of me by the waist. I make an audible pout, raising my hips in search of his cock.

  I feel it again when it slides down my crack, the throbbing pulse beating between the wet folds of my aching pussy.

  “Agh!” Mr. Peterson moans when I arch my hips and he slips inside, my tight walls contracting around his stiffness. He unloads another round of quick strikes against my ass to punish me for my disobedience. But I fight through the pain of it, pushing backward all the way to the hilt.

  When my tightness squeezes around the entire length, the sensation is too much for him to continue. His arms wrap around my middle instead and he begins a series of quick, impaling thrusts.

  My head tilts back and I moan out. My body jerks back and forth to the power of his rhythmic humps. The muscles of my core contract and flutter with Mr. Peterson balls deep inside my pussy.

  “Fuck! Fuck!” He groans and grabs a handful of tit in each hand. I squirm beneath him, bucking my hips and grinding on his massive cock.

  My heart flutters before the surge of orgasmic energy flows out to each extremity. The walls of my pussy contract and spasm, shooting hot waves of ecstasy through my entire body.

  I’m still twitching underneath him, lost in the sensual fog of my own climax when Mr. Peterson reaches his own.

  His hands tighten like vises around my breasts while he ejaculates a thick load of spunk into my uterus. I can feel the pounding of his heart against my back, the chiseled muscles of his chest digging in as his whole body convulses on top me.

  Endless spurts of hot cum fill my insides. Our bodies spasm together and we moan in unison. My back peels away from his chest and my hips work to milk the massive load from his dick.

  I can’t hold myself up and longer. My knees buckle and I fall forward onto the carpet floor, a white string of semen trailing out from my pussy and trickling off Mr. Peterson’s engorged head.

  I continue twitching on the ground with my ass in the air, the aftershocks of an incredible orgasm still coursing through me as I try to recover my breath.

  “Well then…” The tip of Mr. Peterson’s cock glistens with his seed. “I’d say that about covers at least a couple hundred of what you owe me.”

  A couple hundred? But I’d run up at least five thousand in credit card debt.

  “I expect you back tomorrow for the next round of punishment.”

  Tomorrow? My ass is already so sore. I won’t be sitting down for a week as it is.

  So why do I still want more?

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’M GONNA DOMINATE THAT TIGHT LITTLE PUSSY AND MAKE HER BEG FOR MY COCK.”

  PROLOGUE

  Before I started sleeping with Mr. Black, I was an independent woman. A confident, ambitious girl who knew what she wanted and never took any shit from people she didn’t like.

  And I was reckless. A real slut, in fact.

  I’d fuck any guy I needed to if it got me closer to my goals. Even for the smallest favor.

  Once, I sucked a guy’s cock in the bathroom stall of a church just so he’d hire me as his wedding photographer. I was taking pictures of him getting married later that afternoon.

  Of course, he looked like a perfect, happy in love groom, ready to embark on a lifetime of loyalty to his wife. If only my lens could expose the shithead underneath.

  But as a struggling photographer, I did what I had to do. Every action had purpose behind it, even the ones I was utterly ashamed of. I would do whatever was required for success.

  I may have done lots of things I’m not proud of, but it was all on the path toward a greater fulfillment. To realize my dream of being a professional.

  Until I met Mr. Black, the rich and powerful man who now dictates every aspect of my life.

  Now, I don’t dare even to take a shit without his permission. I’ve lost control over my life, my own sense of purpose.

  The old me would still have some form of self-respect. Until Mr. Black came into my life, I was the master of my own ship. Now I’m hardly a deckhand.

  Maybe that was his plan all along. To systematically destroy my will. And I’ll admit that a part of me wanted him to. I can’t deny that I allowed him to do it. I let him sap me of every ounce of dignity.

  Because I am in love with him.

  Because I am his obedient little submissive. And in truth, I like it this way.

  What is there left to fear when every decision in your life is given to someone else?

  Still, there’s a pestering little voice buried deep inside that Mr. Black just can’t seem to stamp out. It urges me to be naughty just for the sake of thrill.

  The tiny remnants of disobedience.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Come in, Delilah.”

  “Yes, sir.” My black heels click against the marble floor of Mr. Black’s office as I step inside.

  “And close the door behind you.”

  “Yes, sir.” With both hands full of the things he’d requested, I move to tuck a manila envelope underneath my arm to free up one hand. The envelope slips from my grasp and tumbles to the floor, spilling its contents of polaroids. For a moment, I just freeze.

&
nbsp; “I’m waiting, Ms. Palmer…”

  “Yes, sir!”I scramble to pick up the mess, regretting my hesitation. “Sorry, sir…” I stuff the scattered photographs back into the envelope, not wasting any time to stack them neatly again before getting up to close the mahogany door. The polished brass of the handle catches the morning light spilling in from the glass wall behind Mr. Black.

  The air of his presence is dominating. When I turn to face him, I have to immediately avert my attention rather than look him in the eyes. The quick jerk causes a stray lock of hair to fall over my glasses, and I pretend instead to be interested in the urban landscape behind him.

  I make a casual sweeping motion to put the hair back in place while advancing toward his desk, trying my best not to blush.

  “I… I have the negatives you were asking for.”

  “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Mr. Black asks, swiveling in his chair before getting up. His glossy black shoes sink into the plush red carpet surrounding the desk. He’s holding something behind his back, but I can’t tell what.

  “Y—Yes, sir.”

  He studies me a moment, letting his eyes rest on my cleavage behind a white blouse. Then he pauses when his notices my peep toe pumps, the glint of red nail polish peeking through at the ends.

  “That color looks ridiculous on you,” he says while his head gives a subtle, disappointed shake.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you really agree, or do you think that’s what I want to hear?” He raises an eyebrow, attempting to catch my gaze before I avert my eyes. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Delilah?”

  “No, sir.”

  He extends a hand with a look of expectation. I stand there a moment, unsure of what he wants. He taps against the polished wood desk, starting to look impatient. Oh shit, the photographs!

  “S—sorry sir! Here they are!” I reach beneath my arm, fumbling with the folder, nearly dropping it again. His eyes squint with a certain annoyance, fixing on me while I spread the negatives across the desk’s surface. He leans over the desk with his arms propping himself at either end while his laser beam gaze makes me self-conscious about my every movement.

  My hands begin to shake as I lay the photos out in order, four by four, just the way he wants. I had been photographing for next month’s cover model, and each polaroid was a different pose. Mr. Black had specific instructions for me to order them by my personal preference. He insisted that he review them in black in white only, and there always had to be exactly sixteen for him to look at once.

  When I’ve placed the last polaroid down, his head tilts down at last to the pictures before him. He scans the negatives, giving each a cursory glance.

  “Number twelve. That will be all, Ms. Palmer.”

  “Yes, s—“

  “Wait.” Mr. Black catches my wrist. “What’s this?” The polaroid I was about to pick up has a bit of extra white border, like there is another one peeking out from underneath. He takes the edge of the polaroid with thumb and finger, holding it with a sort of disgust like it might be contaminated with something.

  His lips curls at one end with a look of displeasure and gives the polaroid a shake. The polaroid stuck to the bottom peels away and falls to the desk face-up.

  I gap and cover my open mouth. My eyes light up, locked on the image before Mr. Black.

  “Ms. Palmer,” he says, planting an index finger onto the center of the polaroid, “would you mind telling me how this filth ended up in my office?” I can’t believe it. But there it is, right beneath his fingertip. The same selfie I snapped in secret the last time Mr. Black was on top of me, fucking me with my legs in the air, my face in a contortion of spectacular orgasm.

  I know I have to respond quickly, but the words won’t come. His shoulders slump with disappointment and one hand moves to the drawer of his desk. The drawer where he keeps the…

  “You should know better.” The drawer slides open and his hand dives out of view to fetch something inside. The sound of him rustling through its contents is enough to make me flinch. “Hand on the table, Ms. Palmer.”

  “But sir, it was a mista—“

  “Now.” His eyes squint with the dissatisfaction of his authority being challenged. The tone of his voice is cold and callous. I immediately regret talking out of turn.

  I lean forward to press my hands onto cool glass of the desk, fingers curled around the sides. The drawer slams shut, but I still can’t see what he has pulled out. My hands are numb and shaking; the color has gone out of them. The blood of my extremities is rushing toward the slick heat between my thighs.

  Mr. Black moves around the desk, keeping whatever he has pulled out concealed behind him. He moves with such powerful grace. The black of his tailored suit carves out the contours of his perfect male frame, broad shoulders and rippling muscles that stretch the dark fabric thin. Even with my eyelids closed I can feel the penetrating stare of those dark green eyes as he moves behind me.

  A soft hand slinks across my skirt, curving over the roundness of my ass as I’m bent over. My weight shifts to one leg as his hand dips between my thighs. A warm wetness seeps through my panties and my insides shudder. I bite down at one corner of my bottom lip, anticipating what was sure to happen next.

  The hem of my tight blouse rides up while I’m bent over, exposing the small of my back and the butterfly tattoo underneath. His fingers creep beneath the waist of my skirt one at a time. The fingers slide along the waistline around to the curve of my hips. Then his other hand slips in at the opposite side.

  “Mr. Black, I…” But my words are interrupted by the force of his downward jerk on my skirt. He pulls the black cloth down to my knees and I can’t help gasping at the bite of cold against my soft pale ass cheeks. Mr. Black insisted that his office be kept at a frigid sixty degrees Farenheit.

  “How many times have I told you to call me Daniel?” He traces an index finger across both cheeks, feeling the course texture of goosebumps there. I lift my ass in the air expectantly… eagerly…

  SMACK!

  The office walls reverberate with the slapping sound of skin against skin like a cracked whip. My hips jut forward and my back straightens as the pain surges up my spine.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “And yet—there you go again.”

  SMACK!

  His palm lands hard against the other cheek, twice as hard. My shoulders slump forward and I have to take a moment to retrieve my breath.

  “Sorry… Daniel.”

  “My sweet Delilah… must you make everything so difficult?” Daniel rubs at the spot where he had just spanked me, caressing it tenderly. “Sometimes I wonder if perhaps you enjoy these little sessions of ours too much.” Then he hooks two fingers underneath the crotch of my panties and pulls back, stretching the thin lace fabric until it rips. My ass shivers to the cold air against the wetness of my exposed pussy.

  Daniel scoffs, “Unbelieveable… you’re practically gushing already. I’m afriad I’ve been far too soft on you.” I reposition my hands at the edge of the desk in preparation for my next punishment.

  My eyelids flutter to the sensation of smooth wood gliding over my skin. He rubs small semicircles with the paddle on the tender spot of my ass, now crimson and raw. I gulp down and shut my eyes tight when the paddle pulls away, bracing myself for the pain to come.

  He hesitates a moment, savoring my tense expression before belittling me further with a soft chuckle.

  SMACK!

  The blow from the paddle is so intense that I can no longer support my weight with my hands. The stinging vibration crawls up my spine and shoots to every nerve. My elbows buckle and my chest collapses forward onto the desk.

  I lie there with the side of my face against the cold glass, cheeks hot and flushed and tingling with pleasure. The pace of my breathing quickens as warm, soggy juices trickle between my legs.

  SMACK!

  SMACK!

  SMACK!

  My eyes roll back. My ass burns
with a searing pleasure, invading my senses and numbing my thoughts. I can’t feel my face.

  “Blacking out so soon?” Daniel grabs a handful of hair and yanks my head back, learning in to whisper in my ear. “Pitiful.” He releases his grip and my head falls back with a thud. My chest heaves against the edge of the desk, the tiny buttons at the bottom of my blouse undone.

  Daniel straightens up to fix his suit and tie. “I really thought you were stronger than that.” As my vision returns, I can see him retrieving something from his pocket in my peripheral. “I’m rather disappointed in you, Delilah.”