“Eat your food,” he said gruffly, and this time, I didn’t argue or resent him telling me what to do.
* * *
Clay
Her reaction said it all. Every reason I had to stay away from her. Every desire begging to be fulfilled. She was an open book. Her attitude was a protective mechanism and I was inadvertently stripping it away. Put it back, my thoughts screamed. Leave her alone. She’s twelve. I mean, she wasn’t actually twelve, but she was far enough apart from my age that it bothered me how much I was attracted to her. I didn’t usually go for anyone who was too young to drink.
Something drew me to her in a way I’d never been pulled to anyone before, and the harder I tried to remain aloof, the worse it got. My cock was hard again, already, and I kept getting fleeting mental images of tying her up on a St Andrew’s Cross and caning her.
That fake tan would wash off in a few days and I was willing to bet that underneath, her skin was the sort of shade that would contrast deliciously with cane marks.
“Why d’you keep looking at me weird?” she asked through another mouthful of food.
I was used to being completely honest with women, and it irked me that I didn’t feel comfortable telling her what I wanted to do to her. This is why I didn’t date anyone as young as her—or anyone vanilla, for that matter.
“How am I looking at you?” I asked, instead of answering her.
“Your eyes go really intense, like you’re mad at me, but I have no idea what I did to make you look so furiously at me.”
Anger? She thought I was mad at her? Her lack of experience with attraction—and probably sex—was another glaring red flag.
“Eat your food,” I growled, getting up and going into the living room to avoid her. This was ridiculous. I was a grown-ass man in my own home, how was a tiny, pretty little thing getting under my skin so bad?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized I’d like her to stick around awhile longer, until I knew her better. I stood up ready to ask her to stay, and I was standing beside the door to the kitchen when I heard her mutter to herself, “And why does it make my panties want to drop when he looks at me like that?”
I stayed where I was, listening until she finished eating, then I stepped into the kitchen.
“You finished?” I knew she was. Her cutlery was placed together in the middle of the plate, in that way people only left it when they were done eating.
“Yep. It was good, thanks.” Maybe my ears were deceiving me, but it sounded like she was struggling to keep her voice even, too. As the responsible adult, I knew I ought to put a stop to this.
“I want to take a look at your leg, where I hit you with the truck,” I told her, trying to keep my voice level.
“Sure.” She tried to roll her pants back, but she was wearing those skinny jeans that were crazy tight and impossible to move. I realized the awkward situation I’d put us in at the same moment she did.
“You’re—”
“I’m going to have to take my jeans off,” she muttered.
Before I said anything else, she had unbuttoned and unzipped herself, and was wiggling out of the tight sheaths of fabric. I watched her panties appear, completely hypnotized, and I couldn’t look away while she jiggled and bounced around trying to get out of her pants.
When she had them past her feet, she finally pulled them off and folded them over the back of a chair.
“Sit down,” I told her, trying to fight the painful erection that was growing at the sight of her almost-naked lower half.
She sat on the chair and I knelt in front of her so I could examine her knee, leg and ankle. I felt like I was kneeling before a goddess, while she commanded me to my destruction, and that wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed. I was used to taking charge and yet somehow, around Kinsley, I barely controlled myself. The humiliation of this situation was making my inner dom boil over and I knew I was close to doing something I’d regret for the rest of my life.
“Are you too hot?” she asked. “Your face has gone red.”
“Hush. I’m asking the questions, here.” I looked at the bruising around her kneecap and down her shin. Occasionally, I touched it and noted her reactions. Her ankle was swollen and she clearly hadn’t taken care of herself. “Those skinny jeans are inappropriate. For your injury, I mean. They’re too tight for the swelling. You need to elevate your leg and rest it. I have some bruise cream that will help.”
“I can go change, but I only have pantyhose and a skirt, apart from this.”
“Wear the skirt, no hose,” I said, starting to feel more in control now that she was letting me tell her what to do. “You’re not going anywhere for a day or two, while this heals.”
And God help me, I was going to have to hold onto all the things I wanted to do to her, and find a very willing, extremely overage submissive to enact them all on, after Kinsley was gone.
“Okay. I’ll go change.” She got up and went upstairs, not limping although it must have hurt. Was that an acting skill, to ignore the pain from an injury? Or did she have a high threshold?
Chapter 3
“Beauty is how you feel inside, and it reflects in your eyes. It’s not something physical.” — Sophia Loren
Clay
She came back down in a cute, pleated mini-skirt that looked like it belonged in a Catholic school uniform.
“That’s your skirt?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yep. I brought it for auditions. So I can move freely.”
The innocence in that statement was too much to take. I pointed to the chair beside the kitchen table once more.
“Sit.” I pulled out the chair beside her and lifted her ankle onto it, to elevate her leg.
I poured two cups of coffee and sat opposite her.
“Do you know what BDSM is?” I asked.
“Everyone does.” Her face had turned red.
Oh, boy, this was going to be the toughest conversation of my life. But if she was staying here, she needed to know what she was getting into.
“You’re not limping when you walk,” I told her.
“I just... tuned it out, I guess.”
“Who taught you how to do that?”
“No one. I just... I’ve always done it.”
I didn’t believe anyone was a “true submissive”, but some people were surely more predisposed to it than others. Kinsley’s attitude from yesterday had pretty much vanished, and straight away I saw it for what it truly was; self-protection. There had been no one else to take care of her from a young age, so she fought her own battles, to stop herself from getting hurt.
“Why didn’t you try to stop me when I spanked you, last night?” I wasn’t trying to imply she had the responsibility, I was trying to make her think about this.
“I don’t know. Something about you... I don’t know. And I wanted to be mad at you, but I couldn’t. Because I felt like it made sense.”
“What would you do if I told you to bend over my knee right now?”
She wiggled uncomfortably, and I was sure I’d gone too far, but then she said, “I’d want to know what you were going to do, and why.”
“Consent is a big deal. And I royally screwed up last night. I shouldn’t have spanked you like that. We don’t have any kind of agreement in place. But if you’re going to stay at my house, you will have to follow my rules. If you don’t, I will punish you.”
“Because you see me as a child?”
“Because I see you as a submissive.” Once the words were out there, I couldn’t take them back, and I knew they were true. “I want to make you obey me, to make you do things that you’re clearly not ready to do, things you’re too young to know about, and that scares me.”
She slammed her hand on the table, filling the room with a thundering crack, and I looked at her in surprise.
“Why do you keep confusing yourself? Part of you thinks I’m a child and too young for you to touch or think about, and yet the rest of you wants to do adult stuff
because you know I’m an adult. I’m over age. I’m old enough. Stop holding me at arm’s length for a stupid reason!”
My voice dropped and my defenses fell away in the face of needing to punish her insolence. “Fine. Do you consent to a play session? It will last one hour. I want you to tell me if there’s anything you wouldn’t do.”
“Butt stuff. And don’t cut me. I can’t get scarred or casting agents won’t hire me. And no bathroom stuff; no pee, no poop, nothing like that. And I want a safeword.”
Okay, maybe I had underestimated her. “Oh, you’re getting a safeword. And I’m insisting that we use condoms whether you’re on birth control or not.”
“I’m not. And I don’t have any allergies.”
Was she just fast at playing along? She seemed to have picked this up pretty quickly. “All right. Have you done any of this before?”
“Nope. I mean, you spanked me last night.”
“This will be more intense. I’ll keep the weight off your knee. Drink up.”
I finished my coffee, watching her obey as she drank the last of hers. Once she was done, I scooped her up and carried her upstairs.
* * *
Kinsley
The tension between us had eased off, in some regards. I mean, we’d got it all out in the open, and I understood what had been going on in the background, now, but there was a new unease that took its place. I was about to do something I’d never done before.
Ever since I’d first learned how to touch myself, quite a while ago, I had always imagined being tied down. I’d even tried doing it to myself, but as I’d orgasmed while my feet strained against the footboard of my bed, I’d realized the rope wasn’t the thing that had captured my imagination. It was the control. My fantasies had developed further. I imagined being forced to obey a naughty army sergeant who outranked me. He would make me do so many obscene things before he’d let me come. There was the fantasy about being a princess in an enchanted forest, being found by a dark knight who took payment for rescuing me, by throwing me down on the forest floor and making me lift up my skirts so he could fuck me hard. And there was my favorite. The cowboy who was an expert with rope, and who didn’t take any crap from his woman. That fantasy had started when I’d seen a late-night re-run of some western where John Wayne had put his mail-order bride over his knee and spanked her.
I kept it all to myself, because situations like that didn’t happen in real life, and anyway, I had a dream to pursue. I wanted to be an actress, and I viewed my vivid sexual fantasies as another way my desire to act manifested itself. Why have regular sex, or a regular life, when you could pretend to be a character in a scenario, instead?
But it was real. Here was a living, breathing cowboy, who had already proved he’d have no hesitation about spanking the snot out of me if I misbehaved, and I wasn’t going to shy away from this experience, even if I regretted it, later.
He crossed the landing, walked through a door, then went up a second set of stairs. He placed me on my feet at the entrance to a huge, airy attic room with Velux windows and cream walls. There were hooks protruding from the ceiling. Strange, leather-topped furniture was dotted around the room.
I felt like I’d walked onto the set of a music video.
“In this room, you will do what I tell you, or face punishment.” His voice had taken on a harder edge, and it was difficult to not moan in response, while my body softened and my core flooded with warmth. “You will acknowledge that you understand what I have said by always replying with, ‘yes,sir’. Do you follow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl. Your safewords are pretty simple; ‘red’ will make everything stop. ‘Orange’ will tell me you’re struggling but want to continue. ‘Green’ will tell me everything is fine. Some people use those differently, but that’s how I use them. I will specifically ask you from time to time, but you can use them at any time if you need to tell me how you’re feeling. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we can begin. Remove your clothing.”
I pulled my shirt over my head hesitantly. As soon as my bra was out in the open, my face flushed. I stared at my feet and tried to continue, but this was hard.
Taking my clothes off in front of someone else was something I’d done plenty of times for costume changes during plays. I’d never quite gotten used to it, however, and the intensity of this situation made it feel different from the times when everyone had been awkwardly throwing off that dress from act one and hopping around trying to get their other foot into the pants needed for act two.
This time was something else, entirely. I was undressing under the watchful gaze of a hot cowboy who seemed to have stepped right out of all my fantasies and now demanded my obedience.
“Keep going.”
I made the mistake of looking at him. Clay’s eyes were fixed on my body, an expression of pure lust on his face. No one had ever looked at me like that before.
“Yes, sir,” I breathed, reaching down to unbutton my skirt. My clit was beating in time with my pulse. Liquid slid out of my channel, into my panties. Had the room gotten hotter or was I sweating for another reason?
I fumbled the button for a moment, but once it was open, I found the zipper and tugged it down. The skirt tumbled until it landed around my feet, spreading out like a slightly-crumpled flower.
I was only in my bra and panties. I wished I was less afraid of revealing myself, but my bra was actually a push-up bra with the extra padding and my panties covered the fact I hadn’t been mowing the lawn, down there.
My mom had always said men liked women with big breasts, shaved pussies, lots of makeup and sleek, straight hair. I’d never really found the time to keep my body hair at bay, because there seemed to be more of it every week, and I’d never had a motive, because discounting the random harassment every woman had to fight off, no guy had ever shown much interest in me before now.
I hadn’t really figured out makeup, either. I’d tried watching YouTube videos but they all seemed to be aimed at people with huge amounts of money. At least, I didn’t know how anyone except billionaires afforded $50 foundation and a set of brushes that cost $20 per brush.
My experiments with more affordable options had always ended in one of two ways. I either forgot I was wearing mascara and rubbed my eyes, or I tried a shade of lipstick or eyeshadow at home and realized I looked like Eighties Stripper Barbie, which sent me rushing to the bathroom to clean it all off before anyone saw. Stage makeup was something else entirely and I seemed to manage that a lot easier than real-life makeup.
My hair was not straight, and I’d never really gotten into the habit of flat ironing it unless I was in a play where I needed straight hair to get into character. I was fully aware that I was not hot compared to the sort of women that men found attractive.
As far as my boobs were concerned, whenever I went shopping, I habitually squeezed the bras to check which ones offered the best padding. I couldn’t do much about the rest of my inadequacies, but I’d gotten used to the shape and size of my chest with the huge padded bras. Having to bare myself and remove my bra made my tummy invert, because I was sure Clay would get mad at me for misleading him once he saw the actual size of my breasts.
“I’m waiting,” he prompted me.
“Now. You want me to do this... now.” I tried to breathe calmly. He put a hand on my cheek and I leaned into it.
“Yes, now. Delaying is disobedient. Take off your bra and panties, missy.”
I unfastened my bra only after scrunching my eyes closed. I don’t know why I did that. I guess it made it easier to imagine that the room had mysteriously had a blackout or something, if I couldn’t see what I was doing. Or perhaps I was pretending I was alone.
Once I disentangled my bra from my arms, I heard it land on the floor. The slight chill from the air conditioner swirled around my upper body, making it impossible to forget I was almost completely naked.
“Open your eyes, Kinsley.
”
When he started speaking, I flinched, ready to be ridiculed and told to get dressed again, but his tone wasn’t angry.
“I’m scared,” I whispered. My throat was too tight to speak properly.
“What are you afraid of?” His hand was on my cheek again, stroking my skin and making it hard to keep my eyes so rigidly screwed shut.
I began to relax my expression.
“Disappointing you.”
“Why would you disappoint me by doing what I told you?” His voice was gentle, and it lulled me calmer.
“Because I’m not very sexy,” I mumbled. A wave of nausea washed over me. Saying the words made them seem more real and true, somehow.
“Only I decide if you’re sexy,” he replied.
“I know. That’s what I’m scared of.”
His palm left my cheek and he took one of my hands, untangling my fingers from themselves with his other hand. He moved my palm down to something hard.
“Your opinion about whether you’re hot or not has been overruled by my cock,” he said. “It’s been fighting to fuck you since I first saw you trying to hitch a ride.”
“But... why?” I asked in disbelief.
“Being the dom means I don’t need to justify myself to you. Now take your panties off.” His reminder that he was in control made me shiver and my fingers were in the waistband of my panties before my brain had a chance to get in the way and second-guess what I was doing.
“Sex isn’t an audition,” he murmured into my ear, as my panties slid past my embarrassingly rampant pubic hair. “I’m not comparing you to a line-up of other women. It’s just me and you in here. And all you need to think about is doing whatever I tell you.”
I moaned again. He’d taken me from paralyzing self-doubt straight to deep, soul-wrenching arousal in a few short sentences. I stepped out of my panties.
“Now open your eyes,” he growled, keeping his voice low like he was trying not to spook me. The tone was reassuring and I found myself trusting him enough to do as he told me. I blinked in the sudden light of the room. His expression wasn’t one of revulsion or disappointment.
Take Me Hard: Arizona Heat 3 Page 3
