"You tell me to lay myself across your lap."
"I do not put you into place myself?"
"No." Ana choked on her own admission, her heart racing. "I have to submit openly, freely. I'm not supposed to kick either, but once you start spanking me, I almost always do."
Miranda let her fingers caress Ana's hips and waist. "Disobedience during a spanking will always earn you extra punishment."
"I can't help it."
"I know you can't."
If her heart beat any faster, it would explode right out of her chest.
"It's my job take you to the edge of what you can bear," Miranda told her. "If you can handle a punishment calmly, then it's not punishment. It's pleasure. A real spanking doesn't start until you wish it were over." Slowly, with great meaning, Miranda leaned back on the couch. Her lap became amplified between them, an unfulfilled promise that waited to be either accepted or rejected.
Ana lowered herself into position. She wiggled, making sure her bottom centered upon Miranda's thighs, before she clutched at the stretch of sofa cushion that bolstered her torso. The tips of her toes braced against the floor behind her. It was a position that felt at once both awkward and like coming home, although this wasn't like any home she had known before.
Miranda's arm settled across the small of her back, her hand wrapping the curve of Ana's hip. Every fine hair on her neck and arms rose to attention when she felt Miranda's right hand came to rest on the back of her thigh. Her thumb lined the crease where the flesh of her bottom curved up into the hilliest part. "What comes next, lovely?"
"You spank me—ee!" Before she could get the word out, Miranda's hand cracked down. It caught nearly all of her right cheek, and imparted a sting unlike anything Ana could have imagined. It was, even without Miranda's full strength behind the stroke, as different from Ana's feeble spatula spanking at home as night was from the blistering heat of day.
"Do I spank you hard?" Miranda purred, her hand caressing a path to Ana's left bottom cheek.
"Yes—oh!" Ana abandoned the couch cushion. She grabbed Miranda's knee instead.
"Because you've been a naughty girl and this is what you need?"
Two sharp smacks now instead of one. Ana yelped both times, her eyes widening. Her gaze locked on to the fabric pattern of the cushion before her, seeing nothing, but feeling everything. Miranda's body melted into her own, the caress of her hand broadening the growing tingle in Ana's own skin. The tingle warred with the budding of genuine heat. Not of lust this time, but the heat of a real spanking, suffusing the fleshy orbs of her bottom.
"Yes," Ana gasped.
"Do I scold you in your fantasies?"
"Yes!" Four spanks this time. Ana tried, but it became harder to hold still. Drops of moisture tickled through her nether lips, spilling down to dampen her thighs. The biting staccato slaps stung the surface of her skin. "Oh!"
"What do I say?"
"How disappointed you are." Another burst of fiery slaps. Four, only four. But never had a mere four spanks made it so impossible to hold still. "H-how you wish y-you didn't have to, but I leave you no choice! Ow! Ow!" Ana threw back her head as four spanks suddenly morphed into a flurry of many more. She grabbed Miranda's leg with both hands now, arching her back and fighting not to kick. "How you'll spank me until I learn how to behave! Ow! Owww!"
The spanking stopped. Miranda took Ana's arm and pulled her upright, shifting her equilibrium. She hovered over the couch cushion, thunderstruck by the raging heat pulsing in her bottom as lust pulsed between her legs. Ana tried to kneel back on the floor, but Miranda shifted her, pulling until she found herself sitting on the lap she had just been spanked over.
"Do I tell you it will hurt me every bit as much as it does you?" Miranda asked, her smiling mouth softening that lie, while her eyes blazed with an arousal that matched Ana's own.
Take me to your bed. Shocked at herself, Ana lunged for Miranda's seductive lips, enveloping them in the same hungry, passionate kiss she had so often dreamt about in her fantasies. Except this was real life, and these were real lips responding to the kisses Ana pressed upon them. The blazing heat of a real mouth, opening when Ana opened hers. A real sigh echoing Ana's own moan when Miranda gripped her hips and squeezed, rubbing, massaging, her fingertips applying pressure upon all the tender places where her bottom burned and throbbed.
Ana cried out, writhing in Miranda's fierce embrace, though not to break away. She wanted Miranda. Here. Now. She tore at the buttons on Miranda's entirely too matronly costume, stripping away the dowdiness to reveal the pale soft flesh beneath. She pressed her breasts to Miranda's, the skin-to-skin contact she craved burning her every bit as hot as the heat in her bottom.
Without warning, her equilibrium flipped as Miranda reached all the way down, grabbing Ana under her aching bottom and between her legs. She lifted her before tossing her down again, flat on her back with the softness of the sofa cushions catching her. Their mouths broke apart. Miranda's lips were flushed and swollen, and her dark eyes had turned positively smoky with desire.
"This changes nothing, lovely, do you understand?" She cupped Ana's cheek, stroking her as if striving to soothe. Ana burned too hot to want soothing. "No expectations. No obligations. Do you understand?"
Ana stared uncomprehendingly at Miranda's lips, not wanting to understand anything, desperate only to feel them branding her skin once more. She arched to catch her with another kiss. Despite Miranda's reassurances, this did change things and she knew it did.
It changed her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ana had always known she was kinky, pretty much since high school when she was summoned by the principal because someone had stolen her 'special' notebook and turned it in. There had been nothing special about the actual notebook. It was a black three-ring binder from Office Depot, with pictures of tigers taped under the plastic cover, five subject dividers for the sheaf of college-lined paper inside, and a neon-pink plastic pouch to hold all her pens, pencils and erasers. What was special about it, was the writing she thought she'd hidden well enough to never be discovered behind a half-inch of graded homework assignments. It was that writing that had got her into trouble.
It hadn't even been her writing. Rather, it had been every spanking, bondage, or lesbian love scene she'd stumbled across in any book she'd read since the sixth grade, when her mother gave her her very first library card and granted her carte blanche access to the whole of the Redmond Public Library. And boy, did Ana make good and dubious use of that consent. Within that archaic structure of stone, wood and glass, she'd discovered just how powerfully the written word could affect her, whether it be historical, adventurous, or dramatic… or even erotic. It had been in that library, curled up on a cushion in an otherwise empty kids' section with her nose buried in the saucy tale of two liberated women, that Ana had felt her first pulse of arousal.
She couldn't keep that book—she didn't even dare take that one home—but she had kept the scene, painstakingly copying it down in her special notebook so she could re-read it whenever she wanted. Two women in love with each other, enjoying each other's bodies without shame, fear, or guilt. Imagine that!
From then on, she had copied into her notebook every scene that attracted her interest or sparked a seductive pulse. She'd collected hundreds of them by the time some do-gooder stole her binder. To this day, she could still remember how it had felt to sit in that chair, pinned under the disapproving gaze of a man who had lectured her for over an hour on the evils of pornography and then called her parents.
That wait for her parents to arrive had been the longest twenty minutes of her life. Upon their arrival, they had stormed the principal's office, outraged on their maligned daughter's behalf only to see that notebook for themselves and read some of those excerpts with their own stricken eyes. The principal's condescension was nothing compared to her mother's tears and her father's anger.
"You could overcome this if you weren't so stubborn," her mother had
begged.
"It's all your fault!" Her father had slammed his chair against the wall, sending Ana cowering into the nearest corner and her mother wailing into a fresh flood of tears. Even Principal Othkers had flinched. "'Let her read,' you said. 'What harm could it do?' Well, now I'm telling you, obviously what Ana needs is some good, old-fashioned sense knocked into her."
He'd advanced toward her, stopped only by Principal Othkers' remonstration. "I suggest you take your daughter home and teach her good Christian morals."
With that, Principal Othkers had suspended her for a week, demanding a written apology and promise to reform.
"Do you have to like girls?" her mother had asked afterward. "Couldn't you try harder to be normal?"
"No," Ana remembered telling her as she'd blinked the tears away. Couldn't they see? Why would she choose this life if she had the option for an easier one? "You have to make Dad understand."
And because Mom always gave in, she squeezed Ana's shoulder. "All right. But you have to give up the dirty stories."
Ana had promised and, from that moment on, she had kept her word.
Peyton had been the first crack in Ana's sexual armor forged all those years ago. Miranda was the second. But this… Ana stared at the stack of forms spread out on the table between herself and Miranda in flustered, stammering dismay. This was shocking enough to shatter that armor into millions of tiny pieces.
"I don't think I can do this," she hedged, pushing aside one way-too-personal questionnaire only to reveal another beneath it.
"It's part of the admittance process," Miranda said, checking to make sure Ana had all the correct forms. She tested a shiny gold ballpoint pen before placing it in Ana's hand. "Everyone goes through it. It's overwhelming, but if you take it one question at a time, you'll get through it just fine. And I'll be sitting right here in case you have questions."
That made things worse, not better. Who wanted an audience when answering questions about her anal sex preferences? Particularly not when she picked up the second questionnaire and her eyes fell on the question: Should sexual contact be initiated, what form do you prefer it take? Check any that apply. Then there was a list. A massive list—oral, vaginal and anal took up the top three spots, but a confusing array of options included an entire section devoted to insertables.
"What… what's a Hi—what is that? Hi…tac…hi?"
"Hitachi wand?" Miranda supplied.
Ana gave the paper a dubious frown. "Is that how it's pronounced?"
Getting up from the table, Miranda gave her an indulgent smile as she walked away, disappearing down the hall into her bedroom. She returned only a moment later with a cordless contraption that could only have been the wand in question. To Ana, it looked more like a scepter with a big, roundish rubber head. Instead of Hitachi, it read Miranda, followed by the Castle logo. Ana gave a quizzical look to Miranda, who laughed.
"The Castle creates its own brand of toys, and it named its Hitachi-like vibrator after me. I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted." When Ana gaped, Miranda gave a wry smile. "Of course, I'm better than the Hitachi, or so I'm told. Here, hold out your hand."
Ana did so, eying the wand as Miranda pressed its round head into her palm. With the click of a button, Ana's whole hand filled with a vibrating buzz. She blinked, gradually closing her fingers around the ball-shaped head while, with click after click, Miranda put it through a series of different settings which adjusted the pattern of the vibrations.
"Oh," she said softly, liking the last one best. "That one's not bad. That would feel great on my back after a hard day of preschoolers."
The laughing brown hues of Miranda's steady gaze brightened, seeming to sparkle with growing amusement. "It's not meant for your back."
"Well, no. I mean, I know that, but I've never been fond of vibrators. They just don't do anything for me." Her face began that slow burn all over again. "I mean, of course I've tried them. But, you know, they've just never affected me the way… you know… other women write about in reviews."
"Mm." Miranda looked at her, as if Ana had issued some kind of challenge and now she was debating whether or not she ought to rise to it. Her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed, and her entire demeanor changed into one of subtle authority. "All right. Stand up."
"That's okay." Ana tried to withdraw her hand, only to have Miranda take her wrist.
"Stand," she said again, still smiling and yet with a thread of steely command creeping in amongst the words.
Ana looked at the wand humming in Miranda's hand. She felt silly. Heat bloomed hotter in her face, but she eventually obeyed, rising to her feet and pivoting to face that loudly vibrating scepter.
Miranda eased closer. Ana's heart quivered when Miranda dipped her head, but she didn't kiss her. Not really. Her lips brushed just shy of truly touching Ana's, retreating even as Ana tipped her chin, chasing wistfully after a kiss that never quite materialized. She didn't realize Miranda's true intent until she felt fingertips sliding down the front of her zipper to cup her through her jeans. The heat of her palm and the press of her fingers along the seam of her sex brought Ana right to the verge of tiptoes.
"Hands on your head," Miranda directed.
Ana wasn't sure she could keep her balance like that, but she didn't argue. She slapped her hands on top of her hair, interlacing her fingers and clutching them tightly. Funny, how fast Miranda could make her sex come humming back into instant arousal. Ana wasn't multi-orgasmic. She was a once and done kind of girl, with maybe a little cuddling afterward, neither of which Miranda had had difficulty with, right up until they'd decided to tackle Ana's admittance paperwork. Or, more accurately, Miranda had decided Ana should tackle the paperwork.
Ana was learning that what Miranda wanted, she got. It should have bothered her—shades of Peyton all over again—but instead Ana found it intensely sexy. She'd never realized the turn-on of a powerful woman in command of herself without needing to domineer. Ana found herself hoping she could learn to convey that same calm center of authority, but for now, calm flew out the window when Miranda massaged her, following the seam of her jeans back and forth along the slit of her sex.
"Deep breath," she cautioned. "Steady yourself. Ah, but I forget. You don't find vibrators stimulating, so this won't affect you at all."
One moment it was Miranda's fingers that she could feel, pressing in on her folds, searching for her clit through the thick cloth of her pants. In the next, the hum of the vibrator was right there, pressing in right where she never knew she'd needed to feel it. Her knees buckled out from under her.
"Steady," Miranda said again, her brown eyes once more dancing with laughter.
Ana stiffened her legs, or at least she tried. "Uh…. ooohh!" The vibrations shook her, turning her legs to water and releasing a flood of molten arousal that flowed from her as Miranda turned up the power. She took the wand from an idle hum to a bone-rattling buzz, and Ana fell back against the table. Miranda moved with her, keeping the head of the Miranda exactly where it needed to be. Incredibly, she turned it up even higher and then changed the rhythm of the pulse.
"OooOOOH!"
Miranda took her right to the very edge, right to the brink of sudden sexual chaos before something changed. Miranda's smile faltered, then faded. Abruptly, cruelly, she switched the Miranda off.
"Damn it," she said softly. She all but slapped the wand down on the table by Ana's hip. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a phone Ana hadn't yet noticed. Looking at the screen, Miranda's face underwent another subtle change, although this one wasn't pleasant to watch. She grew somber. For just a second, Ana thought she saw a flicker of panic, but if she did, Miranda had it masked faster than she could lurch from the table. "I'm sorry. I have to go."
Go? Her legs shaking, Ana grabbed the table to keep from falling. She stared, horribly confused, while Miranda ducked back into her bedroom to grab a jacket. "Did I do something wrong?"
Whether it was her words or her tone, as
Miranda shot back through the living room on her way to the door, she stopped. Dismay naked on her face, she came back to the table. "No," she promised, cupping Ana's cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong, lovely. Please believe me, I would not be leaving right now were this anything less than an absolute emergency."
The phone in Miranda's pocket buzzed a second time, and it made the pit of Ana's stomach tighten with the same dreadful fist-clench that her own phone did when she knew Peyton was on the other end.
"Finish your paperwork," Miranda said, caressing her hair back from her face. "I'll help you as soon as I get back."
"When?" The small, childish entreaty flushed Ana's cheeks with embarrassment. She didn't mean to be so needy.
Miranda didn't laugh at her, though. Leaning down, she kissed Ana's right cheek, then her left, and after the slightest hesitation, dipped down to steal a tender taste of her lips. "As soon as I can, I promise I'll be back."
Shame and disappointment rippled through her. She made herself smile, so she wouldn't be an imposition. "It's okay."
She'd said it was an emergency. She said if it weren't an emergency, then she wouldn't be leaving. And yet, all she could think was that Miranda was a professional Domme, so what else could she expect? People paid a lot of money to spend time with her. Obviously, Ana's time had run out.
That made her feel even more ashamed. Emergency, she had to remind herself. She didn't know the circumstances. There might be very good reasons as to why non-emergency Ana couldn't compete.
Miranda stole another kiss, a quicker one this time. Ana could taste the urgency as she pulled away. "Finish your paperwork. When I get back, we'll get your bracelet, our costumes, and I'll take you on a tour of the estate—the house, the garden, wherever you'd like."
She was placating Ana like a crying child in need of a piece of candy, but Ana found herself reaching for it anyway. "Will you take me to see the horses?"
Ana Adored: Mistress of the Castle (Masters of the Castle) Page 9
