“For God’s sake, Ginger,” he said—and she decided to be mad all over again because he was back to calling her Ginger, equating her to some plastic, glittery starlet on a long-ago TV show, some objectified woman who didn’t even exist, and it just made her struggle all the more. “Can’t you just be a good little girl and be still?”
Ha—as if that was the right thing to say to calm her down right now! She simply glared over her shoulder at him and pulled at the ties all the more desperately. “Let me loose,” she demanded through gritted teeth. Up to now, she’d stayed mostly quiet—another thing she could scarcely explain to herself—but this had gone too far. “Untie me right now!”
In response, he only sighed, as if she were annoying to him! She couldn’t help yanking violently at that point, trying to get her hands free, thinking if she pulled hard enough maybe she could rip it. “You have no right,” she began spouting—hardly planning as she spoke; they were just angry words spilling from her. “You have no right at all to—”
“I guess you can’t,” he said more loudly, over her complaints. “And do you know what happens to bad little girls, Ginger?”
That quieted her. Made her shiver.
And she didn’t reply, but she did finally go still and lift her eyes to his.
“Bad little girls,” he told her then, “have to be punished.”
Chapter 9
A thin ribbon of fear threaded its way up April’s spine. She didn’t know this man. At moments he’d seemed decent, and yes, he was a cop, which should count for something—but the reality was that she really didn’t know much more than that about him.
And what did he mean by punish? What if he really intended to hurt her in some way? Or defile her in some fashion she’d find repulsive? Another image of bound-and-gagged women flashed in her brain.
Somehow she’d truly given up her power to him. She lay on his couch with her arms literally tied behind her back, after all. And for a second she could barely breathe, imagining the worst.
“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” God, she hated how meek she sounded. She hated that she’d even asked at all, let her worry show. Like everything else about this situation, that wasn’t who she was, how she saw herself.
That’s when she caught the twinkle in his eye as he said in a deep voice, “I think you need a good, hard spanking, little girl.”
The words set off so many responses in her brain that she could barely process them all.
Okay, false alarm—he’s not going to hurt me.
But if he dares to think he’s going to actually spank me, he’s sorely mistaken.
And . . . how would that feel? Why is it supposed to be fun?
Of course, the last thought was dreadful, so she immediately pushed it aside and went back to the others. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, proud that she’d sounded at least a little more authoritative and in control than she had since her arrival here.
“Afraid not,” he replied, all confidence and sureness as usual. “I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what you need, Ginger.” And with that, he reached down and around to begin undoing the button and zipper on her capri pants.
It was shocking to feel so helpless, to not have use of her hands to try to push his away, and her natural inclination was to writhe back and forth as best she could. But her efforts were both exhausting and useless given how she remained pinned down by him.
Next, he began maneuvering them both into new positions. He finally lifted himself off of her to sit upright on the couch—but immediately hauled her over his knees, facedown, at the same time yanking her pants down over her bottom from behind, forcefully enough that they ended up around her knees. She struggled every bit of the way, but the pants now had the same effect as the sash around her wrists—they kept her from being able to kick her way free, of them or of him. The whole time she heard herself protesting, though so much was going on that she barely knew what she was saying—things like “Stop it!” and “Get off me!” And she was pretty sure she called him a son of a bitch.
But then his hand, big and warm, came to rest on her bare ass, and she felt the touch between her legs and the strangeness of knowing, deep down, that the fear she experienced right now was only of the unknown and that at the same time, that sort of excited her.
And the real truth was—she could fight and argue all night long, but she’d been excited since he’d answered the door. Even before that. She hated it. She hated not understanding it. She hated the feeling of giving up her strength when it went against everything she knew about herself. But nothing had ever excited her in the way Rogan Wolfe did. Nothing had ever excited her the way surrendering her power to him did.
And so she went still. Trying to wrap her head around that. Trying to find her bearings, her mind trapped between the excitement and the repulsion.
And then he began to spank her. First one slap to her ass, then another, and another.
She cried out at each—because each was jolting, freshly surprising in a way, and every one stung.
And at moments, she continued to flail about a little—a natural response, the urge to get free, get some modicum of control back, especially with her arms still secured behind her in her very own belt—but soon she realized the uselessness of it and so she settled down, simply absorbing what was happening.
Every time the flat of his hand delivered that shocking sting, it echoed a little farther through her body. And—oh Lord—each blow seemed to echo through her pussy as well. She hadn’t quite realized that at first, but now it was impossible not to recognize the heat, the heaviness, now residing between her legs as each slap to her ass vibrated outward.
How was it possible that this felt . . . good even as it hurt? And it did hurt. The area he spanked—the slapping sound it made seeming to fill the room—became more and more sore. But the region around it—oh hell, maybe even her whole body—resounded with a strange pleasure she couldn’t understand any more than she understood any of this.
And when she cried out now at each strike he delivered, she recognized it as a noise of passion that eventually became interspersed with hot, jagged moans she couldn’t contain.
She shut her eyes, began to accept where she was, accept the inexplicable pleasure. She sensed the man above her enjoying it just as much. Or maybe it was her new, growing acquiescence he was enjoying—or maybe all of it. It didn’t matter. In fact, at the moment, fewer and fewer of her concerns seemed to matter. She was thinking less, feeling more. Her bottom stung badly, and in one way she wanted him to stop—but in another way, she was willing now, more than ever before with him, to just cease thinking altogether and let it be what it was, whatever Rogan made it into. Because no matter how much it stung, it never stopped outweighing the hot sensations that reverberated through her entire being now. What had been on the border of deniable before no longer was. Plain and simple, being spanked brought her deep, irrefutable pleasure.
As it continued and she gave in more and more to the naughty, kinky joy of it, a shift of her body made her aware of—oh, mmm—Rogan’s erection, pressed hard as a stone against her hip. And her pussy pulsed even harder then, hungry for it, wild for it. She bit her lip as the hot ache spread through her like wildfire.
The time came when Rogan’s hand went still on her ass—same as it had started out there, and again, simply the quiet yet potent touch, after everything else that had just taken place, made her tingle. Vague questions floated through her mind much more calmly than a mere few minutes ago. What must my bottom look like by now? And what’s coming next? It felt beyond bizarre to suddenly realize how strangely exposed she was before him—and yet to be okay with that now.
That’s when he began to slowly spread his legs, the hand on her ass now guiding her body so that as he parted them, she slid slowly, gently down in between. She ended up on her knees on the floor, her cheek coming to rest on his inner thigh. She made no effort to move it. Instead she only looked up at him, met his gaze. God, h
e had pretty eyes. How had she never noticed that before? She’d seen everything so rough and commanding about him, but only now did she realize there was a certain masculine softness, too.
She felt what was happening here. Slowly. But surely. I’m giving in. I’m really giving in. And it was hard to accept, but suddenly harder not to just . . . let go. It felt the way she imagined drowning did. She’d always heard that once you gave in to the inevitable fact of drowning that it became peaceful, that it was, in fact, one of the most peaceful ways to die. That it was just letting go. Accepting. Resting your resistance. Allowing it to take you. And that same sort of illogical sense of allowing came over her now. She wanted this. She wanted to let this man control her. She wanted to give up all her power to him. She wanted to let go and simply trust him to bring her pleasure.
She didn’t even panic when he reached down to open his pants. She just watched, taking in details. The way his fingers worked the button, then the zipper. The vague sound of music from some other apartment. The black fabric of his underwear coming into view. The prominent column behind it. She’d felt that. Against her hip. Her body ached to feel it again.
And then he was reaching inside that black fabric—he used one hand to pull the underwear down, the other to extract his . . . cock. That’s what guys—and lots of women, too—call it; you don’t have to be afraid of the word.
It was just as big and hard and majestic as she remembered from last time—only this was the first moment she’d gotten a really good look at it. It stood before her right at eye level, only inches away. She bit her lower lip as a fresh, stark desire grew within her.
She’d thought maybe he would say something now, but she was glad when he didn’t. Silence was easier; silence helped her stay in the moment and just roll with it. And so when he kept his erection in one hand and placed the other on the back of her head to draw her closer, that’s what she did—rolled with it. Let it happen. She watched almost serenely as he held his stiffened cock down toward her lips. And she parted them without decision—it happened instinctively. On her knees, with her hands bound behind her, she tamely allowed him to feed his erection into her mouth.
April had never indulged in oral sex this way before. Never on her knees, below a man. Never without use of her hands. Never in a way that required so much courage and trust. And yet as the rigid column of flesh slid slowly between her lips, she accepted it willingly. Wantingly. As her mouth opened wider to accommodate him, it felt deliciously filled; she felt deliciously used. Not in a bad way. But used for . . . what a woman was given her sexuality for. Used in a way she now wanted to be used.
She was supremely docile now. Captive and strangely content by it. And when one last inkling of dismay entered her head, she told herself she really had no choice. He’d made her do this, after all. He’d tied her up; he’d held her down. And right now she was technically trapped between his legs, hands bound, both of his hands now behind her head as he eased his large shaft in and out, in and out, his low groans filling the air. She was being quietly forced to suck his cock.
But that was when more truth shone through and she realized she didn’t really want a choice. She was happy not to be deciding, happy to have choice taken away. She actually liked having his hands on her head, in her hair, pulling her onto his erection again, again. She thought, in fact, that she’d never really quite enjoyed giving a man a blowjob more. Deep down inside her, in that hidden place she was only just now daring to peek into, she liked the sense of being almost overwhelmed by the size of him between her lips; she liked not being able to be tentative, not being able to back off and get comfortable with what she was doing. She felt it more this way. Thrillingly more. Her lips felt stretched, and his eyes on her made her feel a little obscene. And her heart beat like crazy in her chest with all the utter sensation that created within her, all through her.
“Look at me,” he said.
She hadn’t since this part had started. She’d kept her eyes straight ahead, working to anticipate the movement of his cock, which had started out slow but then escalated to a slightly faster, pistonlike drive toward her throat. Now, though, she didn’t hesitate to lift her gaze to his. She didn’t even consider not doing it or worry that it might feel too personal or awkward. She became that miraculously compliant.
Eyes that had struck her as soft just a few minutes earlier now burned into her like hot coals, making her pussy flare with desire. His hands remained in her hair, slightly massaging her scalp now as he told her, “Damn, babe, you look so fucking hot sucking my dick. And so fucking . . . sweet. I didn’t even know you could look so sweet, honey. You’re being such a good girl now. Such a good girl for me.”
And despite the change in her, it still surprised her completely when his words, his praise, made her surge anew with fresh moisture between her legs. Dirty talk had never really been her thing. On the rare occasion a man she dated had used it, it had struck her as forced and immature. But this—this was different. Maybe it was his raspy delivery. Maybe it was the fact that she’d completely surrendered to him now. But whatever the case, the shocking truth was that at this moment she wanted to be his good little girl with all her heart.
Their eyes stayed locked as he continued sliding his cock in, out, in, out, in a rhythm she found pleasing.
“Do you like me fucking your mouth this way, baby?” he asked her.
She gave a slight, numb nod. No thought, no decision. She did. And she wanted him to know it. That simple.
In response, he increased the tempo slightly, pulling her more deeply onto him, and even as she began to wonder if she could handle it without gagging, she wanted to. And she did. Obediently. That part—the obedience—had gotten shockingly easy.
At some point, his eyes fell shut, his head dropping back, as he continued the steady thrusts between her lips. And her eyes closed, too, just soaking in the pleasure she took from bringing him pleasure. It suddenly seemed like . . . a gift. Getting to pleasure such a hot, sexy, virile man. It somehow made her feel special, lucky, to get to experience this, and skilled that her ministrations—even if forced—were good enough to make him relax into it like this. And in one way, having her mouth filled with his cock made her pussy ache for attention—but in another, this was enough. Just giving him this. Just being what he wanted her to be right now. Even if she didn’t know him that well. It still felt right, like her surrender had somehow brought them closer than they’d been before.
When he opened his eyes and peered back down at her, he said, “You are fucking beautiful like this.” Then his eyelids lowered halfway. “I bet your hot little pussy is soaking wet for me right now. Is it?”
From her, another nod. He asked, she answered—that simple. There was nothing to hide anymore, no more defenses to put up.
“Does your sweet little ass sting from where I spanked it, Ginger?”
One more nod even while her mouth was stuffed with his hard cock. And she suddenly didn’t even mind that he was calling her Ginger again. Everything had truly changed. The name almost felt . . . endearing now.
“I wish you could have seen how pink it was. Pretty and pink.”
Maybe that should have bothered her, but like everything else in this moment, it didn’t. Because she innately understood now—it had become pink because of what he had done to it, and that made the pinkness pretty.
“I’ll make it feel better,” he promised her.
And then he let go of her head and withdrew his cock from her mouth.
She actually released a small whimper at its departure. Her eyes fell on the enormous phallus that had just left her as it stood wetly between his legs now, jutting from his open blue jeans like some magnificent obelisk normally hidden away. Her lips were left sore and stretched, she was free from being held there, her mouth forcibly filled—she could speak now if she wanted to—and yet she instantly missed it.
But feeling his gaze still on her, she naturally lifted her eyes to his face—and they simply s
tayed like that for a long moment, a moment she felt truly bonding them. He was appreciating her for all she was—the hard and the soft, the power and the compliance, and the fact that she’d finally given in to something that every cell of her being had been fighting against. And she was appreciating him for being dominant and demanding, for giving even as he took from her, for kindness amid the severity, and for being patient as she learned her way in this foreign sexual landscape. She knew they had nothing more in common than they’d had an hour ago, she knew this was only a connection based on overwhelmingly intense chemistry—but she still felt a true union of sorts with him in this moment, and she knew she cared about him much more already, just because of what they were sharing, than she’d believed was possible.
And that’s when the kissing began.
Placing his hands on her hips to pull her upright on her knees, he lifted one palm to her cheek and bent to tenderly kiss her.
She wouldn’t have guessed the big bad wolf could kiss this way, so sweetly, so slowly, so deeply. These weren’t the torrid kisses she’d experienced with him at other times—this was gentle and loving and sank into her core.
Though she found herself wishing she had use of her hands, and growing aware that her arms were tired from being held in one position for so long now, she still kissed him back for all she was worth, letting herself descend fully into the loveliness of it. Just as no man had ever treated her so harshly, she wasn’t sure if any man had ever kissed her so lovingly, either.
As they kissed, he caressed her breasts, making her moan into his mouth. And then he lowered the bra straps from her shoulders, pulling them down far enough that both breasts tumbled free.
“Aw, babe,” he murmured deeply at the sight, and she loved how taken he seemed by them, and when he bent to rake his tongue over one turgid nipple, a high-pitched sigh of delight echoed from her throat.
Give In To Me Page 12
