I tried to keep calm against my thudding heart rate as I popped open the tube and applied the shade to my lips.
I didn’t usually get so turned on by my lipstick. But I hadn’t been properly spanked for weeks and just the thought of it was enough to send licks of imaginary pleasure down the backs of my thighs. I let out a deep breath. I had been promised release. Soon. Tonight. I just had to hold on for a couple more hours.
My doorbell rang, and I scooped up the lipsticks and tossed them back into the basket above the sink before rushing to answer the door. I was still only wearing my underwear, but I recognized the knock of my play partner before a kink party—timid but full of anticipation.
Sure enough, I found Beth on my stoop as I answered the door.
Beth had dark hair and the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen. She had spent her twenties being mistaken for a teenager and now at thirty-three she could almost pass for twenty-one. We had a lot in common. We both were often taken for being younger and more innocent then we really were. We both had a soft spot in our hearts for baroque-era Italian painters. And we both shared Zach—a Dom with a strict hand and creative mind.
“Joanne!” she greeted me. “Sorry I’m early. You look nice. I brought a cherry cobbler.” She held up a covered dish.
“It’s okay. Thanks. And uh. Great.”
She stood in her nervousness, holding the door open wide as I stood in my underwear. I reached out and pulled her inside.
An embarrassed blush tinted her cheeks as I closed the door.
“Oh . . . sorry. I . . . wasn’t thinking.”
I leaned in to peck her lips, softly enough not to ruin our makeup. Her rosy-red lipstick matched her short polished nails, and I held back an aggravated sigh. She was driving me mad and she didn’t even know it.
“It’s fine, relax,” I said. “I’m almost ready. Do you want to sit down? Won’t be long.”
“I’ll be fine waiting here, as long as you need. Don’t rush for me.” Beth smiled and held up the cobbler pan like a perky 1950s waitress. Indeed, the cut of her dress was vintage: a well-fitted navy-blue with pinpoint red dots printed over it that gave her the feminine charm of pulp-era comic books.
“Just let me throw on a dress and we’ll go,” I said.
I rushed into my bedroom and glared into my closet. I was not nearly as fashionable as Beth. My wardrobe consisted entirely of two-dollar bag sales at the corner thrift shop. But I found what I had in mind: a loosefitting Bohemian-style dress with bell sleeves. I chose the dress because the material was thin. Not only was the summer night going to be humid, but I was taking a preemptive measure in case Zach decided to torture me by making me keep my dress on for most of my scene. Tingles spread over my skin at the thought of being so crafty against my Dominant.
My attitude wasn’t entirely my own fault—he was being difficult on purpose. More than once over the last two weeks I had cornered Zach in isolated corners during quiet times of the day and begged for an emergency scene. A maintenance spanking. A pity punishment. I didn’t even need to get off, I told him, just give me something, anything, to think about.
The answer was no every time. With an even tone and stern gaze, he told me I had to wait for the party.
Tonight’s party.
I brushed out some wrinkles in the skirt before I instinctively reached for my toy bag next to my dresser.
I stopped myself. Zach had told both Beth and me not to bring anything of our own. Zach was going to supply our scenes himself.
I gave a huff and went to gather my purse and the potato salad I had made for the potluck.
With our culinary offerings safely buckled in the backseat, I drove Beth in my car as she rode passenger with her hand resting gently on my knee. Such gestures had become more common between us, and it was getting hard to remember not to let our touches linger in such ways when we saw each other at work.
I had been working at the Wallace Sullivan Museum of Art for seven years as a registrar. My job was fairly straightforward: I made sure stuff made it onto the walls in time for gallery openings, and if anything in the permanent collection had to be moved it didn’t get broken. The directors of the museum weren’t so fond of my rough attitude, uncensored opinions on Postmodernism, or my insistence that thrift shop corduroy pants were suitable formal wear. But they liked that they had someone on staff who could both get dirt under their fingernails during installations and knew the difference between Expressionism and Impressionism. I could also work fairly well with artists and give a good tour of the numerous galleries in a pinch.
Beth had joined the staff at the museum as a grant writer and office manager about two years ago. And I immediately spotted the way her gaze devoured the kinky aspects of paintings because it was the same way my eyes roamed over any depiction of power exchange. I didn’t know if she really wanted to try the things her eyes hungered for until one month when an erotic photographer landed a showing in one of the smaller galleries. The theme was masochism and I caught Beth touching herself in the gallery early before work one morning. I talked her down from her embarrassment over a cup of coffee on the back steps of the museum and took a leap of faith in revealing my own erotic inclinations. We started talking and after a couple of months I invited her to her first play party to meet my Dominant. The sadist in me loved seeing her dark lips tighten in a little O of surprise when she realized my Dom was also the operations and maintenance manager at the Wallace Sullivan Museum of Art.
Fortunately, our working relationships were not compromised. Besides some interesting after-hours trysts between installations and a lot of inside jokes at the annual Christmas party, we went about our daily routines as though we were as vanilla as the cupcakes served at the assistant director’s birthday party. As the year wore on, the three of us became very good friends.
Of course, I wasn’t thinking about any of that as I forced myself to drive the speed limit with Beth’s hand on my knee. I was thinking about the Bare Blush on my lips and looking forward to relief. Beth broke the silence that had stretched between us.
“I asked for a real one.”
I glanced over to her. “A real what?”
“A real punishment. A real scene.” She gave a shy smile. “You know.”
“Your scenes are real,” I encouraged.
“I know. I’m not in competition with anyone. I’m just . . . ready to take it to the next level.”
Beth may have had kinky thoughts, but her scenes never edged beyond anything more intense than light sensation play. She and Zach negotiated scenes between them carefully, but most of the time Zach would barely get the scene set up and Beth would call the safeword. Zach was always very comforting and encouraging about her limits and would massage her muscles into an arousal that could withstand a mini flogger or a couple of well-placed ice cubes. Beth wanted kinky experiences. But even after a year of playing, she only lived vicariously as she watched the role-play punishment scenes between Zach and myself.
I reached down and held her hand. She smiled, genuinely, and relaxed a little in her seat.
The play party was a small, private one at our friends Kevin and Tasha’s house. They lived just outside the city limits along a gravel road. As we approached I could see several vehicles parked around the front of the house. I knew Beth liked the smaller group and more private atmosphere. I personally liked the energy and sound system of our local dungeon. But just yesterday I had been begging for a spanking in the museum’s mop closet, so I wasn’t about to be picky.
Of course in our nerves and eagerness we arrived before Zach. The house was cool and welcoming, filled with the mouthwatering scent of the grill from the open patio doors. Some people had gathered in the kitchen and Beth went in to chat off some nervous energy. But I avoided that room. A kitchen full of kinky people with ready access to spatulas and wooden spoons was not a risk I was willing to chance. I quickly took refuge in the living room.
I was soon enveloped in hugs and comfortably intimate touches to the s
mall of my back, and I played it cool the whole while.
Yes, work is going fine. Yes, it’s been a hot summer. No, I’m not picturing myself bent over every knee and piece of furniture in this damn house.
I almost blew my cover when I saw Zach appear under the arch that separated the dining room from the living room. Just seeing him made my knees weaken and my hands tremble. But as he said his hellos, I managed to remain standing tall in my thigh-high lace ups.
Tonight was special, but my body always went momentarily weak when I saw Zach. He possessed the look of a Dom without even trying. Dark eyes, dark hair, and broad shoulders with a gym-maintained physique under his black T-shirt and easy jeans. A natural scowl weighed on his features when he was concentrating, and he was usually quiet. This made everyone at work think he was a stereotypical moody maintenance guy, best to be avoided. That’s why everyone always came to me first when a lightbulb needed changing. But I knew when you got to know Zach, he spoke with a gentle voice and often flashed a smile like no one else’s.
I never wanted for attention from Zach, and neither did Beth. He kissed us both, and when it was time for dinner he pulled out our chairs at the table, then poured us coffee after our hosts had served cheesecake for dessert.
Dinner thankfully went fast. Everyone there had better things to do after cheesecake than sit around and talk about the weather.
We had been to play parties at Kevin and Tasha’s home before, so I wasn’t surprised when Zach led us to the front sitting room. Other couples played in the dungeon set up in the basement or the guest bedrooms, but Zach liked the openness of the living room. The furniture had been moved to provide more space, but Zach took us to a corner where a single bar stool stood.
I hoped Zach might ask us who wanted to scene with him first, but my wish was not granted.
“Well, Beth, we negotiated tying you up, but I have nothing to tie you up to. Perhaps Joanne would oblige?” I bit my tongue. I’d pushed too hard this week, and now he was plucking at my tension by doing Beth’s scene first. I let out a slow, hot breath and found my center. I knew something like this was coming and I was prepared to endure the wait. Zach might like to play, but he always made the outcome worth the torment. He was a master of deliverance.
“Sure,” I answered with a polite lilt in my voice. At least helping with Beth’s scene would give me something to pass the time. “Or should I say, yes, Sir?”
There was that smile. “You should,” he answered. “Sit.”
I perched myself on the seat, the heels of my boots wedged into the rod between the legs of the stool.
“Cross your arms, so that your fingertips are lined to your collarbones,” Zach instructed.
I obeyed his request.
“Now you may wait until I call upon you again.”
I closed my eyes. Behind me I heard Zach begin to prepare Beth for the scene, giving her a massage and stripping her clothing away. I strained my ears to hear their whispers as the rest of the partygoers had ramped up the festivities. Laughter and squeals and the pops of impact toys began to pepper the room. There had only been a few at first, but now the sounds were ricocheting through the house. I set my jaw and clenched my eyes tight and focused on my partners as they conversed behind me.
Zach didn’t usually resort to bondage—he demanded obedience from his words and bare hands. Thus I was not surprised when he enlisted the help of a rope-rigger named Alana to do the work. My knowledge of rope wasn’t the sharpest. I was too much of a slut for paddles and floggers. The rope Alana had was not very thick, but it was soft, and purple, a playful color that in that moment did not amuse me.
Alana started by composing a chest harness around my torso and arms before moving on to tie Beth to me. Beth’s arms wrapped around my chest as she stood up behind me. I had left my arms crossed, and Alana secured Beth’s hands between mine. If I wiggled my fingers I could almost touch my thumbs to Beth’s pinkies.
Alana flashed me a smirk before she left, and something about it made my stomach drop. I almost called her back to check a knot, just to postpone the scene a moment longer, but I held in my sudden dread.
Zach slid into my line of vision and stood before me in total Top Mode. My mouth went dry and my brain buzzed. I didn’t understand. This was Beth’s scene. Why was I feeling the anticipation?
Zach parted his lips but said nothing. A beat of two seconds passed and he leaned in close.
“I’m going to be very clear and say this once. This is the only scene I’m doing tonight. So make sure you get what you need. Both of you.”
He turned from me before even my gaze could offer a response and rage welled up hot in my core.
I ground my teeth together hard and my nostrils flared with a hot, frustrated breath. I swallowed the whine that threatened to break from my throat only because I had the decency to not ruin Beth’s scene. Especially when she was so close to getting what she had been working to get for months. Zach knew I wouldn’t mess it up for her. He knew and he was using it against me.
I pricked the tips of each one of my fingernails into the rope instead of cussing out my Dom. Feisty wordplay and even outright yelling were common in our dynamic. But not with Beth.
I screwed my eyes closed. Hush, Joanne, hush, I soothed myself internally. Keep it together, keep it quiet.
My lips remained silent, but my mind was not willing to be so polite.
Fuck me—fuck this—fuck him—fuck everything.
How dare he dangle everything I needed inches from my desperate grasp? Did he get off watching me grapple with the impossible?
Oh yeah? Well. Fuck the impossible.
My mental anguish stilled. The thought was a spark of fire in a vast and deep darkness.
Fuck the impossible.
If he won’t give it to you. . .
. . . take it.
Zach was going to put his hands on Beth. He was going to punish her because she had asked for it. She wanted a real one. She was going to get it.
She was going to get it and I wanted to be there. I had to be there.
I took in some deep breaths that slowed my hateful heartbeat enough for me to focus. I settled into the scene just as Zach was tuning in to Beth’s anticipation.
I gave my attention to the way Beth’s body felt so close to mine. She was naked and I could feel her heat and soft curves through the thin material of my dress. I matched my breathing to hers and our bodies seemed to meld together. Her arousal served as a cooling balm to my flare of anger.
When I glanced down I saw that her red-painted fingertips were reaching for mine. I tried to move my wrists and reach my own struggling fingers toward her but in the confines of the rope our touch was separated by a chasm of almost an inch on each side. I pressed my back into her just enough to let her know I was there for her.
In the next moment a swift, sudden clap exploded in my ears as Zach’s hand met with Beth’s soft, awaiting flesh. A sharp pleasure that felt like a hook behind my navel made me jump. I felt Beth rise to the tips of her toes.
“Oh,” she gasped. “Oh.”
I blinked hard and my mind swam between my temples. Zach hadn’t hit her that hard. It was her reaction that made it so intense.
I heard a rustle of Beth’s hair and an inaudible whisper in her ear.
“Green,” she responded, breathy but certain.
Zach answered with a proud glow in his words, “That’s a good girl.”
A shudder shot between my legs. I almost didn’t hear Zach as he asked, “How do those ropes feel, Jo?”
I felt dizzy but it wasn’t from the ropes. “Fine, Sir.”
“Perfect. Let us continue.”
After several aching breaths of time, a second impact rang out.
Beth squeezed her arms around my chest and her body crumpled in on itself. Zach allowed her a moment to straighten her legs and stand tall again.
He spanked her again, once, twice, three times in quick succession. Her breathing hitched into a
faster pace.
My own muscles contracted and released. I could feel the tension as Beth’s body warmed up, exposed and bare, waiting for what Zach was going to give her next.
She let out a whimper, and I imagined Zach was putting his hands on her, sliding his palm over the surfacing pink blush on her ass.
A warmth crept over my hips.
A rhythm of open-palmed impacts ticked off like a metronome, three swats in the span of a second for one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .
Beth let out a moan and I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out slowly and the repetition carried on for six . . . seven . . . eight seconds.
“No,” she moaned, low. “Yes,” she gasped. “No, yes, no . . . ohhh.”
She squirmed up against me on tiptoes once again. Her breathing was wild now; the warmth in my hips had ignited into a licking flame. A white-hot wetness erupted in my pussy.
The spanking stopped and Beth sobbed in the sudden silence. He wasn’t touching her but she still writhed and panted, her fingers flexing open and closed around the rope. I was biting my tongue no longer from frustration, but to hold back my mounting pleasure.
“Beth. Would you like some more?”
“I . . . Yes. Green. Yes. Please.”
Another whimper escaped her lips and my legs locked involuntarily. If I hadn’t been sitting on the stool I would have been a puddle on Tasha and Kevin’s living room rug.
Pacing us for three or four breaths, Zach waited. And then he delivered.
Slap. Slap. Slap. Three even strokes to one side of her ass then, slap, slap, slap. Three more to the other.
“Oh…” Beth’s voice in my ear was divine, her hot breath sacred.
A fuller sound popped behind me as Zach’s hand collided with Beth’s backside. Slow at first, but then faster and faster.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three… My mind lost count and my head fell back onto Beth’s shoulder. She was moaning recklessly now, her fingertips splayed, her whole body hardening then releasing, processing the tension, rocking and writhing, breaking through to that place she had only visited in the dark corners of her imagination.
Erotic Teasers Page 5
