by Tess Lamont
“You are so hot, Jil,” he whispered. “I can feel how wet you are.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She parted her lips and closed her eyes. His hands felt so good. At last. Thank God they were in the back corner and the table was bolted to the floor.
She moaned, low and quiet. Again, Eric pressed his lips to her ear. “I want you to come for me. No one can see.”
He breathed in unison with her. Tension climbed down her legs and spiraled up through her stiffened nipples. She wanted to come…she’d waited so long. She pulsed there, just at the edge of release, but needing something more.
“Talk to me Eric, please.”
“Let go, Jillie. Come for me. That’s it…”
He pinched a nipple through her dress and she whimpered.
“I want you to come. Now.”
His words, whispered in a rush of heated breath, triggered her orgasm. She pressed her head back into his chest and twisted. All the tension that had coiled deep in her belly exploded in vibrating tremors of warm pleasure. Gasping, she allowed her climax to wash over her. It sank through her body like wet waves on dry sand, shaking her to the core. She quivered in his arms.
She tilted toward him, curling her legs up onto his lap. She panted as the after-shock trickled down her legs and up her spine. How could she have just come, and still crave him? She rocked one thigh gently up toward his stomach, not stopping until her fingers met his bulge.
She wanted to slide his cock between her fingers. She wanted to feel his soft, stretched skin against her hands. She wanted to cup his balls, flick her tongue over his twitching head, and listen to him groan with the kind of pleasure he had just given.
Eric grabbed her hand.
“Soon enough, Jillie,” he said with the confidence of a man who knows what he has to offer.
“When?” she asked, her voice heavy with need.
“I want to take you home right now, but I have a few things I have to do first,” Eric grasped her by the chin. “Meet me at my place in about two hours.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Oh, and change your dress.”
“Definitely!” she laughed.
“I’ll pay,” Eric leaned forward to remove his wallet from his back pocket. “You go back to the hotel and get changed. I’ll be waiting.”
“Thank you.” Her breath hitched.
“You don’t have anything to thank me for.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Yet.”
****
Dirt crackled under Jillian’s tires as she pulled into Eric’s drive. Her headlights lit the darkness, spilling through the hot, humid night and lighting the simple lines of Eric’s lakefront log cabin.
In high school, their group of friends had spent many lazy Saturdays either lounging on the public beaches in this area or swimming in the cedar water. She turned off the ignition and admired his home.
As a successful architect, he’d renovated the house to his taste and the cabin served as office, home and advertisement. Pride swelled in her chest; he was a man who went after what he wanted. Now, he wanted her.
She pulled back her shoulders, smiled, and opened her car door.
The hot Jersey night engulfed her, stealing her breath. The air was alive with the chirping of crickets and other night creatures. She wriggled her toes in her flip-flops, and then decided to slip her shoes off altogether. The gravel warmed her feet.
Tonight is all about sensation.
Her cunny’s ache intensified. Earlier, she’d tried to ease her desire with a shower head. Although the pulsing warm water of the massage function brought her to shivering orgasm, her frustration had quickly returned. She just couldn’t seem to come enough. Strange—usually it took a while for her to ramp back up after an orgasm. However, she’d had two this evening and she wasn’t even close to satisfied.
She walked toward the door, swinging her flip-flops and swaying. Her cotton sundress swirled around her. With nothing but a pair of light pink panties beneath, every movement felt sensual, womanly.
Once on the porch, she rang the bell and waited with a small, seductive smile playing across her lips.
As he approached the door, she could see him silhouetted through the curtain, and wondered what he’d be wearing. They were shielded from the neighbors by the scrubby pines, so it was possible he’d be naked. Her heart beat a little faster.
He opened up the door: jeans and a linen button-down shirt. Not naked, but nice. At least he’d rolled up his sleeves. She was a sucker for a rippling forearm.
“Wine?” he asked in greeting.
She grinned. “Yes, thank you.” As she followed him into his kitchen, she murmured, “Your driveway is warm.”
He stopped and pivoted. His eyes were smiling as he noticed her bare feet.
“You walked barefoot across the gravel?”
“Yup,” she answered.
“Impressive pain tolerance,” he chuckled.
She laughed too, but she felt a blush creep up her neck.
He seemed taller than she remembered. Was that possible? No, of course it wasn’t. He was about to take possession of her body and everything about him radiated masculine power and confidence, making him loom large.
She slid onto a stool by his kitchen bar. His forearm flexed as he poured her drink. Her heart pattered like a hard August rain. She couldn’t believe she was so nervous. This was Eric! Still, as he sauntered toward her and handed her a glass, her body trembled with a delicious mix of fear and excitement. He looked every inch a man in charge.
She took a sip of her wine: cold, wet, and welcome.
“Aren’t you going to have a drink, too?” she asked.
“No, I need―” He puckered his lips, and then smiled. “―to concentrate. But I thought some wine might help you relax.”
She snorted. “Got Vodka?”
He laughed low. “I don’t want you to get too relaxed…” He re-corked the wine and bent, sliding it into his fridge.
Nice ass. “This is a little strange,” she coughed.
He rounded the counter and stood behind her. His stomach heated the small of her back as he gripped her shoulders and massaged. The strong iron of his fingers eased her tension with deep, precise circles.
“Of course it’s strange, Jil. You’re still on board though, right?”
She caught one of his hands, rubbed his fingers against her cheek and then guided his palm back to her shoulder.
“Absolutely.”
“Good.”
The wine—and Eric’s hands—warmed. He molded her muscles and, little by little, she sank backward against his chest until her only thoughts were of his body and where his hands might go next.
“Better?” he asked.
She closed her eyes and rolled her head against his heartbeat.
“Ummm,” was all she could manage.
****
Eric admired his view. Jillian hadn’t worn a bra, and, from this angle, her soft breasts peeked from her dress, teasing. She was hotter than she’d ever been—and he’d been lusting after her for years.
She had spent all week using any excuse to touch him. He’d suspected she was building to something and had even hoped tonight would end with some long-overdue action. But he couldn’t have guessed what she had planned. She’d thrown one hell of a curve ball.
When she’d told him she wanted to be spanked, some primitive, archaic urge within him uncoiled, shocking the shit out of him, like his eyes had finally focused, and Jillian was all he could see.
Though he was in charge in his work and life, he’d never played games of dominance and submission in the bedroom. No matter, he’d take full possession of the moment—and of her. He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to watch, listen and learn as she showed him exactly how to best stake his claim.
“How about you describe some more of those fantasies of yours?” he suggested.
Her hand disappeared into her dress pocket and she withdrew a print.
“They sa
y a picture is worth a thousand words,” she said with bravado, though the paper shook as she thrust it in his direction.
The picture was black and white—circa 1950—or pretending to be from that era, anyway. A man, buff, though not unnaturally so, held a woman across his knees. He had pinned one of her arms beneath her and the other, he held behind her back. Her skirt was tossed up above her hips and her panties were slung hastily around her thighs. Her bare ass was directly in line with his raised hand. When he looked closer, he saw a hint of a smile on the woman’s downcast face.
He breathed a sigh of relief. The photo did not depict any sort of hard-core BDSM fantasy—no whips, no chains, no cages, no collars. Eric admitted some relief that Jillian didn’t want all-out staging. His breath steadied. If this was the kind of scene she wanted, he could more than handle her needs.
At least his cock was sure he could, anyway.
“I can look at that picture,” her eyelids fluttered, “for hours, just imagining.”
He set aside the picture and placed his lips against the soft satin of her hair. He tightened his arms as she snuggled into his neck. Never had a woman fit so nicely in his arms.
“And what, exactly, do you think about when you are looking at the picture?”
“I imagine how it would feel to be pinned against your knees.”
Your knees, she said, not someone’s knees. He didn’t miss the distinction. The rich, husky hunger in her voice made his cock heavy and thick in his jeans. If they didn’t start soon, the pitch was going to be in the air before the batter even stepped up to the plate.
She covered her face with her hands, but continued to speak from between her fingers. “I think about how it would feel to have your hand come down hard on my ass.”
He pulled her hand from her face and drew her to her feet. He turned her around.
“Look at me, Jil,” he urged. “It’s me, okay? No matter what happens, there’s no need to be embarrassed.”
She peeked up at him as he cradled her face between his hands. “Okay.”
“We should set boundaries and choose a safe word,” he said.
“A safe word?” she asked, swallowing. “Do we need one?”
Her lips quivered. Was it fear? Was it excitement? Eric wasn’t sure. He was damn well feeling both.
“I want you to pick a word you can use if you change your mind. I don’t want to push you too far.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Her trust warmed him. Still, she played with a fire inside him that even he didn’t understand. She had a right to be forewarned.
“You have no idea what is inside of me…I don’t even know,” he said. “I don’t know how much either of us can take. A safe word only makes sense.”
He frowned as her gaze fell toward the floor. Well, she wanted him to take charge, didn’t she? He straightened his spine and grabbed her chin, forcing her face back up.
“Enough, Jillian,” he ordered. “Pick a safe word. It’s not a request this time, it’s a command.”
She shook in his arms. Her cheeks tinged pink. His stomach muscles clenched. Too far?
“Peaches,” she whispered, eyes averted.
Okay, she was fine. He took a deep breath. She was just nervous as hell.
“Peaches. Nice. They’re sweet and juicy, like you.” He released her chin and settled his lips against her hair, stroking her sweet-smelling softness. “Let’s go into the living room.”
He took her by her hand and led her to a stuffed chair in the middle of the room. Could he do this? He closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted and needed to do this. The throb in his cock increased. He wasn’t sure he could turn back, even if she wanted him to.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”
“I’m going to spank you, Jillian.”
Her knees buckled, and he caught her. She sagged against his body and her belly slid against his cock. Blue balls didn’t begin to describe the ache. He eased them both into the chair.
She looked up at him and her wide eyes sparkled. “I want this so bad.”
“Then, bend over,” he said.
Excitement, power and desire tensed every muscle. He was so ready.
She arched across his legs in a perfect, inverted triangle. He gathered her dress to her waist, revealing the most spankable set of buns he’d ever seen. Sheer cotton panties strained to cover her full, round cheeks. Not one porn pic on the web could compare to the inviting pale flesh draped across his lap.
He ran his hand over her ass while flexing his knee and accustoming himself to her weight. Her skin was as smooth as a work of art. Perfection. He could see veins running beneath her pale skin. Her quick pants made his palm itch to begin.
For a split second, the room swam. Was he man enough to answer her most intimate need? Hell, yeah.
He held her in place with one hand and spread his legs so the underside of her breasts curved above his thigh. He ran his finger just under the elastic of her panties.
He’d give her everything she wanted, and then more. He understood what she had yet to grasp—once they crossed this line, they could never go back. He wouldn’t let them. She already burned like a brand on his soul. Tonight, he meant to make sure he burned in hers.
“Pretty pink panties…” He yanked them to her thighs.
She made a sound that was half-moan and half-giggle. “Please,” she whispered against his knees.
He’d felt dizzy before, but this was beyond anything he had ever imagined. Her body jerked forward with the first, sweet slap.
She squirmed against his fly, tempting his already bulging cock and shooting fire through his chest. He spread his fingers wide and rubbed along the curve of her reddening cheek, allowing her to process the sensation and giving her one, last chance to back out. She twisted, wringing a soulful sound from her throat. She pushed her ass back into his hand.
He whacked again—three cupped slaps in quick succession. She bucked and shook on his lap, moaning.
Eric’s hand stung; his heart pounded. He lifted his hand, watching her struggle to push her ass up, silently begging for another.
Whack.
A wave of pure pain fired up his arm. She squirmed, so he pressed harder, pinning her in place.
Whack, whack, whack—with each stroke, he landed faster blows. He’d planned to start slowly, but he lost control. His mind steamed and he barreled ahead. Something from far away reminded him that he should be leaving time between strokes.
She struggled and twisted, in earnest.
Her arms flailed behind her as she grabbed for his shirt and clawed at his face, but logic had shut down and he heard nothing. He continued with full-force slaps.
“Eric, Eric, Stop,” she shrieked. “STOP IT, ERIC!”
The true fear in her voice cut through his haze. He jerked back, raising both hands in the air. He fought to control his deep and heavy breath.
“You want me to stop?” he asked.
She hadn’t used her safe word. Was this part of the scene, or was she truly frightened?
“Yes,” she yelled. “Yes, I want you to stop.”
She tumbled from his lap and scooted away. She brought her knees up to cover her chest, and rested on her hip. She hadn’t said peaches, but, clearly, she was more than freaked.
“That hurt,” she said. Her face twisted with pain as she rubbed her ass.
He blinked at her, struggling to process his raging emotions. Her fear was a betrayal—biting and direct. But, he hated himself for going too fast, and her pained expression chafed against his gnawing conscience. He shook his head to clear his mind and ran his fingers through his hair.
“A spanking is supposed to hurt, Jillian,” he said sarcastically. “I think that’s the point.”
“I know that.” She frowned. “It was just too fast…” Her face grew burgundy. “I know I asked you to take charge…but…but… Hell, Eric, it’s my first time.”
He blinked a
t her rose-pink, shivering body.
Damn it. He’d really fucked up. He stood and took a step toward the kitchen.
“Wait!” Her voice froze him in place. “Don’t go.”
There were no fucking words for the feeling that rocked him. He looked down and knew he couldn’t leave. He slid to his knees.
Her chest heaved. She turned her head, but didn’t pull away. Slowly, gently, he brushed the sweat-dampened strands of hair from her forehead.
He counted his breaths, trying to remind himself that they were both novices. Their needs would take time to fully understand, let alone master. Did couples new to spanking sometimes fuck up their scenes? He hadn’t a God-damned clue.
“Do you want to call this off?” he asked, not sure what he’d do if she said yes. He’d put himself out there, laid himself bare before her, and if she rejected him now…
She faced him, searching his gaze as she sniffled. “I said stop, but I didn’t say peaches.”
“What do you mean?”
She was so vulnerable, and yet he was the one feeling scared.
“It’s different than I thought it would be.” She hiccupped.
Thinking was hard—so hard. He concentrated on her face: the eyes he’d known for most of his life, the lips he’d found so kissable, even before he’d had his first kiss.
“What were you expecting?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” Her laugh was harsh. “It’s pretty intense. I’m angry and aroused, I feel embarrassed and sexy.” She shook her head as if to clear the contradictions. “I don’t understand. Fuck, I’m scared.”
Her honesty cut through his emotions and deflated his anger. We are going to be okay. Lightheaded, he pulled her back into his arms.
It was too soon…too fucking soon to tell her he loved her. He’d always loved her and there was nowhere on earth she could be more safe than in his arms. He buried his face in her hair as his mind raced through ways to coax her back, ways to show her that she’d never need to be frightened or ashamed of her needs or her limits—not with him.
Her sniffles slowed. She nestled her head in his neck and sighed. In her sigh’s soft vulnerability he found everything he needed to understand.
“Jillie, I am so sorry. I went too fast,” he said. “You were laying there, your luscious weight on my legs, your beautiful little ass bouncing under my hand. I just lost it, is all. It won’t happen again.”
