by Alison Tyler
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t cheat on me. Don’t flirt with another man. And we’ll be fine.”
I took a breath, wondering if it was okay to talk now. I was ass-up over his lap, in a very indelicate position. I pushed past my fear and said, “You do everything for me. It’s a little difficult to get used to.”
He laughed. “So I like to pamper you. Sue me. I’ll let you take care of me in other ways.”
I’ll say here that I wasn’t some girl plucked from the cinders, unused to the whirlwind lifestyle of the rich and famous. Byron came from extreme wealth. His father’s place was in Bel Air. When Byron and I traveled, we went first class—to luxurious beaches and faraway ski resorts. But I’m a working-class girl at heart. I’ve always been more comfortable hanging out with guys who work at grocery stores and coffee shops and garages. Still, with Jack, the money didn’t seem to mean much to him. He didn’t flaunt it or brag about it. He used the cash as a vehicle to get what he wanted: treats for the two of us.
He spanked me rapidly then, bringing me back to the present with that vibrant spark of pain. And finally I was able to voice the one thing that had worried me.
“What about my writing?” This was a whisper. Jack stopped spanking me, and his hand returned to making those gentle strokes up and over my now-smarting rear.
“That’s yours. All yours. You tell me you have to work and I’ll back off. You tell me you need my help, and I’ll give you a hundred percent. I won’t interfere in any way.”
And that was somehow all I needed to hear. And once again, we were off …
Jack spanked me until my ass throbbed, over and over, winning sobs from my lips at the power behind each blow—and then he reached into the nightstand drawer. “Close your eyes,” he demanded, and I did what he said. I felt the cool shock of lube and then Jack’s fingers pushing one anal bead after another into my ass. Embarrassment turned my face as dark cherry as my ass. But Jack didn’t hesitate or go slow. He slid the entire string of beads into my hole, and then he resumed the spanking, this time with one of his favorite weapons: a wooden ruler.
I knew by now what the toys meant. He was going to fuck my ass when he was finished. That thought made me wetter even than the spanking did.
“Off,” Jack said suddenly, pushing me from his lap. “I want you on your hands and knees in the center of the bed.”
I obeyed immediately.
“Now, I’m going to watch as you pull out those beads.”
Life was always a surprise with Jack. It would have been so much easier for me if he did everything. Treating me like a toy, a plaything, not making me take an active part.
“Now—”
Slowly, I reached around to grab the end of the beads. I looked away from Jack as I pulled the first one out, but he gripped me by the hair and turned my face toward his.
“I want to watch,” he said. “I want to see your dark eyes glow as you pull those free, and I want to see you thinking about how my cock is going to feel inside your asshole.”
I stared into his blue eyes as I pulled out the next bead, and the next, and then Jack was in motion, for once unable to wait. He took his position behind me on the bed, and he pulled the rest out in rapid succession, leaving me breathless, and then drove his cock inside of me.
Ah, fuck. The feeling of him slamming into my well-tanned ass was surreal. And what he said next brought me right to the edge.
“We’re going shopping again soon,” Jack said as he fucked me. “For butt plugs. I want to get a range of sizes, and I want to try them out on you. One after the other. I want to find the ones for pleasure and the ones for punishment, and then we’ll choose your favorite and I’ll make you wear it out.”
He strummed my clit as he spoke, and I came, squeezing him so tightly that I brought him to climax with me. And then there were no words. Just the thrusting of Jack inside of me, the power of his release as he collapsed on my body and pinned me down to the bed.
Neither of us had the strength to turn the light back off. It was still on when we woke up in the morning, sunlight stealing across the blankets in rippling rows of gold.
Chapter Twenty-Six:
Spank Me, Jack
Jack stayed true to his word. He dictated what we did for fun, how I dressed when we went out, and how we played. But whenever I sat down at his computer to work, he left me alone. He didn’t pace or interrupt. He didn’t try to woo me away with decadent diversions. Often he went back to his office to work, as well. Or out to the gym. Or for a run on the beach, if we were in Malibu.
He didn’t ask to read what I was working on, either, although he was more than happy to offer critiques if I requested his opinion. And when it came time for me to go to New York to meet with my publisher, he didn’t take over.
“Do you want to stay at my place?”
“Not without you,” I told him.
“So you’ll use Jody’s?”
I shook my head. I felt strange accepting his offer. It would put me in my former boss’s debt, and for the first time, I felt on equal footing with him. I hadn’t yet decided whether to go back to work in his office.
“A hotel,” I said. My whole book deal would barely cover the trip to New York, but I wanted to travel in class. Jack nodded.
“I wish I could go with you,” he said, “but work—” and he trailed off. I understood after that first week what an effort it had been for him to take a vacation. He was driven, and relaxation didn’t come easily for him. I also understood it showed supreme restraint on his part to be so laid back about me traveling without him. He watched me pack, looking over my suitcase in silence.
“What?” I finally asked. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re only bringing black.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“It’s sort of morbid.”
“It’s New York.”
I’d been to Manhattan often enough to appreciate the different dress styles of the coasts. Where you can wear flirty sundresses all year round in L.A., New York’s a much more dramatic environment.
“I like you in color.”
“You’re not even going to be there,” I grinned at him. “How will it bother you if I’m all in black?”
“I’ll know,” he said, teasing me. “I’ll feel it.”
Jack had gotten me time off at the salon. He actually didn’t want me to go back to KC’s, didn’t want me to work at all. He felt that if I was going to be a writer, I should focus on writing. But I’ve never worked that way. I like diversions. I couldn’t sit at a computer for ten hours straight. My mind is often focused on projects even when I’m away from my desk. Still, he’d arranged for me to have time off, to think about my options: the salon, Jody, or letting Jack take care of everything.
The hotel is gone now, to my supreme distress. But it was my favorite spot in New York. So hip, with the most beautiful staff and an ultra-chic lounge. The elevators were lit in red, orange, purple, and green. The bar was insane. So dark. So sexy. And the tiny little guest rooms charmed me with their black-and-white checked floors, boasting only enough space for a bed and a miniscule dresser. A huge painting took up the wall behind the bed, adding the only color to the room.
I fit in perfectly in my black attire, as I’d known I would. I felt a rush of freedom as I walked through the city. I had three appointments over the next few days with my new publisher and two magazines. But I had nowhere to be that first afternoon, and I walked through the neighborhood, trying to decide what to do. Where to go.
It’s not surprising that I ended up in the hotel bar at the counter, trying to read in the dim light and failing. I had my manuscript with me, the revised one that I was going to turn in to my publisher in person. I drank tequila slowly, savoring the sensation. Several boys flirted with me, but I brushed them off. I wasn’t interested in a New York fling. Not with Jack waiting at home.
Thank fucking god.
When I went back up to the room, I was sweetly tipsy, but not drunk. I got m
y key in the lock and opened the door to find Jack—on the bed, fully dressed, reading the paper. He smiled at me as I stood there in shock.
“I couldn’t,” he said. “After you left this morning, I booked the next flight.” He stood up and pulled me into his arms. “I couldn’t—”
The room was so small, and with Jack, his height, his power, it seemed smaller still. I thought about the boys in the bar and wondered if Jack had come because he didn’t trust me. But I didn’t ask. The answer wouldn’t have done me any good.
“Where were you?” he murmured as he kissed my neck. “I’ve been up here an hour.”
“I was downstairs.” I pulled away from him, so that I could set down my purse and the folder holding my manuscript and take off my sweater. “In the bar.”
He kissed my lips, tasting the tequila.
“You’ve been a good girl?”
And there it was.
“Of course.”
“Not chatting up any local bucks.” This wasn’t a question.
He’d seen me. That was obvious. He might even have been in the bar with me. The room was so dark and I’d gotten myself a corner spot. I hadn’t been looking around at all, because I hadn’t been expecting Jack.
“A few guys tried to buy me drinks, but I didn’t let them.”
“No,” Jack said, pulling now on my dress, tugging at the tie on the side and then flipping open the two buttons so that the fabric came off in a wave. “You wouldn’t have let another man buy you a drink.” I was in my stockings—black, sheer—and these beautiful, high-heeled Mary Janes. My bra and panties were matching black satin, and I had on a thin beaded choker, my only jewelry. Jack slid one finger under the necklace, testing it, and then spun me around and undid the clasp. He must have been carrying the collar in his pocket, because I felt him buckle the thick leather into place. Had he carried the collar on the plane, stroking the buckle absentmindedly as he drank his first-class champagne?
“Now,” Jack said, spinning me around and then standing back, admiring me. “What should I do to you first?”
I felt my cheeks flush, and I looked down at the ground. Truth? I was thrilled he had surprised me. Although being in New York on my own had felt empowering, it had also been supremely lonely.
“I asked you a question.” Jack’s voice was soft, almost taunting. I raised my eyes to look at him. “What should I do to you … first?”
My heart raced. Did he really want me to say? I hesitated for one more moment, but when it became obvious that Jack was actually waiting for my response, I reached out and let my fingers trace the ridge of his belt buckle.
“Undo the buckle,” Jack commanded.
I took a step closer and worked the buckle for him.
“Now take off the belt.”
I pulled, freeing the leather from the loops of his slacks.
“Double it up …”
Jack was clearly enjoying himself. I folded the leather in half.
“… and give yourself a good, firm smack on the thigh.”
I looked at him, pleading, but Jack’s eyes had gone that cold route, and there was no sense in trying to dissuade him. I pulled back my hand and slapped the leather hard against my upper thigh. I knew to strike as fiercely as I could. Going soft or easy would be an insult to Jack. He came closer and inspected the immediate stripe blooming on my pale skin.
“Again.”
I obeyed immediately.
“Now tell me,” Jack said. “What should I do to you first?”
I handed him the belt, pushed it into his hands. I didn’t say please. I didn’t say You know, Jack. Don’t make me … I said, simply and clearly, “Spank me, Jack.”
“But why should I? You didn’t flirt with the boys. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Oh, god, he was in that sort of mood. Teasing. Tormenting.
I bent over the bed. I offered myself to him. He didn’t take a step in my direction.
I slid my fingers into the waistband of my panties. I pulled them down my thighs, arched my back, and gazed at him over my shoulder, pleading silently.
Jack stood there, still staring at me.
“Use your belt, Jack.” My stomach was in knots. “Please, Jack—”
He held up the belt as if he’d never seen it before. “This belt?”
Christ.
I knew that the longer he made me beg, the more he made me ask for it, the worse the punishment would ultimately be. When he was finally ready, he would not stop until he was done. I knew all of that. And still I begged.
“Jack … Please ….”
He took a step toward the bed, but only to brush my hair out of my eyes and then to run his fingertips along the leather collar tight on my throat. He didn’t start to punish me yet. He didn’t even look close. My pussy tightened. I could feel how wet my lips had become, the silky juices coating the tops of my thighs. Jack reached a hand between my legs, surprising me, and felt for himself. His eyes burned as he removed his damp fingertips and brought them forward for me to lick clean.
“You want me to whip you?” he asked, casually, as if we were talking about after-dinner drinks. Would you like a cognac? A sherry? A whipping?
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, nodding, his eyes roving over my body, arms locked in place, panties down to my knees, ass up.
“But we’re in a hotel, kid. What if you cry out?”
I hadn’t thought about that. I didn’t know what to say. Jack did. From his other pocket, he removed a gag. He hadn’t used one on me before. And this was serious.
“Open,” he demanded, and I parted my lips and let him slide the devious-looking device into place, felt him buckle the thing behind my head.
“See now?” he said. “No one would say I’m not a conscientious boyfriend. You can scream if you have to and nobody will hear you.”
I closed my eyes, humbled by the gag. Humiliated. But Jack was in motion.
Belt in hand, finally ready to start.
Chapter Twenty-Seven:
Small World
“You brought black because it makes you feel strong,” Jack observed, watching me dress. He was kicking back on the bed, drinking the coffee I’d fetched from the café downstairs and reading the New York Times.
I nodded, then looked at my reflection in the mirror. I had on a short black dress with a white collar and cuffs. It looked expensive, but was actually from a thrift store on Melrose Avenue. Black tights and my favorite shiny Mary Janes completed the look.
Jack made a motion with his finger for me to turn around, and I rotated once, so that he could drink in the whole look.
“Nice,” he said. “I do prefer you in color, but you look confident. And that’s important.”
The truth? I was terrified. I’d been both impatiently awaiting and desperately dreading this New York lunch with my editor at a large sex-themed magazine. The man frightened me to the extreme, at least on paper. His edits were direct and to the point, and he brokered no nonsense. He’d been in the business for a quarter of a century and I felt like an inexperienced little kid at the thought of being with him alone, but Jack told me I’d do fine. And that he’d be waiting for me at the hotel when I was finished.
“I don’t know,” I started, pulling at the hem of the dress. Maybe this look was wrong. Maybe I should have brought a suit. What were writers supposed to look like? I glanced at my travel clock. I had time. I had started getting dressed more than an hour before I even had to leave.
“What about my black jeans and my Harley shirt from Paris?”
Jack started to laugh. “You’re crazy.” The floor was littered with discarded outfits.
“You haven’t watched me dress for something important before,” I told him, pawing through the hotel’s tiny little cabinet for something else.
“You don’t need a different outfit,” Jack assured me, setting his coffee down and pushing aside the Times. “You need—”
I was caught off guard. I�
��d been looking at my clothes, standing there in my bra and panties, garters in place, thinking of what else I might try on. Jack had been thinking of other things entirely, and in a flash, I was over his lap and he had scissored one leg over both of mine. Where had he stashed the paddle that was suddenly in his hand, suddenly slamming down against my black-panty-clad ass?
My breath caught as he landed blow after blow on my rear, and then I started to squirm.
“Don’t fight me, baby. You don’t want to make me upset.” His tone was dead serious, and I paid immediate attention. “I’m giving you a little taste of what to expect tonight. You can think about this when your nerves start to jangle. You can think about what I’m going to do to your sweet little ass this evening.”
His warm fingers caught the waistband of my panties and slid them down my thighs. He hesitated, as always, observing the bloom of color on my once-pale cheeks. “Ten on the sweet spot,” he said, “Count ’em out for me.”
I did as he said, not even considering disobeying. I didn’t want him to make me cry before my meeting. Not for real.
The pain was intense, but as always, clarifying. I felt my world slide slowly back into place. Jack was right. He knew what I’d needed. When he was done, he stood me up and brushed my hair back, smiling at me. “There,” he said. “Much better. Whatever outfit you choose always will look better after a good old-fashioned spanking.”
Jack didn’t walk me to the cab. He simply kissed me goodbye, let his hand roam down my body to tighten on my ass, and then said, “Don’t worry so much about pleasing him, Samantha. Remember, doll. You only have to worry about pleasing one person.”
I don’t know why, but that thought made me instantly more relaxed.
My editor’s office was exactly like I’d imagined—clean lines, no nonsense. But the art on the wall was tongue-in-cheek. Pornography Kills.
I was awed in the man’s presence, humbled and shy, but he was gracious. He immediately ushered me out of the building and to a nearby restaurant, where he asked me if I’d like a glass of wine.
