And he spanked her slowly. With a measured, almost rhythmic pace. She felt each and every one, placed carefully, on every inch of her bottom and upper thighs. He said not a single word this time. The only sounds were those of a hard hand cracking onto soft, pliant flesh and Phoebe’s wailing, begging and sobbing. He took her to the brink and then way, way beyond. By the time he’d meted out her full punishment, Phoebe’s struggling had diminished to a purely reactive jolt from each, unyielding slap. She sobbed openly and unashamedly. She’d just earned the right to lose the shame her bad behaviour had thrust upon her. She’d atoned for her sins. And she knew she could always rely upon him to make that happen.
He swivelled her around onto his lap and cradled her as he had last night. The silky material of his trousers felt like sandpaper on her raw behind. She flinched and he gently rubbed her bare flesh in a soft, circular motion. She wept, soaking his shirt with a flood of liberating tears. She huddled, folded into her chest as he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close, rocking, soothing, kissing her hair.
“Sh, sh. It’s all over, my love. Cry now. Let it out. Be fourteen again for a time,” he crooned softly. And she was.
It was some time before her tears subsided. Then he gently turned her to face him, his eyes now soft and loving. He brushed her wet cheeks with the tips of his long fingers. “Now what do you say?”
The word popped out of Phoebe’s mouth without it even flicking across her mind. “Thank you,” she whispered. For the first time in her life, her tongue had engaged before her brain and she said the right thing.
Tom smiled and hugged her close again. “I’m taking you to bed now,” he murmured softly. “We aren’t going to make love. I’m just going to hold you all night long. But tomorrow morning, my sweet, tomorrow I’ll teach you a beautiful lesson.”
Chapter Three
The early morning light struggled through dense black rain clouds, filtering through the curtains in weak purplish-grey streaks. Tom had kept his promise about holding Phoebe all night, and they still lay in a spooned position, his strong arms wrapped around her in a loving embrace.
Phoebe stirred and looked up at her alarm clock. Six twenty. Plenty of time yet to enjoy his warm body close to hers before she had to venture out into the cold and wet to deal with the horses.
“Are you awake, babe?” His voice was sleepy and gentle.
“Mm hmmm, just,” she responded and snuggled closer. “But I’ll have to get up soon, the horses will kick their stables down if they don’t get their breakfast by eight. Impatient buggers that they are.”
He chuckled lightly. “Just like their owner, then.”
Phoebe giggled. “You’ve noticed that, huh?”
He slipped a hand around to her glowing behind and patted, ever so gently. “And then some,” he murmured, then rolled onto his back and stretched languorously. “Lovely bed. Roomy.” He yawned.
Phoebe shuddered dreamily as he traced a finger down her spine from the nape of her neck to the crease of her bottom.
“Are you ready for that lesson now?”
Phoebe tensed. What? Lesson? Dear God! He wasn’t going to….
“Don’t panic, I’m not going to spank you again. Well, I’m not going to punish you again, let’s put it that way,” he said with a deliciously wicked little laugh.
Another shudder quivered through Phoebe’s body. This time borne of delightful anticipation. She felt her juices flowing, she was getting wet already and he’d barely touched her! She started to roll onto her back, but a firm, though gentle hand pushed her back onto her side. He began kneading her sore cheeks, gently at first, as though trying to rub away the lingering rawness. Phoebe moaned. God, but this man’s touch was electrifying. Waves of shuddering pleasure coursed through her body, beginning at the base of her neck and rolling languidly down her spine to her loins. She slid a leg forward, giving him access to her gushing lips, moaning her desire. His gentle kneading grew firmer, pinching her cheeks with his powerful fingers, sending a stinging reminder of last night’s punishment along her nerves. She flinched and let a little whine of annoyance escape her. He responded with an immediate, though gentle slap.
“Relax, baby. I’m not going to hurt you. Trust me.”
His tone was soft and husky with desire. It set Phoebe’s pulse racing. He slipped his hand between her legs, brushing her lips oh so lightly. Phoebe gasped, her back arching as the pleasure senses erupted in a burst of quivering nerve-endings. He continued to caress her, slipping one finger, then two inside her, kneading the swollen bud of her clitoris with his thumb. He brushed the hair from her neck and closed his warm lips onto her throat, nibbling sensuously, then hungrily. Phoebe groaned, the pressure in her loins building with each passing second, heart racing, breast heaving with long shuddering sighs.
Then, just as she felt the inevitable, glorious spasm begin to overwhelm her, he removed his hand and rolled her onto her back. She cried out with frustration and grabbed at his hand, trying to push it back to her aching sex. He slapped her hand away and shook his head, gazing down at her with a hungry, though somewhat sadistic smirk on his handsome face.
“Not yet. Patience, young lady. Something else you must learn.”
He winked, his eyes smouldering with an intense, burning desire. Then he placed both hands around her waist and hefted her into a sitting position. The warm sheets reminded her yet again just how sore her backside still was. He gazed at her body and an appreciative smile played on his lips. He cupped a hand around a breast and lowered his mouth to it. As his tongue flicked across her proud nipple, she gasped again and her head fell back as the pleasure shock jellied her spine. He sucked and chewed and licked, then cupped her other breast and transferred his attentions to that, alternating his lingering kisses with glorious torment. He slipped an arm around her waist, grasping her long hair between his fingers. Pulling her close to him, he planted hot, succulent lips on hers and kissed her deeply, his tongue pushing urgently into her mouth. Phoebe almost fainted with longing and wrapped her arms about his muscular chest, feeling her wet breasts press against the coarse hair.
When she felt she might just pass out from lack of air, he released her and gazed into her half-closed eyes.
“Phoebe, you’re beautiful. The most desirable, sexy woman I’ve ever known. But you’ve used your sex to try to overpower men. You wield it like a weapon. You’ve never known how it feels to be really loved. To allow yourself total abandon. Free yourself now to be dominated, overpowered, consumed by a man’s love.” His tone was admonishing, yet kind.
Phoebe felt young and innocent and thoroughly naked in every sense. His words stung somewhere deep inside her, and yet soothed away a pain she’d never allowed herself to acknowledge until that moment.
“I’m going to set you free, Phoebe. Release the woman you’ve always wanted to be. You will submit to me. Completely. Willingly. You’ll let the old Phoebe go and allow the new, virginal, submissive girl to emerge.” He fixed her with his riveting gaze. It was uncompromising and determined.
Phoebe nodded compliantly, though she felt a cool finger of apprehension stabbing her belly.
He drew back from her and rose to his knees. Phoebe couldn’t help but notice his urgent, impressive erection. She quickly averted her widened eyes and noticed he was smiling almost bashfully.
“And speaking of weapons!” he said and laughed.
Phoebe felt the tension in her shoulders ease a little and laughed with him.
He stood at the edge of Phoebe’s bed and the smouldering gaze returned.
“Come to me, Phoebe,” he said levelly.
Phoebe felt the familiar shiver of nervous anticipation shudder through her belly, but slid obediently across the bed and stood next to him. She looked up into his face, feeling terribly vulnerable and slight compared to his sturdy, tall structure. It was a wonderful feeling.
He sat on the edge of the bed and slipped a hand around hers, enveloping it completely, his gaze pitile
ssly unswerving.
“Now lay across my knee,” he commanded gently.
Phoebe flinched and her eyes revealed the sudden shock of fear that snaked through her body.
He shook his head, his eyes soft and understanding. “Trust me, my love. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” He nodded, urging her across his knee.
Phoebe tensed. She couldn’t stop herself, waiting for the crushing pressure of his arm as he pinned her, followed by the inevitable stinging slap. But it didn’t come. Instead he stroked her sore behind with the same soft, circular motion he’d used to ease her pain the previous night. His touch was soothing, sensual, languid. She felt the tension ease and she relaxed, allowing herself to enjoy this unique brand of foreplay. His other hand slipped easily up and down her back and around her shoulders, gently massaging away the last, persistent nodules of anxiety. A dreamy, euphoric sensation swept over her as her body warmed to his loving caresses.
Then the hand stroking her bottom eased her legs apart. She obliged without resistance. His long fingers began their exquisite exploration over again and Phoebe felt the wetness dripping from her. He rubbed, probed and caressed, his fingers slipping easily in and out as her juices flowed. She moaned and writhed, urging him to slip deeper inside and bring her to a shuddering climax. His other hand traced fluidly down her back, intensifying the waves of pleasure as it slipped inexorably toward her bottom.
As the first spasms of orgasm tightened in her belly, he slapped her tingling cheeks, not hard, but with a stinging vibrancy that sent a shock wave through her heightened senses. The pain was exquisite! He slapped her again and she whimpered slightly above a moaning entreaty. Her orgasm came in shuddering spasms as he spanked her again and again, firmly but sensuously. The heat growing in her cheeks intensified her climax with each stinging slap, and she cried and wailed as an overwhelming sensation of pure ecstasy flooded her mind and soul.
Finally her shuddering body quivered to rest and she lay limply across his knee, weeping softly as an almost spiritual catharsis swept through her. The sensation demanded no grisly self-analysis, or probing, soul-searching questions. Acceptance finally opened its glorious, liberating arms and welcomed Phoebe in its forgiving embrace.
Tom rolled her over and lifted her onto the bed. He brushed away the cascades of hair draped across her face and kissed her tears away.
“Now you’re mine. My beautiful, submissive, Phoebe,” he whispered.
Then he made love to her, urgently but tenderly. The longing in his eyes and the powerful rhythm of his stroke revealed a genuine need and desire for her that Phoebe had never experienced from any other man. Her orgasms came and went in shuddering explosions, pushing her to the glorious heights of ecstasy, over and over again. He consumed her, dominated their lovemaking with a masterful understanding of her needs, keeping his own climax at bay until he’d exhausted her totally and she half laughed, half cried, begging him to show a little mercy. He finally relented and came explosively inside her, his body slick with sweat, shuddering as he released a deep moan of ecstasy.
They rolled apart and lay panting and giggling. Phoebe’s entire body now glowed with a rosy hue similar to what Tom had raised on her behind. Her face was flushed from the heat created by their exertions, and stained with the tears of absolute joy she’d wept almost throughout their lovemaking.
“God, but you’re wonderful,” she breathed.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” Tom gave her a lascivious grin.
Phoebe sighed contentedly. “Isn’t this where we light up a couple of cigarettes and stare at the ceiling with silly smiles on our faces?” She giggled again.
“I think you already know how I feel about smoking, Phoebe,” he said sternly. “So unless you want a firm reminder, you’d better cast the thought right out of your head. And that reminds me. I’ll take that pack you keep in the dresser, just in case you decide to indulge the disgusting habit after I’ve gone.” He rolled onto his side and looked down at her. His expression firm, yet loving at the same time. “You’ll never smoke another cigarette again, Phoebe. I’ll not allow you to do harm to yourself, nor will I allow any harm to come to you, as much as it’s in my power to prevent it.” He kissed her then, tenderly. When he withdrew, his eyes glistened with tears. “You’re truly the best thing to have ever come into my life, Phoebe, and if you ever left it, then my reason for living will leave me, too.”
Tears sprang to Phoebe’s eyes as a sharp stab of exquisite pain throbbed in her heart. She slipped her hands around his neck and pulled him to her, kissing him hard and passionately as the tears slid down her cheeks and trickled across their lips in a warm, salty flow. At last, after so many years of empty longing, she had found the dark man of her dreams.
* * *
Tom hurriedly showered and scuttled off to work, taking Phoebe’s emergency pack of smokes after landing a hard warning swat to her sore tail. Then he kissed her and promised to phone at around midday to arrange their next meeting.
Phoebe fed and mucked out the horses, wearing a very satisfied grin throughout. She considered saddling up and taking her youngster out for a hack, but at the thought of a couple of hours sitting in a hard leather saddle, she giggled to herself and dismissed the idea. She led both horses down to the arena and hung up their hay nets, then kissed the feisty young Murphy—a vast, almost pure white, 17.2 hand Irish Draught X Thoroughbred—on the muzzle. She promised him a nice long ride tomorrow, unless she committed some other punishable misdemeanour in the meantime! Her older horse, Remus—a refined, 17 hands, sleek, handsome, red-bay warm blood—the other love of her life, ambled over and demanded attention. She’d taught him to kiss many years ago, using peppermints held close to her face, and now he obliged at every opportunity, slobbering soft, gentle lips across her cheeks. He’d just taken a drink and the excess liquid dribbled all down her chin. Phoebe grimaced and laughed, pushing his insistent nose out of the way.
“I’ve got nothing for you, old man, so you can knock off the cupboard love.” She patted his powerful neck and wiped her face on her sleeve, then slipped an arm around him and hugged as he chomped on the hay.
“You’ve a competitor for my attentions, now, precious. I’ve just met the man of my dreams.... Yes, it’s a fact,” she said in answer to an imaginary question. “Really, I have. Fantasies do come true, it seems. You’ll love him—I hope—and maybe he’ll want to learn to ride. Mind you,” she said, patting his neck again, “I think he might be a tad too heavy for your old bones, now.” She turned to look at Murphy—tall, strong, powerful—more than capable of carrying Tom, but certainly too young and fiery for a beginner. Phoebe grinned wickedly. Now here was a chance for her to hold the upper hand! Much as she desperately needed a man to temper her negative tendencies, it wouldn’t do to let him have all the control.
* * *
Tom Fraser drove to work feeling on top of the world. The sex had been stupendous, no doubt about that, but what a woman!
He’d run that add for nearly six months and met over a dozen potential partners—none of them even remotely suitable in the end. They’d ranged in age from twenty-five to forty-two. The young women were mostly vacuous and over talkative—usually about themselves. The older ones, not that he had any qualms about women in their forties, in fact they were often the most exciting, were bored housewives looking to spice up their marriages. He’d dreamt of a woman like Phoebe for most of his life. Beautiful, intelligent, witty, charming and best of all, tall and strong. Tiny women felt so damned breakable in his hands. Phoebe was magnificent for her age. Long, powerful limbs, broad though delicately boned shoulders and neck. Soft, flat belly, beautifully proportioned breasts and hips and, of course, the most gorgeous bottom. Christ! He was thinking of her in the same way most farmers judged livestock! She’d hate that. But best of all were the qualities she, as yet, did not understand about herself.
He felt a twinge of guilt. If she had any idea of what he used to do for a living, she’d probab
ly run a mile. He’d been an armed forces psychiatrist for over twenty years, rank of Colonel. He’d taken early retirement and couldn’t face running a civilian practise. The poor lads he’d ministered to over the years had given him enough grief and heartache, especially those who’d fought in the Falklands and the Gulf.
So, when his father died and bequeathed his security firms to Tom, it was as though he’d been thrown a lifeline. But, a lifetime spent analysing people was a hard thing to quit and, to his chagrin, had quite often been instrumental in the destruction of his relationships.
But Phoebe needed him. Though she didn’t fully realise it, she was not the tough, roll-with-the-punches woman she thought she was. And although she believed that her brattish, mouthy behaviour was a deliberate attempt to grab attention, it wasn’t entirely. Unlike most of the women he’d met that were into the spanking scene, she could barely say the word spank without disintegrating into a mush of guilt, shame and confusion. The icy, “I can handle anything you throw at me,” persona she’d built around herself was indeed a protective shell. And inside was a frightened, vulnerable little girl desperate for someone to love her.
The moment she told him about the death of her brother, he knew. At fourteen, she was quite old enough to understand the reality and finality of death, but at a very transitional age for being able to deal with it. Reading between the lines of Phoebe’s own account, her father swept aside his daughter’s grief and loss, and transferred his own guilt, and unfulfilled ambitions for his son onto her. She’d never really grieved. Never been allowed to. Forced to grow up far, far too quickly. From the moment that young child kissed her dead brother’s face, her fate was pretty well sealed.
One In A Million Page 5
