by Maren Smith
Stop it, she told herself. He wasn’t going to want sex. That just wasn’t sensible. They barely knew one another, and no, that was not disappointment lodging in the back of her throat. She absolutely was not going to be sad because a perfect stranger—even one as stately and attractive as Grimsley—wasn’t going to ‘force’ her to take his cock.
Like she wanted that anyway.
Wow—she covered her burning face with both hands—where had that come from?
“Do you need to go back to the corner?” he asked.
“No,” she groaned. She just needed to figure out how to shut off her brain. He probably thought she was getting all agitated because of her impending spanking. If he knew the direction her thoughts had just taken, he’d probably be every bit as embarrassed as she was for having them. “No. I’m fine.”
“All right.” He nodded once and gave his pants a loosening tug. “Take your panties off, please.”
Like a sudden drop in an elevator, her stomach fell. She had the most absurd urge to cover herself, but her hands got lost in the unexpected confusion of what needed covering the most. Her front, the part of her that pulsed and thumped at the thought of being bared to his gaze, and which he would see first the second he asked her to raise her skirt. Or her back, the full round wobble of her bottom that clenched protectively because it was about to lose its cover. Its woefully thin and completely-ineffective-when-it-came-to-protection cover, but all the cover she had nonetheless.
“I-I’m sorry?” she stammered.
Grimsley didn’t even blink. “You heard me, girl. Take your panties off. Not just down, off.” He held out his hand. “Give them to me, and from now on, whenever you enter this room for punishment, you will do so already bared and ready to receive it.”
He was going to make her do sex stuff.
The burn in her face flared hotter as she bent to slide her hands up under her short skirt, hooking the elastic of her own panties. Pinned up into as close of a Little Maid’s coiffeur as she could force her blonde curls, she couldn’t even hide her embarrassment behind her own hair while she pushed them down her legs. Evidence of her arousal soaked the cloth at the crotch. Unable to get them off fast enough before he noticed that, she caught her heel in a tangle of lace and fell. Grimsley grabbed at her arm, but she lost her balance anyway. She tried to control her fall, but his grip meant she didn’t control anything. Instead of landing on her knees, he pulled and she collapsed with a sprawling umphff across his lap.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” She struggled to get up again, but his hand only tightened on her arm. His other—she squeaked—caught the inside of her left thigh and with a hefty pull, he hauled her that much further up and over his legs. Grabbing the floor with both hands, she only just kept from banging the dark stones with either her forehead or her nose. Her bottom was now positioned dead-center across his lap with her legs kicking off the other side in a desperate search for balance.
Her panties dangled off the end of one high heel, a black-laced flag of clumsy surrender. If she could have grabbed them, wadded them up, stuffed them somewhere no one would ever find them again, she would have. But she just couldn’t reach.
Grimsley could, and did. His hawk eyes missed nothing. As soon as he unhooked them from her heel, he turned the sullied cloth over, folding it in his hand to better see the moist stain her wayward lusts left behind.
“What is this?” he asked, not because he didn’t know but because he was a sadistic son of a bitch and he wanted to made her say it. Out loud.
Eden rolled her lips. She covered her face with both hands, mortified beyond belief.
“I asked you a question.”
“I have the right to remain silent.” Twisting, she made a desperate backwards grab to snatch her panties out of his hand, but he lifted them easily beyond her reach.
“This is not a court of law. You do not have the right not to answer when I ask you something.”
Rearing up off the floor, she twisted and grabbed again, not only missing widely, but accidentally kneeing him in the ribs in the attempt.
The Master Butler responded by tossing her underwear well out of reach onto the table, grabbing the back of her nearest thigh, and shifting her far enough over his lap to wrench one leg out from underneath her. Before she knew what was happening, he had both her legs pinned in the vise of his own thighs and the ruffled skirts of her miniscule costume were tossed up onto her back.
“Put your feet—” the flat of his broad hand landed with breath-stealing ferocity upon the back of her naked thigh, “—down!”
He slapped the other side every bit as hard and Eden snapped her feet to the floor.
He’d missed her bottom. That might have been intentional, too. The sting chewing into the backs of her tender thighs had her gasping and hugging onto the legs of his chair.
“Rule number one: You will accept your punishments with grace and obedience,” he told her. “You will strive always to maintain the positions I request of you, keeping your hands and your feet out of my way. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” she gasped, already fighting not to squirm. Or to reach back and, if not rub, then at least to hold on to her smarting thighs until the worst of the awful sting faded away. Wow. That really hurt.
“Rule number two: You will answer when I ask you a question.” His hand came to rest directly on top of the first area he had just spanked. It wasn’t a comfort. Rather, it felt like a warning.
Eden closed her eyes, the embarrassment burning at her face melding with the heat of the hurt pulsing in the backs of her legs, which had slowly begun to move upward. Drifting up over the curve into her cringing buttocks as well as down into the shadowy vale in between. The pulse of pain met the pulse that was already there, and the two intertwined, becoming something more. “I—”
He struck the backs of each thigh, not once this time but twice in rapid succession.
Eden yelped, her hands flying up in knee-jerk response before she quickly latched onto the chair again. “Wait, wait!”
“I am not going to wait,” he replied. “Answer me.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say!” she wailed.
His next fiery swats found her bottom dead on, with each swat feeling ten times worse than what had already come before. “Avoiding the question is as good as a lie,” he commanded. “One more time and I will revoke our agreement. If I cannot trust you, I would just as soon not waste my time.”
Her chest caught. Despite the burning and the very real discomfort his spanking was branding into her flesh, she didn’t want this to stop. But the thing he wanted her to say, to admit to out loud… “I can’t!”
His hand came to rest on the stinging curve of her bottom. The respite was wicked. It was just pause enough to allow the hurt to diminish and the fire to throb, not just in the backs of her spanked thighs but in other places. She could feel it spreading up into her bottom. Worse, though, the sinuous thumping was spreading in between her thighs too, moving through the whole of her pussy until that languid thumping had seated itself in the base of her clit.
“Why can’t you?” he demanded.
Eden squeezed her legs together, unsure whether she ought to confess her attraction or cry. His hand moved then, making the choice for her as he cupped the hot pink swell of one buttock, squeezing to make the fire and the throb intensify, and bringing back just a hint of the pain. The mortification, too, since squeezing pulled her buttocks apart, revealing not just the pucker of her back passage, but the shadowy crease of her pussy, drenched as it was with the shimmering evidence of her undeniable arousal.
“I don’t want to say it,” she groaned. “This is so embarrassing.”
“I don’t care.” Releasing her buttock, Grimsley shifted his grip to her other cheek. He squeezed there, too, pulling at her flesh until the strain of it tugged at her labia, prizing her open down there as well. She groaned all over again, hearing how wet she sounded. She could smell herself, the unmistakable perfu
me of physical attraction.
Could he?
“I don’t care how embarrassing you find it. You will answer what I asked, or you will be punished for your defiance. And I would have you know, so far, defiance is all that is being corrected now. We have yet to start on either your demerits or your penalties.”
Wide-eyed, she stared at the floor. Her jaw dropped. Her bottom flared, but so did her misbehaving sex. She was almost done as it was and, according to him, they hadn’t yet gotten started? How could that be?
She choked on a gasp when he released her other cheek and shifted his grip again, lowering his hand until once more it was resting on the back of her thigh. Where the skin was so much more tender and sensitive. Where the spanks hurt so much worse. Where the press of his fingertips followed the curve of her leg down into the shadow between her thighs and she could almost feel the skimming touch skirting her most intimate folds. Just a twitch. That was all it would have taken for his finger to brush full up against her, skimming through the slickness of her desire. As if it belonged to him.
Her grip on the chair legs turned strangling. She wrung at the inflexible wood, her knuckles whitening in desperation.
“M-my panties were w-wet.”
Five hard, stinging swats bounced off the under-curve of her instantly writhing bottom. She sucked back her yelps. Were her legs free, she would have kicked them.
“My panties were wet, what?” he countered, his fiery palm coming to rest once more on the back of her thigh.
“Sir!” she gasped, panting. “M-my panties were wet, Sir!”
“The thought of being spanked was that arousing?” He switched his hand from her left thigh to her right. When he squeezed, his thumb caressed a single path up the inside of her thigh and her whole body erupted in a burst of wanton tingling when it touched her. It full on touched her. Not invading, but simple passing boldly across the seam of her pussy lips to spread that liquid arousal from her folds onto her thigh. The moisture cooled on her skin where the air touched it.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. Shaking in other parts of her too, truth be told. Her legs were shaking. Her hands were too, her grip on the chair was the only thing keeping her steady right now. Everything inside of her was trembling—from the heated well of her weeping sex to the beating of her heart, which she could feel pounding the hardest all the way down into her aching clit. It was in her veins, her throat, her head. It was even in the tips of her stiffening nipples. “N-no,” she hated herself for admitting. “It was the other things.”
“What other things?”
She closed her eyes, so very aroused and so very ashamed. “Please… don’t make me…”
The vise of his thighs across the backs of hers abruptly released and suddenly Eden’s right leg was thrust away from its twin. He clamped back onto her left, holding on to that one as tight as any man’s legs could, but now there was no such thing as shadow between her thighs. He’d splayed her open. She could kick and scramble and flail, but only with one leg, the other was still his prisoner, and now he had full, unobstructed access to every intimate part of her.
“What other things?” he repeated, soft as a purr, as terrible as thunder, the bold cup of his hand as he caught firm hold of her pussy folds one of total ownership. He squeezed, tightening his grip.
Oh God… she had to tell him, but she couldn’t. How could she? How could she say out loud that she had been imagining him doing… well, this! This grip. If only she’d had the imagination to envision exactly how it would feel, she wouldn’t just have been wet, she’d have come, right there in front of him. The pressure on her clit, caught between his squeezing fingers, was incredible. Eden couldn’t move, and yet she couldn’t hold still. Her body was frozen, immobile in the grip of that one hand cupping her sex, and yet her scrambling toes couldn’t stop curling and flexing. She lost her heels, first one falling off her foot and then the other, leaving her stocking-clad toes digging helplessly against the floor stones.
“You!” she gasped, as his expert fingers worked her captured clit. Back and forth, applying pressure enough to make this maddening, pressure enough almost to make it hurt. That minute pain was an intoxicating pleasure all its own and it helped the confession come out. “D-doing things.”
“What things?”
There was absolutely no censure in his tone. No embarrassment of his own, or revulsion that she could hear. That had to be his professionalism shining through. As long as he’d worked here, there probably wasn’t a lot she could say that he hadn’t already heard from hundreds of other guests.
A tiny sting of jealousy bit at her for all those faceless other women. Eden envied all they must have experienced, and for the ease with which she could imagine them asking for what she could barely form into words.
“This,” was as close as she could come to vocalizing the way in which she had envisioned him bending her over, sliding his fingers into her in the same careful, calculating way in which they were even now pinching, massaging, rolling the swollen nub of her clit between his fingers, the slick friction of their skin all but dripping in the wetness that poured from her.
“Did you think sexual things were going to happen tonight?”
She burned in the humiliation of hearing him ask such a question out loud. She burned even hotter, because that wasn’t just what she’d thought, it was what she wanted. In this very position, with her legs splayed open wide and his hand gripping her pussy, owning her clit, alternately massaging into her a confirmation of his ability to give her pleasure if he so desired it… not to mention those little tastes of pain.
“Yes,” she whimpered, hiding her face in her hands.
He rolled her clit between his fingers, until her hips were rolling upon his knee in time with the motion he’d set. “In this position?”
“Bent over.” She was going to cry. She might come first, but immediately after, she was going to cry. She could feel it, a hot wave of unshed tears riding the wave of orgasm threatening to break her. Like the winding of some invisible clock, his fingers kept tightening the springs holding back that wave with every massaging, pinching circle he made.
“My lap?” he asked.
“The couch,” she gasped. “The bed… I don’t know!”
“Here.” His fingers released her clit and in a single, hard upward thrust, three became buried inside her.
“Ah!” She threw back her head, panting, her hips grinding down on those deep-seated fingers. “Yes. Please, yes.”
He was making her beg for it. She’d never begged before. She’d never felt such a terrible need to from anyone, much less a man she barely knew, but this man hadn’t just created the need, he’d stoked it to bonfire-like proportions and then set it free to rage inside her.
“Here.” His fingers withdrew all the way to the very tips, then thrust up into her again. He butted them all the way to his palm and his thumb found her secondary passage. He did not touch. He did not caress. He did not gently apply pressure or meekly ask for consent. In the same second that she felt the shock of his thumb against the puckered rim of her anus, he was inside her there now too. Sinking in, slow but deep, and giving her no chance to wrap her mind around the fact that she was about to be invaded in a way so deeply personal, intimate, dirty and mortifying. One instant she wasn’t, and in the next, she was impaled on both fingers and thumb.
“No!” she gasped. Not because she wanted it to stop, but because it was involuntary. It was guttural. It was dirty, and it felt good in the most primal way imaginable. It was double-penetration in a circumstance and a place where she could barely imagine being penetrated at all.
It was a claiming of her body that she hadn’t expected. Hadn’t known until this very moment that she’d wanted as deeply and privately as suddenly she did. And God help her, but she came from it. She came, explosively. Crying out in a hard, grunting, unladylike caw of pleasure so utterly and helplessly given that all she could do was flail her hands back with the nee
d to grab at him, but somehow stopping herself without touching him. Because he’d said not to. He’d said to keep her hands down. She tried. God, she tried, but with every spasming wave of ecstasy her hands flailed back again.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t stop her hips from pumping and grinding and riding on his hand. She couldn’t stop herself from making that primal, god-awful grunting sound as her belly clamped down and her pussy milked at him.
Eventually, the spasms slowed. Eventually, she exhausted herself to the point she could not buck her hips back, not one thrust more. Eventually, she wilted over his lap, gasping and moaning and half-sobbing because she’d never done that before in her life, not one time. She hardly recognized herself.
Grimsley took his fingers out of her pussy, stroking and rubbing her clit and folds one last time. Like a fond farewell. He took his thumb out of her ass next. And then, without any warning, he spanked her.
“Demerit number one,” he said, and the flat of his broad hand caught her right buttock in a thunderclap of sound and sensation. If he wasn’t spanking her as hard as he could, she hoped she never felt it when he did. Maybe it was because her nerves were all awake and clamoring. Maybe it was because she already felt scraped raw in the aftermath of her orgasm, or because there had been time enough between now and the last swats he’d given her, so her skin had regained all sensitivity. Eden didn’t know. What she did know was she was done earning demerits.
“Ow!” she squeaked.
“Demerit number two.”
She grabbed at the chair legs again and grit her teeth. Only this time it wasn’t just one bottom-blistering swat, it was three, all of them given just as hard as the first. Try as she did to take it, the last stroke wrenched a shout from her. It was all she could do not to slap her hands back and catch at his, stopping this punishment before it killed her.
