I tilt my head and give him an innocent look. “Want to see if you can flip me? For the sake of the story, no other reason. I need my writing to be accurate. If you do it, I’ll untie you.”
He smiles, and it looks sort of dangerous, and makes my stomach lurch. “If I flip you, Abs, I’m not stopping anything until I say we’re done.”
I shrug. “Big talk, Boston. I don’t know if you can handle a little one-handed action right now. I mean, you are a bit tied up. You’re relying on me to get you free here, after all.”
Boston strokes my ass again, gives me that heart-melting smile, and suddenly I’m over his lap. How the fuck he managed it, I have no idea, but whap, I’m over his legs, he twisted me with his one free arm, and now my face is squashed into the cover and his hand is on my ass, holding me down.
I scream and laugh and twist to look up at him. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe you actually…” and the look on his face stops my smile. He’s all serious now, breathing harder, and fuck, but it’s sexy to see him with his one arm still tied up with that scarf and to feel the other one on my body.
My skirt is all twisted and I feel Boston’s hand by my thigh, just his fingertips, grazing my skin. He strokes me so lightly, just under the fabric, above my knees, and I shudder at the exquisite sensation. He strokes a little higher, and a little higher, and now he’s toying with the fabric of my panties, letting his index finger stray just under the lacy edge. I’m holding my breath, waiting for his hand to keep going, but he strokes back down my leg and lets his palm rest on my thigh.
“Aw, Abs,” he says, and his voice is a mix of a tease and a threat. “I’m a champion lifter, baby. Flipping a girl like you with one hand is child’s play. Spread your legs.”
“Wh-what?”
“Spread your legs. You heard me.” His voice is a caress now, and his hand is still a hot weight on my skin, burning into me. “You just gave yourself to me, baby, don’t pretend you didn’t. Now do what I asked.”
I lick my lips and clench my muscles, and he laughs again, then gives me a very soft small spank over my skirt. “Abby. I’m waiting.”
I gasp, and slide my thighs about an inch apart, wiggling to get comfortable on his lap. I can feel how hard he is beneath me, and that makes a tingling arousal start to grow in my pelvis.
“More.” His voice is low and holds a smile, but also a warning.
“How—How much more?” I ask, stalling for time. My heart is still hammering away and this is insane. I can’t believe I’m lying over Boston’s lap. I can’t believe he put me here. I’m ecstatic; more than ecstatic, really, I’m out of my mind with insane joy that this is really happening.
“Until I say stop,” comes his calm reply, so I spread my legs a little wider, then a little more. I’m not sure I can go more without adjusting my position when he says, “Stop.”
Neither of us speak for a long minute, and I can feel my pulse in my breasts, in my neck, in my groin; can he feel it, too? He strokes my legs again, up and down, and it’s the most erotic thing I’ve felt in forever. Just his rough hand, gliding over my legs, until I melt into his body, a crazy mix of relaxation and arousal.
Then he murmurs, "Tell me to lift your skirt.”
“What?”
“I said,” I can hear the smile, “tell me. To. Lift. Your. Skirt.”
“But you can just lift it if you want to,” I say, a little confused, but also deliberately sassing him, hoping to spark a dominant reaction.
“Sure, I can do anything I want right now,” he says and chuckles, stroking higher and letting his hand rest on my ass. “But you’re going to ask for it every step of the way. I want to hear you beg.”
I suck in my breath. “I’m not going to beg you to lift my skirt,” I challenge him, shifting as if to close my legs, and he reacts like lightning, holding me hard like iron.
“Uh-uh,” he warns, then I feel a slap on my skirt. “We’re playing this my way, Abby.”
“Oh!” I gasp, feeling wetness surge between my legs. “Boston, please lift up my skirt.”
My face is burning, but I guess that’s okay, because I feel the cool air of the room as he slowly, so slowly pulls the skirt up my legs and pools it around my waist. “Keep your legs open,” he reminds me, then rubs the surface of my ass through the panties.
“Fuck, Abby, you look so goddamn good,” he growls, running one finger down the cleft of my ass toward my pussy.
I moan and thrust my hips in surprise and arousal, and he laughs and slaps me hard in the middle of both cheeks. “No moving, Abby, until I tell you,” he demands. “Understand?”
But his voice is silky and sexy, and I’m not at all afraid. It’s just Boston—Boston!—and I know he’d never hurt me… at least, not in a way I didn’t want to be hurt.
“Yes, I understand,” I say, and my voice is soft and compliant.
“You’re right,” Boston tells me, letting his fingers drift up and down the crotch of my panties, making me squeak out tiny sounds of pleasure. “I’ve been a little vanilla, I guess, compared to the stuff you write. But guess what, Abby?” His fingers continue to stroke with such light pressure I can barely feel them. “I decided I like the stuff you write about. And I loved it when you asked me to spank you the other time. I loved that a fucking lot. So I read up on it.”
Now his fingers are pressing a little more firmly and I moan and try to wiggle into his hand. He cracks a sharp spank down across my upper thighs, and I squeal. “Ow!”
“Stay still,” he reminds me, then rubs the spot where he slapped. “I did a little research, Abby. Want to know what I looked up?”
My heart practically stops. “What did you look up?” I can barely get out the words.
“Take a guess.” He rubs my ass a few more times, then cracks me once, twice, across each cheek.
I moan and twist and manage, “Sp—you looked up spanking?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly right, Abby. I looked up how to spank a hot girl for pleasure during sex. I learned a lot of interesting things.”
He’s teasing between my legs again, touching, rubbing. “I learned that you always need to start a spanking out light, to warm up your girl’s ass.” He gives me a few light slaps on each cheek, then rubs. “Then you can step up the intensity, little by little, until you make her ass pink. You want me to make your pretty ass pink, Abby?”
I’m dying here. “Oh, God, Boston, I don’t know!” I cry out.
He gives me a sharper spank. “Yes or no, Abby. There’s no guessing.”
“I—I…” I stammer, and try to close my legs on his hand. “Yes, but please keep touching me. Don’t stop.”
He laughs. “And there’s another interesting thing I found out. Open, Abby. Now.”
I spread my legs for him again, and he continues, “Sometimes it can be a hell of a lot of fun to tease your girl while she’s tied up at your mercy. You can stroke her and make her want to come,” and he touches the crotch of my panties, which are now soaked, “and make her accept whatever you want to give her in order to get her release.”
He slaps me again, harder and I moan, lifting my hips up to his hand. He’s so good. So, so good.
“So I think that’s what we’ll try out right now,” he decides. “You’re going to keep your legs open for me like this, Abby, and I’m going to play with you until I think you’re wet enough for me, baby. Because you know what? I have a pretty big dick, Abs. And you’re going to need to be completely slick and wet for me to get in this tight little pussy.”
God, his dirty talk is making me insane, and I writhe on his lap, trying to rub my clit over his cock, but he stills me with his free hand, and then slaps, harder now.
“But you’re going to ask for it,” he tells me confidently. “You’re going to sit up and look me right in the eyes and ask me to spank you and tease you until you’re wet enough to fuck my cock.”
“I am?”
“Now.” His voice is hard and rough and I almost come right there
, right then.
I bite my lip and realize that his hand is gone, and I slowly scramble around—it feels awkward—until I’m straddling him again. I can feel my face is red, but I’m so aroused I don’t care. The cocky bastard has put his other hand up again behind his head and is leaning back!
“Hi.” He smiles at me and I can’t resist. I smile back, my heart melting. “Hi.”
“Do you have something to say to me?” He raises one eyebrow and grins.
I lean in and put my lips against his and speak into his mouth. “Boston, will you please turn me over your lap and take down my panties and do what you want until I’m begging you to fuck me? I want to feel your hard hand on my soft skin, and then I want your hard cock inside me. Boston, I want you to fuck me tonight, harder than you’ve ever fucked a girl before. Take me, baby. Make me yours.”
And before I can finish the sentence, he crushes me to his chest and our mouths meet. He groans into me and I groan back. He kisses me harshly, hard, and I deepen it, make it rougher. I want to lick every part of his mouth, his tongue. I want to feel his tongue jammed into my mouth. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze, then dig my nails in as hard as I can, and he roars, “Fuck, Abby!” and reaches back to grab my ass while I’m riding him. I grind my crotch into him, hard, struggling to rub my clit against him any way I can. I’m desperate for his touch.
The kiss goes on and on, until I feel like our mouths are one mouth, I feel like he’s part of me. His breath and my breath are hot and moist and we’re panting, grinding, grabbing. It’s like we’re starving, desperate, needy.
He pulls back and looks at me, and his lips are wet with our spit and I want him back immediately and I make a moan of disapproval, but still, I love fucking looking at him, too—those cheekbones, those eyes, the long lashes, his smile. I could look at him for hours, I think and it blows me away that it’s okay: Right now I can look my fill, I don’t have to sneak little glances to try to memorize the planes and angles to enjoy later on, a secret illicit pleasure. No, he’s mine right now, all fucking mine, and I can stare and feast on him with my gaze and let my eyes soak up every single detail. Because he’s looking at me the same fucking way.
He reaches out both hands and puts them on my waist, and I gasp. “You got out of the scarf?”
He lazily unbuttons the top button on my shirt, then another, and flicks the fabric open to expose my bra. “Please, Abs. You were over my lap for quite a while. I had plenty of time to undo the knot.” He smirks. “Besides, you know you’d rather have me be in charge, right?”
He is right. I just don’t want to say it.
He looks into my eyes. “And I’m tired of one-handed pleasure, Abby. I’ve been doing one-handed pleasure ever since I fucking met you, just waiting for the chance to do… this. Tonight I’m putting both hands on you, baby, everywhere and anywhere I want.”
He opens another button, then another, and separates the fabric, revealing my bra. “Take the shirt off,” he says, and nods at the side of the bed. Wordlessly I slide the blouse from my shoulders and toss it.
“Now you’re the one who’s going to have her hands tied up,” he murmurs, dangling the scarf from one finger. “Once I’m done unwrapping you, that is.”
He reaches behind me and unsnaps my bra. “Off,” he commands, and I toss it aside, then look him in the eye as I show him my bare breasts. He sucks in a breath, and his gaze turns predatory. “Oh, Abs, you’ve got the prettiest tits,” he breathes at me, and then he pulls me toward him and leans down his dark head and his mouth is on my nipple.
I cry out at the touch; my nipples are already pebbled in the air under his gaze, and he’s licking softly with his tongue, sucking a little harder, biting down until there’s a small pop of perfect pain. I wail and grab at his hair, tugging hard, pulling, treating him roughly as he teases me with his mouth. I wiggle on his lap, finding his erection between my thighs and trying to adjust myself to just the right spot. He lets me do it, but just as I’m finding a rhythm, he puts both hands on my hips and stops my motion. He bites my bottom lip and slides my panties down to just under the swell of my ass, as far as they can go while I’m in this position.
“You want me to touch you here?” he asks softly, tapping one finger on my mound.
“Yes,” I moan, pushing into his hand.
“Ask nicely,” he says.
“Please,” I say. “Please, Boston, touch me.”
“Touch you where?”
“Touch my—pussy. My clit. Please rub my clit.”
“Aw, baby, I love to hear you talk dirty to me,” he murmurs. “Tell me exactly how to stroke you, Abby. Do you want me to rub like this?” and he draws one finger down over the top of my clit to my pussy, dipping in and arching his finger up to stroke inside. He does it again and again, until I’m shaking in his hands, then he switches the motion and rubs on either side of my clit. Left, right, again. “Or like this?”
I lean in and bite his neck, hard, making him groan in surprise. I suck where I bit and order, “The first way. Do that again. Please!” My voice trembles and my thighs tremble, too. I’m on my knees straddling his thighs, spread open, and his touch is making me weak.
“This?” He repeats the draw and glide inside.
I sob out in need. “Yes, please, Boston, if you keep doing that, I’m going to—”
“You’re going to come?” he asks, a smile in his voice. He stops touching me. “But remember what I said about making you wait? There’s still the matter of your spanking,” he reminds me, and then I’m back over his lap. “You did ask for it,” he teases me.
My body clenches with the unexpected stop of pleasure; the orgasm was on the way and now it retreats, and it’s almost painful, and I kick my feet at the covers. “Boston! Asshole. Don’t make me wait!”
He laughs and slaps my ass. “Take off your panties, Abby, and ask me to finish the spanking.”
I reach back and tug and wiggle to get them down to my knees, then he helps, takes them off the rest of the way. Then he grabs the scarf and dangles it in front of me. “Give me your hands,” he says, and I do, trembling. He ties me up softly, gently, my wrists in front of me. I could get out if I wanted to—but I don’t want to. I love this. He kisses me softly on the lips, then says, “Back over my lap, babe.”
I lie there, naked except for the scarf, the anticipation driving me insane. I can’t wait for what comes next.
“So let’s see how good I did my research,” he said, and I hear pleasure in his voice, and then his hand slaps down. Crack, crack. Once on each side. “I’ll start you out light, Abby, but trust me, I’m going to make you dance on my lap, baby, before I let you come.”
The next spanks are a little harder. He takes a break to rub my skin, and murmurs, “Now that I have you here? I fucking get how hot this is. It’s so sexy to have you here, laid open for me, your ass here for my hand. I can do what I want, and you’re trusting me to do this, and it’s fucking insane.”
He slaps again, and again. I moan and raise my hips up: More. He smiles. “You like that?”
I nod into the bedcovers and he admonishes me, “Words, Abby. Tell me.”
“Yes. More, Boston. Please.”
“Good girl,” he says, and whispers, “I love hearing you beg.”
Then he starts spanking in earnest, medium hard slaps at a steady pace. After a minute my ass is burning in the most sexy, thrilling way, and I start to wiggle on his lap. My clit is so engorged and swollen that the smallest pressure sends sparks of pleasure through my abdomen. I moan and wriggle; he notices, and lectures me, “Abby. You’re going to wait for it. Do you understand?”
“No,” I cry out. “It’s too hard to wait.”
“Too hard?” He rubs his hand over my ass. “You know what was hard, Abs?”
I moan and cry out. “What?”
“It was hard,” and he punctuates his words with little spanks, “to watch you every day while I was doing my work. It was hard to watch you prance aroun
d and show me your pretty bouncy ass all day and not be able to fucking touch you. It was hard to want to touch you and think you weren’t interested.”
“Ow,” I whimper, even though it doesn’t hurt. My exclamation is for the time we wasted, not being together. He rubs my skin with his fingertips and I push up into his touch.
“It was hard, Abby,” he continues, running his fingers down the cleft of my ass, between my thighs, “to have you tell me you didn’t want to sleep with me, when I could see your whole body craving it just like I did. It was hard to watch you watching me every day and then leave without following through. Tell me you’re sorry for that, Abby.”
“I’m sorry!” I cry out, and it’s true, so true, I’m more than sorry—and the apology is more to myself than to him, I suppose. Because what we’re doing now is so fucking fantastic, and if we could have been doing this all along, what the hell was I thinking by pushing him away?
“Yeah, I’m sorry, too,” he whispers, his voice a sensuous murmur. “But this is how I’ll forgive you. How do you like it?”
The only thing I can do is moan, because he touches me so softly that I might explode.
“You’re so wet,” he says, “and I’m glad it’s for me.” Then he smacks my ass again. “I’m going to get you even wetter before we move on.” Now his fingers are back between my thighs, working me until I’m dying for release.
His words make butterflies dance violently in my stomach, and that tickly sexy feeling I get—you know the feeling when a hot guy breathes on your neck?—it’s that feeling, but it’s coursing through my entire body. And in my pelvis, the delicious ache of an orgasm is growing. And the fantastic stinging on my ass makes it harder to hold out. I realize that I’m contorting, twisting left and right, trying to get my clit where I need it, but he holds me down, making me take each spank and touch and stroke exactly where he wants to put it.
Finally I cry out “Boston!” and I don’t need to say any more. Instantly his hand is rubbing me, up and down, over my ass, and his other hand is caressing my hair.
Boston Page 15
