by Alex Algren
We padded out to the kitchen, Adam in his boxer briefs and me in just a T-shirt and boyshorts. Adam swatted my ass when I bent to get out the mixing bowl from the cabinet.
“Hey!”
“Just trying to help,” he said with a sleepy grin. “I’m getting hungry.”
His leer told me he was hungry for more than pancakes.
“If you want to help, why don’t you get the milk and butter out of the fridge?”
He gave me another smack. “I’d rather bend you over the counter—”
“Milk and butter!”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted, rumple-haired and bare-chested, looking so delicious in the morning light streaming in the window.
I put the cast-iron skillet on the stove and added a quarter-sized dollop of oil. Then I assembled the dry ingredients in a glass bowl. Flour, sugar, baking powder, a little salt, some spices. Adam put the quart of milk and a stick of butter on the counter next to me and nuzzled my neck before swatting my ass again.
“I need an egg, too.”
“You’re a demanding wench.”
“Hardly,” I laughed, as I measured off three tablespoons of butter and put it in a coffee mug. I popped it in the microwave for thirty seconds. “I’m cooking for you, not the other way around. I am but your obedient serving wench.”
“Obedient, huh?”
I ignored the suggestive tone in his voice as I took the melted butter out of the microwave. He got an egg from the refrigerator and handed it to me without a word. I could feel him standing behind me as I poured the milk into another bowl and added the egg and butter. I whisked the ingredients together slowly as I added a splash of vanilla, almost willing him to do what I knew he was going to do.
“You want it, don’t you?” he whispered behind me.
I halted, midwhisk. “Hmm? What are you talking about?”
“You’re practically sticking your ass out for it.”
I stood up straight. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are. You were waiting for me to spank you.”
“Only because you’ve been smacking me since we got up,” I argued, pouring the wet ingredients over the dry ingredients and returning to my whisking with increased vigor.
“So, you don’t want it?”
“No.” I didn’t sound terribly convincing even to myself. “I’m trying to make pancakes.”
Adam moved away to stand against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest. His bare, sexy chest. “I see. And I’m distracting you?”
“Yes,” I said, swallowing hard. “You are.”
He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone.”
“Oh. Okay.” I looked at the pancake batter, well mixed and ready to be put on a hot pan.
Adam watched as I carried the bowl to the stove. I tried not to look at him. I was annoyed, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. My ass was still tingling from that last slap and I wanted more. I wanted a lot more. He knew that and knew I was just playing coy, but he’d called my bluff and I was too rebellious to tell him what I wanted.
I scooped pancake batter from the bowl with a measuring cup and carefully poured it into the hot skillet. The batter sizzled, sending up that floury-sweet smell of pancakes that’s so perfect on a Sunday morning.
“You’re mad.”
I ignored him, scooping and pouring more batter into the pan. When I had three pancakes cooking, I said, “I’m not mad. I just need the spatula. Would you get it for me?”
I heard him rummaging around in the gadget drawer behind me. “You want it?”
“Yes, I want it.”
He smacked me with the spatula. “All you had to do was ask.”
I yelped. “Hey! Knock it off. I’m cooking.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought you wanted it.”
I bit my lip. The last time I told him to stop he had…well…stopped. The pancakes were just beginning to bubble and would need to be flipped in a minute or two.
“I want it,” I said, very deliberately. “I want it now.”
Even though I was expecting it, the slap of the plastic spatula made me jump. He spanked each cheek once, hard enough that I whimpered.
“How was that?”
I kept my eyes on the pancakes. Another thirty seconds and they would definitely need to be flipped or they would burn.
“I said, I want it.” I leaned over the stove, as if to get a closer look at my bubbling pancakes. “I really want it now.”
“Your ass looks delicious,” he said, giving it another slap with the spatula.
“I need to flip the pancakes now.” I was a little breathless as I reached behind me for the spatula.
Adam handed it over and I quickly turned each of the pancakes. They were perfect, golden brown. “Mmm. They look good.”
“Mmm, you look good,” Adam said, applying his hand to my ass.
I whimpered at the warm slap of his hand, so different from the cold spatula. He smacked me again and I closed my eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of pancakes and reveling in the tingling heat spreading through my bottom.
“I think your pancakes are done,” he said.
I opened my eyes and saw that he was right. The edges were perfectly brown. I sighed, completely disinterested in pancakes now, and slid the three pancakes off onto a plate.
“Why don’t you let me hold that spatula while you pour the batter?” Adam asked, his voice telling me exactly what to expect.
I tried not to appear too eager as I handed over the spatula. Tried and failed. Adam spanked me with it before I had even scooped more batter. I yelped and jumped, leaving a trail of batter down the side of the mixing bowl.
“Messy girl,” he growled, spanking me again.
My goal was to pour the batter as quickly as possible. I succeeded in pouring batter into three misshapen circles as the spanking continued. I whimpered with every slap, watching my sad little pancakes sizzle in the hot skillet. A trickle of perspiration—as much from leaning into the stove as from the heat radiating from my ass to my pussy—trickled between my breasts.
“Harder,” I said breathlessly, hanging on to the edge of the stovetop and thrusting my ass out for it.
Adam obliged my demand, smacking me hard with the flat part of the spatula until I moaned. My eyes fluttered closed again as I gave myself over to the spanking. My pussy throbbed with every smack and heat spiraled through me. I ached to stroke my clit until I came.
“Pull your panties down.”
I trembled as I obeyed. I was in a different world now, willing to do whatever Adam asked in order to get the satisfaction I needed. I tugged my panties down my thighs until they fell to the floor.
“Good,” Adam said. “Now I can see what I’m doing to you.”
“You like this, don’t you?”
I felt him press against me, his erection hard against my hot ass. “What do you think?”
I moaned as I pressed against him, the fabric of his boxer briefs feeling rough against my tender flesh.
He stepped back and quickly administered a series of hard whacks with the spatula, stopping as suddenly as he started.
I whimpered, wanting more.
“Time to flip your pancakes, bad girl.”
I fumbled to take the spatula from him, feeling clumsy and slow. I wasn’t thinking about cooking anymore. I awkwardly flipped the pancakes while he rubbed my ass, taking away some of the sting. He knelt behind me and I felt him kiss each enflamed cheek.
“Mmm. You smell like pancakes,” he murmured. The lick of his tongue between my cheeks made me shiver. “I wonder how you’d taste with maple syrup?”
“The pancakes are flipped.” I handed him the spatula and bent over again.
Adam chuckled. “Anxious little wench, aren’t you?”
I nodded, thrusting my bottom out for him. “Please?”
“Whatever you want, baby.” He slapped me hard and I nearly screamed.
“I want to come,” I murmured.
“Touch yourself.”
&nb
sp; It was all the encouragement I needed. With one hand gripping the stove, I pressed two fingers against my pussy and dragged my wetness up to my swollen clit. I stroked myself as Adam spanked me, each slap sending a tremor through me. I wouldn’t last long. I was so hot with wanting, it would only take a moment or two until I was coming. I closed my eyes, absorbed in the feeling of my clit between my fingers, so wet and hard, and the stinging slaps on my ass that were sending me over the edge.
“Your pancakes are burning.”
I nearly growled my frustration. Without a word, I took the spatula from Adam and slipped three more pancakes onto the plate. I handed him the spatula again, eagerly returning to my spanking pose and intent on getting off, but he had other ideas.
“I think there’s enough batter for a couple more pancakes.”
“Seriously?”
He whacked me, hard. “Don’t be sarcastic. This was your idea.”
I was cursing my clever idea as I poured the last two pancakes. “There. Happy?”
Another whack, as hard as the previous one. “Clearly, being spanked makes you more rebellious.”
I slipped my hand down between my thighs again. “Do it. Spank me,” I said urgently. “I’m so fucking hot.”
He gave me what I wanted, spanking me hard and steady as I rubbed my clit. My bottom felt swollen and sensitive, and I whimpered from the sting that lingered after each smack.
“Your ass is getting so red,” he murmured.
I could envision what he saw, my bottom thrust out for his pleasure, red from the spanking and shiny from the oil in the pan. I closed my eyes and moaned, grinding on my fingers as he spanked me.
“Fuck me.”
I heard the clatter of the spatula on the floor, then Adam’s cock bumping against my hand. I reached between my legs and guided him to my clit, stroking myself with the head of his cock before guiding him to my entrance. With one quick shove he was buried inside me, filling me up. I was so hot and wet for him, there was no need for him to go slow and take his time. The spanking he’d given me had been more than enough foreplay and now my body was begging for much-needed release.
He gripped my hip with one hand and my long hair with the other. I arched my back as he tugged at my hair, feeling the sharp tingle of pain at my scalp contrasting with the throb of warmth in my bottom. The sensations clashed in a tangle of pleasure as he pumped into me with hard, steady thrusts. I got off on the dual sensations of pain, strumming my clit in time with his cock going into me. Orgasm rushed over me in a powerful wave of heat and wetness that nearly buckled my knees. I held tight to the stove as Adam supported me with his hands and cock, thrusting hard into me.
My pussy squeezed the length of his cock, rippling with my long, slow orgasm. As wet as I was, he had a snug fit as my body gripped him. He moaned, curling over my back as he pumped into me. I dragged my wet fingers over the length of him as he started to come, reveling in the heat and weight of his cock. I tightened my pussy around him, feeling the last vestiges of my waning orgasm. Then, with a final thrust and a bellowing groan, he went still against me. I could feel the pulse of his cock buried inside me as my pussy milked him of his orgasm and I clenched around him, eliciting another moan of pleasure.
Sweat slick and hot from both the spanking and my proximity to the stove, I opened my eyes to see two charred pancakes sending up curls of smoke. I started laughing, nearly collapsing under Adam’s weight. He moaned, no doubt from the way my pussy undulated along his sensitive cock.
“I burned my pancakes,” I gasped, as he slid from me. “And I’m pretty sure the others are cold.”
He gave my tender ass a light swat. “I guess you’ll just have to make another batch.”
It didn’t sound like such a bad idea.
(S)pan(k)cakes
Ingredients
1½ cups all-purpose flour
1½ tablespoons sugar
3½ teaspoons baking powder
¾ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
1¼ cups milk
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 tablespoons butter, melted
1 tablespoon cooking oil, for frying pan
Directions
In a large bowl, sift together the flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, cinnamon and nutmeg. In a smaller bowl, combine the milk, egg, vanilla and melted butter. Pour the liquid ingredients over the dry ingredients and mix until nearly smooth. Set aside for 10 minutes.
Heat a lightly oiled frying pan over medium-high heat. Use a ¼ cup measuring scoop to pour the batter into the frying pan. Flip pancakes when small bubbles begin to form and brown lightly on both sides.
Serve warm, plain or with your favorite toppings.
Makes 6 large pancakes.
ENDYMION
A. D. R. Forte
So…seduce him.”
“I can’t do that, Will!”
“Why? Because you report directly to him?” Will looked around the canvas and raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“I don’t buy it, Ari. You aren’t going to let something like that stop you. You’re a libertine.”
She shook her head, flustered, and Will frowned. “Stay still, please, missy. I’m trying to work here.”
“Haven’t you seen me naked often enough to know what I look like by now?”
Will grinned and returned to his work.
“Can’t ever see too much of a good thing.”
Will painted, and she tried to sit still, all the while fuming. What she wanted to do was get up and pace across the studio and kick things. She thought of all her missed opportunities. Nights when Jesse stayed late at the office. Nights when she might have dared to find out whether his appetite matched hers.
How simple it would have been to open his door. Close and lock it after she stepped inside. She could picture him turning from his monitor, faltering in his usual brief, faultlessly polite greeting. He would have given in—forgetting morals and propriety, forgetting consequences in the heat of her arms around his neck, her mouth...
“Arianne!”
Will’s voice penetrated her daydream; the millionth such one.
“Sorry. What?”
“I was saying that I’m done for the day. Unless, of course, you want to stay like that. I’m not complaining.”
She smiled. The silky fabric draped across her bare thighs moved beguilingly as she swung her feet down from the chair on which they rested, and a spark of pleasant friction traveled up between her legs.
Will had talent aplenty, besides his skills as an artist. And she was mad with unsatisfied desire. She crossed the room and pulled the brushes out of his paint-stained hands, her own hand straying to his zipper and the growing need she felt under her massaging fingers. The paintbrushes clattered on the table and Will groaned as his tongue found and circled hers.
“Jesse’s out of his mind if he doesn’t want you. I wouldn’t care who you were, I’d fuck you.”
“Then shut up and do it,” she said, and pulled his hips toward hers.
“I have an idea,” said Will. She was sitting in his office and it was four o’clock on Thursday afternoon, an hour until the day could reasonably be called over. An hour until they could quit the stuffy world of cubicles and mindless office work for the spring afternoon outside.
She raised her eyebrows. “And that would be…?”
“I’m working on a new piece and I need two models, male and female.”
She looked at her coworker for a moment and a slow smile crept across her lips.
“Is this the Selene and Endymion you were talking about for the gallery show?”
Will nodded, his own smile conspiratorial, and then looked up at a knock on the half-open door. She turned and caught her breath, as she invariably did ever since the first time she had seen him. Eyes the color of alpine lakes, and those cheekbones, and that mouth. How many times had she stared at them and dreamed about
claiming them for her own purposes?
“Hey. How’s everything going?” Jesse said. Always so understated, so nicely professional. God, but she wanted to see this man in the grip of passion, all restraint abandoned to the dictates of his hunger.
“Great. Will’s just been telling me about his upcoming show.”
He turned that cerulean gaze to Will. “I heard about that. Great job, man! Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I’m having problems, though,” replied Will with the most tragic expression of frustrated genius he could muster. She had to turn away to hide her smile.
“I’ve already said I’d volunteer, Will,” she put in, picking up the thread and pulling the game along.
“That still leaves me without a male study,” he replied, an irritated note creeping into his voice.
She sighed. “You’re impossible.” Her gaze flickered casually to her boss, the object of her desire, leaning in the doorway.
“Look, Jesse will do it. Right?” She tilted her head back with a half-mocking smile.
“Do what, exactly?” he asked, his tone matching hers. An undercurrent of sarcasm lay behind the words.
They baited each other like this constantly, so subtly as to be completely overlooked by all but the most perceptive, yet nevertheless felt by both of them. And still she did not know whether it meant something, or nothing at all, and he did it simply because she could understand it when others remained oblivious.
“You could be Will’s other model for his new painting,” Ari said brightly. “You’ve taken classes on Greek and Roman art, haven’t you, Jesse?”
“In college, yes. And that has nothing to do with posing for anything. I think I’ll have to pass on this one, Will.”
But Will, bless him, had his head tilted to one side, looking Jesse over with a critical eye.
“Actually, you’ll do very well,” he said with authority. “You’re just about Ari’s height, so the proportion would be about right. I could really use the help, Jesse.”
“See?” she chimed in. “You’ll be doing a very charitable thing.”
Jesse rolled his eyes at her, and stuck his hands further into the pockets of his loose-fitting jeans.
“I don’t think so. You two are insane.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be such a wuss.”
