Consenting Adults

by J. Lea López

  “Nice choice.” He takes the beer from my hands and pops the cap off for me. I must look like an idiot.

  Of course you look like an idiot. Do you know how long you've been standing there without saying a word?

  “Surprise.” The word falls flat from my lips, landing like an egg—splat!—between us.

  Oh god, I really am an idiot. He doesn't seem to mind, judging by that ever-present half smile. My fingers brush his when he hands my drink back and the thought of all the different places his hands could venture steals the breath from my lungs. Still, I manage a weak “Hi.”

  He steps closer. If only he knew how his mere proximity makes my pulse quicken and every muscle below the belt clench with long-held anticipation. I lift the beer to my lips to avoid having to think of something else to say.

  “Josh, there you are.”

  We turn to see Kara approaching. The center island separates her from us.

  “I was going to tell you Meg's here, but I guess you found her.”

  “Yeah.” He steps closer still, then slides his hand to the small of my back. “I definitely found her.”

  “I'm so excited you guys finally get to meet up in person.” She leans against the counter and sips a glass of red wine. “Too bad you live so far away, Meg.”

  I nod. My voice is gone. It's caught in the back of my throat because Josh's hand is sliding down over my ass. He gives a gentle squeeze. I've lost my hearing now, too, completely oblivious to whatever Kara's saying. Thank god she can't see his wandering hand. Josh keeps up his end of the conversation, no problem, all while tapping, caressing, groping. He finds the elastic of my garter belt through the satin of my skirt and pauses.

  You've intrigued him. He wasn't expecting that.

  He probably would've preferred me in jeans and a t-shirt. Better to admire my ass that way. But jeans can't adequately express the sensual feelings he arouses in me. He makes me feel...vixenish. No better way to describe it.

  I am not a vixen. I’m timid. And passive. But Josh managed to coax some of my most intimate, well-hidden thoughts into words. Even in the cold, impersonal glow of the computer screen, those words sizzled. They promised fireworks should we ever find ourselves in the same room. And here we are. Jeans and a t-shirt would have been way too anti-climactic for this meeting.

  “Meg?” Kara waves her hand in front of my face, laughing. “Are you okay?”

  Josh gives my ass a final squeeze, then moves his hand away.

  “Oh. I, um...” I blink a few times in an attempt to clear the haze of arousal. “I think I drank my beer too fast. Where's the bathroom?”

  My head feels slightly detached from the rest of my body as I climb the stairs to the second floor. He makes me feel that way, beer or not. It's strange that I should be spending so much time avoiding the man I came to see.

  You mean the man you came to fuck? That is why you came, isn't it?

  Of course it is. I can't deny it. But is that all?

  I'll never forget the first time he seemed to reach right into my brain and come up with my exact thoughts. I nearly had a stroke. Feeling bold in my online flirting, I pressed him to try to guess my secret kink. There was no way he'd get it right. I was more interested in hearing what he might guess because I thought it would say something about what he thought of me. It was an instant deluge of shock, embarrassment, arousal and disbelief when he told me rather calmly, I think you like to be spanked.

  I couldn't figure what gave me away. He just seemed to know. And he was willing to oblige. In fact, he seemed as keen on the idea as I secretly was. That wasn't a reaction I was used to. We talked about the rhythm, the sting, the sharp sound reverberating through the room. The discussion alone that day was enough to get me wet.

  I don't actually have to use the bathroom, so I run some cool water over my wrists when I get there. It helps with the flushed feeling burning up my neck and into my cheeks and ears. When I’m certain I’m thinking clearly again, one thing becomes clear.

  I want him. Bad. It's practically a need.

  It's more than the allure of his body on mine. He stimulates me emotionally. Psychologically. Pushes me to think and say things I'd never dream of admitting out loud, and to reassess whether they're really worthy of any guilt or embarrassment. I've lost count of how many times our conversations have ended with me rushing to my bedroom and spending a good hour with the vibrator. And I trust him. I can't explain why, but I trust him.

  After drying my hands, I open the bathroom door and step into the hallway, almost running into Josh.

  “Oh! I—Hi.” Why can't I form a complete sentence tonight?

  “I'm sorry if that was too much back there,” he says.

  “No, I... I like when you come on strong.” It saves me from having to initiate anything.

  It was his idea, not mine makes it easier for me to give into what it is I really want. It's a fallacy, but it works for me. He stands so close to me in this little hallway. The tension that's usually strung across a few hundred miles over the internet is now packed tight between us.

  “Would it be rude if we left right now?” he asks, stepping toward me. I move back. It isn't that I don't want to be close. I've wanted that for so long. I just want to stay perched on this edge a while longer, enjoying the surge of anticipation as it continues to build higher than I thought possible, until I feel like I might erupt in a flash of light and cease to exist if he doesn't hurry up and touch me.

  “I think so, yes. Besides,” I maneuver past him, intertwining my fingers with his as I do, “you've been teasing me for months. It's my turn.” With a gentle tug, I lead him back to the party, letting go of his hand just before we descend the stairs.

  We spend the rest of the night engaged in an elaborate dance of innuendo and surreptitious touches. I’m sure he doesn't even realize it half the time, but words innocent within their context hold hidden messages for me. Rhythm. Taste. Hard. Sweet. The brush of fingertips, the accidental bump of shoulders or knees, sends a thrill through my body each time. Josh tries a few times, but I don't let him kiss me. Not on the mouth. Not even when the ball drops at midnight and everyone toasts and cheers and locks lips with their partners, or whoever happens to be standing nearby. But I do wrap my arms around him in a full-body hug, hips and breasts pressed firm against him, and whisper Happy New Year with my lips close to his ear—close enough to catch his earlobe between my teeth for just a second and laugh at the way his whole body tenses. It's a boldness that surprises even me.

  Kara wants me to stay for a few more drinks and chastises me for paying for a hotel room instead of crashing at her place like half of her friends. I politely decline the drinks and make some excuse about not being a very good house guest. She's pretty tipsy anyway, so she doesn't insist for too long before retrieving my coat. When Josh says he's leaving as well, Kara looks at me and even through the haze of alcohol I know she knows. I slip out the door with laughter on my lips while Josh gets his coat.

  The cold air hits me like a brick wall, but my blood is so hot it feels good. Josh's footsteps crunch behind me in a quick pattern and he catches up to me as I get to my car. I sidestep another attempt at a kiss.

  “Not yet.”

  “You're killing me.” He pushes a stray lock of hair away from my eyes and grins.

  “I know. But you still have to wait.”

  He leaves his car and rides in mine. Without the buffer of other people, I’m overwhelmed by the sheer proximity of him. No one else to fill in conversation or distract me from my thoughts. I push the speed limit cautiously, trying to get to our destination faster and shorten the time we have to spend in this strange silence.

  “Are you cold?” Josh asks.

  “What? No.” I adjust the heat in case he is.

  “Your hands are trembling.”

  So they are. “I'm a little nervous. Is that stupid?”

  “No. Definitely not stupid.” His smile reassures me a little bit. And those eyes. A darker shade
of blue. Kind, but mysterious, as though they mask the potential for much more than anyone ever bargains for.

  He's always been considerate of what I think or feel, stopping our conversations or steering away from certain topics when he sensed I was uncomfortable. He never made me admit to anything I didn't want to, but I’m sure he always knew the truth. He was gentle with me in that way, and yet he never hesitated to ask the challenging questions. He didn't believe in feeling guilty about whatever made you feel good. He knew about my not-quite-boyfriend from the start, and he flirted with me anyway, and encouraged me when I reciprocated.

  Stop thinking! You're just trying to talk yourself out of something you want. And for no good reason.

  I pull up outside the hotel and shut the car off. I can't help but overthink things.

  Josh has his seat belt off and his hand on the door, waiting for my cue.

  “I don't want you to be disappointed,” I blurt out. “I'm not as bold in person as I've been online. I find it really difficult to say what I want, or what I like.” There are plenty of things I want from him, but I don't know if I could ever speak the words.

  “I think you've been very bold tonight. You're a good tease.”

  My cheeks burn and I can't meet his eyes.

  “Is that embarrassing to you?”

  I nod.

  “Why?”

  I don't know why.

  “It's nothing to be ashamed of. I've liked it. You've liked it. Why be embarrassed? Wait there a second.” He gets out and walks around the outside of the car to open my door. “You don't have to say anything except yes or no, how about that?”

  I can manage yes and no.

  “I won't lie and say I'd be happy about it, but if you want to forget tonight ever happened, I'll leave right now.” He extends his hand to me. “Is that what you want?”

  “No.” I take his hand and get out of the car. That one little word ignites the fire between us again, and we walk as fast as we can without running to the hotel entrance.

  In the elevator on the way up to the sixth floor, Josh leans in and whispers in my ear.

  “Yes and no are the only words you need, because I already know what you want.”

  His breath past my ear makes me dizzy with need. The hair on my arms stands up straight and my skin prickles with goose bumps.

  When I insert the electronic key card in the door to my room, he places his hand over mine before I can open it.

  “Yes?” His eyes search mine.

  He's giving you one last chance to back out.

  I’m tired of that little voice nagging me. I shove it way down deep and listen instead to my body, which has been saying only one thing all night. For months.

  “Yes.”

  The darkness of the room swallows us as the door shuts. I fumble along the wall for a light switch. Why don't hotel rooms ever seem to have a light switch where you think one should be? Josh finally clicks on the entry light. It's like I’m seeing him for the first time all over again. My stomach leaps into my throat, impeding my ability to breathe. But it's a wonderful kind of breathlessness. He pulls me close, his hands pressed into the small of my back. I can't believe I've managed to go all night without kissing him.

  Those dark eyes pierce my soul as he leans in. So slow. He doesn't kiss me, but lets his lips barely brush mine, and his hands explore the contours of my hips. Such a gentle touch. But in his eyes I can see the restraint. I flick my tongue over his lower lip. He blinks in response. If I said the word, he'd devour me in an instant, I know it. I want it.

  “You aren't going to make me beg, are you?” I whisper it against his mouth. My own restraint is eroding under the influence of lust.

  “Would you if I asked?” He gathers my skirt up around my hips and doesn't wait for my answer. “You know this is really impractical, don't you? Looks good, but it's too much work.” He snaps one of the garter straps against my ass. It doesn't hurt, but the promise of things to come makes me draw a sharp breath.

  “No work at all. I thought of you when I put it on. Panties on the outside.” Also makes peeing a lot easier, but I don't say that. “Aren't you going to kiss me?”

  He takes a few steps back. I catch his hand and he pulls me with him.

  “That depends. Perhaps we should discuss that begging thing a little more.”

  My cheeks burn. I would if he asked me to. I would do a lot of things if he asked.

  We communicate through telepathy or some other impossibility, needing no more words to understand the next move. Shoes abandoned. Sheets mussed. Still fully clothed. Only after he's laid beside me—body and weight imposing gratifyingly on my personal space—only then does his mouth descend upon mine. Such soft lips. The better to drink me with.

  When I’m certain I'll die if I don't breathe soon, he moves his kisses, his tongue, over my jaw, pausing to tickle my ear, then continuing down the curve of my neck and over my chest. Shirt and bra disappear over the edge of the bed in record time, with little help from me. I know I’m supposed to reciprocate, to touch, to move, to participate. But he's doing such a fabulous job on his own.

  My nipples are small, but he coaxes them into a not-insubstantial existence with his tongue. And then – ah, the teeth. Just a little nibble, but more than enough to send a shiver down my spine. Back arches. Chest lifts. Like my body knows to deliver itself to the source of pleasure.

  My insides quiver, a mix of pleasure and unsteady nerves, when he reaches to unzip my skirt. That irrational female fear that a man might get a look at you fully naked, stop what he's doing, and walk out. Or worse. Probably hasn't ever happened in the history of sex, but it doesn't stop the thought from crossing my mind. And the skirt is gone. Only lace panties, garter, and stockings left. Josh smooths away my fears with an appreciative sweep of his gaze over my body.

  He kisses me again, tongue probing urgently, tasting my mouth as though it held some life-sustaining essence. His restraint is slipping. Part of me wishes he'd let it go already, and take me every which way he wants me. But another part of me would mourn the loss of this slow tease and build. I want to rush to the sweet climax, but at the same time I don't want it to end. I want to culminate forever, and never have to come down.

  It isn't right that he should still be so fully clothed. He seems more interested in touching and tasting me, but I manage to strip him naked between kisses and caresses. The sight of his hard cock instills in me modicum of pride, knowing he's been in a semi-aroused state all night, and all on my account. I take him in my hand. The softness of a man's cock never ceases to amaze me. Soft and yet hard. Vulnerable and yet meant to make me vulnerable. Josh's eyelids flutter momentarily, but he doesn't lose himself in my touch. Instead, he sits up. Tugs my panties off less carefully than he removed the rest of my clothing. Pushes me over onto my stomach. Unfastens the back garters from the top of my stockings and shoves them out of the way.

  “Yes.” The answer escapes my lips without there ever having been a question.

  The first blow lands firmly on my left buttock. Not too hard. He gently rubs the spot. Then another smack. And another. Each time a little harder. Then the other side, building up to the same moderate level. Then breath in my ear.

  “More?”

  “Yes.” I lick my lips, anticipating.

  The smack! fills the room this time, and it's hard enough to make me start. But oh god, I love how it feels. The surprised sting. The adrenaline. The way he soothes my flesh after each blow with firm, massaging strokes. My scalp prickles and every cell in my body seems to come alive with sensation.

  He is confident in his spanking, increasing the intensity every few strokes. If he's afraid of hurting me, it doesn't show. He never hesitates. I never thought pain and pleasure could mix, or that pain could turn into pleasure, until an old boyfriend swatted my rear in a playful way, except it was harder than he intended. He didn't like the idea of intentionally doing it that hard again. And other men who said they liked the idea always ended up c
hickening out after a certain point. So I had no idea the mix of pain and pleasure could possibly blaze a way toward ecstasy, but Josh has me delirious with it now. I trust him not to hurt me. I trust him enough to say no without fear. But no is the farthest word from my mind.

  The next blow draws a choked Ah! from my lips. My ass must be bright red by now. We're learning my tolerance threshold together. He spends a little extra time massaging that one away. He slips his fingers down between my thighs, where it's very obvious how much I've been enjoying this. A girl could get used to this treatment. I’m surprised with the comfort to be found in letting someone else take complete control. Of course it's easy to give control over to someone who uses it to bring about your own pleasure before his own.

  Josh kisses the back of my neck and strokes my clit at the same time. It's impossible that I should be trembling like this so soon, but I am. On the cusp of orgasm, I lift onto my hands and knees, begging with my body language to be fucked. He smacks my ass one, nice and hard, then kneels behind me, pressing against my slick opening. Even still, he teases, stroking himself against me, nudging my clit with the head of his cock.

  “Oh please...” I almost don't recognize my own voice, so husky with desire.

  “What's that?” He's poised to enter me. There's a lightness to his voice that tells me he's smiling.

  “Please. Christ, please. Yes.” He's managed to get me begging after all.

  His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips as he thrusts into me from behind. I cry out with the thrill of being filled so completely. He's no longer gentle, pushing hard and deep, seeking the most vulnerable place within me to leave a piece of himself.

  I wonder if he realizes he found that place a long time ago, and planted a seed of desire that continues to grow. I want to be fucked like this, like he owns me, and spanked until his handprint is an indelible mark upon my ass and my heart. I want to submit to him. I want to be dominated, and a whole host of other unladylike and unfeminist fantasies that I’m sure he'd willingly oblige.