by Maren Smith
On watery knees, Sandy crossed the room. She gave Eric a wide berth, as if afraid this might only have been a ruse to bring her close enough for him to grab her. When she opened the twin wardrobe, the array of paddles hanging on the inside of the doors bumped and clattered together. Two braided crops and leather straps of various lengths and thicknesses dangled among them. Neatly stacked on three shelves within were cuffs, blindfolds, spreader bars, a huge variety of bondage ropes and one rather ominous wooden-backed hairbrush that had seen so much use a spot had worn through the varnish on its bristle-less oval-shaped head.
“Would you like to bring me that hairbrush?” Eric asked as she was turning it over in her hand.
Sandy quickly put it back where she’d found it. “No, thank you.”
“Then take your panties off, as you’ve been asked to do.”
“Three times now,” Reeve reminded her, in a tone that said he was not a man who asked twice.
Hands shaking, Sandy looked down. She touched the front of her dark green skirt, rubbing her suddenly damp palms over the soft velvet. She had to get out of this corset; she was having a hard enough time breathing as it was. And worse, with every breath she did manage to take, the hard interior of it was… wait, were her nipples hard? They were! They’d stiffened into tight buds that, with each shaky breath, scraped with deliciously heightened sensitivity against the inner boning of her form-fitting corset. “I’m sorry,” she tried, knowing she was still stalling but helpless to stop herself. “I-I know…”
Reeve cut her off. “Your disobedience is starting to border on disrespect.” He shrugged out of his coat now too, throwing it across the foot of the bed. A whiff of masculine spice cologne flowed on the air its landing gusted her way. The shirt he wore beneath was stark white, with the lines of an earlier iron still creasing the sleeves. Mother-of-pearl buttons glistened down the front, dotting the cuffs at his wrists, something she only noticed because she couldn’t help watching as he unbuttoned first the right and then the left. He rolled them up, baring the scarred lengths of both forearms all the way to his elbows.
He’d just given himself unencumbered swinging movement, she realized with a start that jolted through her stomach. It shot down her legs only to come shooting straight back up again, the sensation colliding in an extra jolt of trepidation right at the base of her bottom. Or was that her pussy? She was turned on. How could she be turned on right now?
“I’m not trying to be disrespectful, either.” Backing away from both of them meant backing into that torture chamber of a wardrobe. The array of wooden paddles bumped and rattled all over again, and she jumped sideways. Now she was cornered between it and the bed, and try though she did to feel the slightest bit threatened in an unpleasant way, it just wasn’t coming. She did feel threatened; she absolutely did, but in a way that sent the most exotic pulse of wanting straight down through her belly into her sex. “I-I-I d-don’t think I want to do this.”
“No?” Reeve asked, stalking her in slow, deliberate steps. “You did mark an interest in spanking on your application, did you not?”
Yes, yes, she did. But only because she wanted to blend in, she told herself, not because she actually wanted to be spanked. That was crazy! She stared at his forearm, with all its muscular definition and its roadmap of scars; the hallmarks of an active man who had lived a very hard life at some point in his not-too-distant past. What if his arms were thick and veiny like that because of all the women he’d spanked? That spark of trepidation—or was it pure, unadulterated excitement? —shot through her again.
“Answer the question,” Eric ordered, watching her with that hawk’s intensity that made the already too-short distance between them feel that much less.
“Yes, I did,” she admitted, hating with everything in her that she had to admit that. She had marked it and agreed to it, and she had known every step of the way that at some point she would have to submit to being spanked in order to maintain her cover. But there was a whale of a difference between marking, agreeing and knowing, and suddenly standing face-to-face with these two men, burly arms exposed, being told to take her panties off because they intended to get right to it.
But, on the other hand, the reasons they had given for why they were going to spank her made sense. If she were a submissive woman, she’d probably be looking forward to this right now and in more places than just between her legs. Legs that had suddenly become like a stranger to her. She’d never in a thousand years have thought this moment would make her breasts swell with erotic headiness and her clit pound. That both confused and embarrassed her, but nowhere near as much as knowing that when she took her panties off, she was going to find them wet with the evidence of an arousal she couldn’t hide.
Sandy swallowed hard. She could do this. She could do anything. How bad could one little spanking—she looked at Reeve’s burly forearms—be, really? Neither the deed nor the mortification had ever killed anyone. Of that, she was pretty sure. That kind of story was just ridiculous enough that, if it had, she was pretty sure she’d have covered it.
Gathering what shreds of courage she had left, Sandy bent to dig under all her layers of skirt and petticoats. Showing as little as possible, she hooked the elastic of her underwear and quickly stepped out of them. She could smell her own arousal. Heat burned her face and she quickly kicked the evidence under the bed, but there was no getting out of this without both of them knowing. And that made the mortification burn all the hotter, and the pulse pound all the deeper.
It was just the excitement of the unknown, she tried to tell herself, but neither master was willing to let it remain so any longer.
She straightened, hugging herself tightly as Reeve stepped right up to the edge of her skirts. He held out his hand, a dangerous invitation that she could have rejected at any time… but only at the cost of losing her cover, her story, and she wasn’t willing to pay that price.
Still, how much easier this all would be if only he would just grab her by the arm and pull her, stumbling and protesting all eight or so steps that separated them from the chair opposite Eric’s. Then at least she could salve her conscience with the lie that she was an unwilling participant in her own debasement. She could have dug her feet in, heaving back as he pulled her forward and spilled her down across his lap, pinning her there. Every kick would have been justified then, as well as every struggling twist and gasp of protest as she fought the raising of her skirts. Even if she lost, at least everyone in this room would know she hadn’t gone willingly. That way, when it was over, the heat sizzling across the surface of her throbbing backside would not have been her fault. But he didn’t take her arm, and by offering his hand, he refused to absolve her of any part of this.
Her stomach was a mating ball of writhing knots, but she told herself if this was what she had to do to get the story, then it would all be worth it in the end. It would be worth it, she repeated, over and over as she laid her hand in his and let herself be led. Straight to her doom. A little melodramatic, perhaps, but when a girl was facing down the laps of two very strong men and a weekend full of kicking her panties under the bed, she had the right to a little mental exaggeration.
Sandy could feel her own trembling as she let herself be positioned to Reeve’s right. When he sat, she stared at the solid breadth of his thighs. His lap looked even more ominous up close.
Get a hold of yourself, she scolded, nervously licking her lips. They aren’t skinning you alive. It was a spanking, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t ever had one before. Granted, it had been fifteen years since her last, but she suspected it was kind of like riding a bike. Frankly, all she had to do was bend over and hold on, teeth gritted against the panting squeals until it was over. Then she’d get up, she’d rub out the sting and—she looked to Eric, the writhing in her stomach tying yet another knot—and then she’d have to do it all over again.
Damn it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Eric said, folding his arms and smiling. His hand
s looked every bit as large and as hard as Reeve’s, but they weren’t as threatening. At least not right now, because his hands were on his arms and there was a good four feet of distance between them. Reeve’s were the hands about to put her into position and start smacking. “You’re thinking, it’s just a spanking. I can do that, no big deal. You’re new to the lifestyle, but you’ve probably fantasized about it hundreds of times.”
Not even close.
“If not before you filled out your online application,” he continued, “then surely afterward. You’ve probably built it up in your mind to being the most intensely pleasurable thing you’ve ever endured, sexy and erotic, and maybe a little painful but not so painful that you didn’t, at least in some of those fantasies, let your fingers do the walking.”
People did that? Sandy met his wolfish grin with silence.
Oh, what teeth he had, too, especially when he added, “This ain’t gonna be that kind of spanking.”
Sandy instinctively locked her knees. Those had sounded so much like famous last words and it felt as if this were the perfect time for Reeve to throw her down across his lap for the blistering she knew was coming, but still he refused. Sitting back in his chair, he let the stability of his lap steal all her attention.
“Put yourself in position,” he ordered.
And just that easily, once more she was robbed. Robbed of the chance to kick, to fight, to heave back on her arms even as he used them to pull her off balance.
“Do I need to treat you like you’re three years old?” Reeve warned. “I can start counting again.”
“His bare hand is as gentle as it’s gonna get,” Eric tsked, feigning a sympathy his eyes did not echo. “Don’t make us send you for an implement.”
“How did I get matched to you people?” Sandy grumbled, a little surprised because she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“One,” Reeve said.
“Oh, all right!” she snapped, flustered and only growing more so the longer she tried to put this off.
But even with her mind made up, she bent slowly. She waved her hands, just the thought of having to lay them on Reeve’s far thigh far too intimate for someone she’d only just met. Not that it wasn’t going to get a whole lot worse, and damn if his thigh didn’t feel thick and strong, and more than capable of holding her from the start of this crazy venture all the way through to its inevitable finish.
Stop looking at his crotch, she told herself firmly and lowered herself awkwardly into place. Her eyes fixed on the floor while her face burned. And up went her skirts. Reeve didn’t even say anything first. He grabbed a handful of hem and flipped them all up over her head. She became shrouded in velvet. It was the most vulnerable she’d yet been, right up until, again without a word, he cupped his hand directly between her legs—did he notice how wet she was; oh Jesus—and hauled her ass fully across his right thigh. She spasmed, grabbing wildly as her legs tottered up and her head and shoulders teetered down. She only just kept her nose from bumping the floor by slapping her hands to the cold stone tiles.
“Wait,” she hedged, but startled all over again when she felt the heat of his hand catch the back of her shin. She hadn’t realized she’d kicked a little, not until she gave in to his gradually applied pressure and lowered both her feet to the floor. Her toes barely touched. All her life, Sandy had gotten used to being the shortest person in the room, and this was no exception. Both Eric and Reeve were tall men, but as her toes strained to keep contact with the floor, she actually felt small. She told herself it was because adults weren’t meant to be put in such humbling positions. They weren’t meant to feel overpowered like this, but the truth was, she wasn’t sure she disliked the sensation.
That almost appalled her.
“Feet down,” Reeve scolded. “Don’t kick up again.”
“You don’t want to make this worse,” Eric cheerfully added. “Trust me, when Daddy spanks, he spanks hard. And this’ll be bad enough without adding penalties for not taking what you’ve got coming like a good girl.”
“Stop trying to scare me,” she snapped back. “This is completely unnecessary. I’m not frenzied. I-I feel fine!”
Yeah, sure she felt fine, if what ‘fine’ actually meant was that she felt breathless, with a heavy dose of alarm creeping in around the edges. She had never shown her bare ass to two men so fast after meeting them, and that included her feminine wellness doctor, whom she’d actually replaced six times before she found one she felt comfortable enough with to hazard taking off her bra for, much less her panties.
And now, here she was. And here Reeve was, with the warmth of his hand rasping up the back of her leg, coming to rest on her right thigh. The tip of his finger was, at most, another finger’s width away from brushing her naked bottom cheek. A sideways slide would have brought it down between her thighs for a stolen caress along her labia. He didn’t do that, though. His hand was steady, oddly heavy and practically impartial. Probably because he did this for a living. He’d likely walloped half a dozen women in this very room, with Eric right here egging him on the whole time.
“How many people have you done this to?” her journalistic half couldn’t help but ask.
His hand abandoned her thigh, only to come cracking down again, smacking her bottom dead center. Sandy jerked, her eyes and mouth both rounding at the incredible sting of it. “The only one you should be worried about right now is you.”
Okay, yeah. That hurt a little. She locked her lips before she could admit as much out loud. She didn’t want them to laugh at her.
“Before we get started,” Eric interrupted, “we should probably decide on a safeword.”
Trying not to squirm, Sandy adjusted her grip on the floor. “I thought the word was—”
Reeve swatted her again, and the forceful difference between the second impact and the first was like the difference between playing pat-a-cake with a two-year-old and getting hit full on by a semi-trailer truck. His hand flattened the whole of her right buttock and Sandy nearly came off his lap. The only thing that stopped her was the iron-like grip of his left arm, wrapped across her back and around her hip, pinning her in place.
“Don’t,” Reeve said darkly. “Even accidental mention of that word will bring Castle security down on us in sixty seconds flat.”
“And that’s a bad thing why, again?” Sandy’s hand shot back, but she managed only half a rub before Reeve caught her wrist and pinned that down now too.
“You think that’s the worst I can do?” He laughed, a grim-sounding chuckle that sent shivers racing through her. “Little girl, allow me to educate you. Your new safeword just between us is ‘smart ass’. Commit it to memory, because you’re going to need it.”
Oh, crap. She grabbed the chair’s leg, clinging to it as the heat of his hand vanished again. It wasn’t gone anywhere near long enough, because that heat returned and with a vengeance as his brisk, crisp swats danced all over the rounded surface of her bottom harder and faster than she knew she was supposed to brace herself for. “Ah!”
She bucked, throwing herself into a squirming wriggle of startled reaction. Her feet snapped up, throwing his ‘no kicking’ edict straight out the nearest window. He countered by shifting his legs, capturing both of hers between his strong thighs. It didn’t stop her kicking, but it did negate the effectiveness of it. She elbowed his ribs in her haste to get her other hand back, grabbing awkwardly to catch his spanking hand, but it evaded her warding off efforts with ridiculous ease. Worse, she only managed two batting slaps before he caught that arm too. Now both her hands were pinned to the small of her back and he was back to spanking, the steady slaps of his open palm filling the smallness of that room.
It was just a spanking, Sandy tried to tell herself, teeth gritted against the flurry of juvenile wails rising up to choke the back of her throat. Ow! Ouch! Stop! She refused to say any of it, but it was all she could think. Think of the story. In the end, the story would make all this more than worth it, especial
ly if they both ended up in jail afterward. And it was only just a spanking. How infantile did she have to be not to be able to take something this utterly, completely—painfully—child-like…
Forget it. She couldn’t do this. His hand was huge and she just didn’t have enough bottom to go around. Already, he’d covered every inch of it and she knew that because every part he’d now smacked was stinging ferociously. And now he was smacking all the same parts all over again. And again and again, and it wasn’t stopping. From side to side—right, left and back again—he spanked until her punished flesh felt seared from the heat. Except, it wasn’t just heat now. It was fire, growing hotter and more painful with each jolting clap.
“Okay, okay!” she gasped, throwing back her head. “I’m done now. Thank you very much, I’m done.”
“Are you now?” Reeve’s grip on her wrists locked down tighter and the vise of his strong thighs tightened.
“You heard her,” Eric said with a toothy grin. “And she is the boss, after all. Remember, she paid for this. Wouldn’t want her not to feel like she got her money’s worth.”
“Heaven forbid,” Reeve agreed, and damn if his already hard hand didn’t crack down harder still.
Just a spanking, her red-hot ass! She didn’t care how child-like this was supposed to be, Sandy had had enough.
She wrenched her wrists, twisted her hips and bucked, trying to get out from under his arm or between his legs, away from him, out of reach of his spanking hand and back on her own two feet. Except she couldn’t do any of that. His grip was solid, unyielding and he never once missed his target. Not until she shouted. In spite of her determination to bite it back, it was as if the pain wrenched it out of her. She kicked up both feet, her shins banging into Reeve’s thighs, which was far short of where they needed to be to block the rapid-fire slaps he was raining down over her bottom, and then she shrieked. It was through gritted teeth and somehow, by only the slimmest of miracles, it wasn’t even the safeword—either of them. It was just sound, a long keening cry that nevertheless at long last stopped the persistent rise and fall of his hurtful hand.