“Hell no!” I slapped my mouth. “I’m cool with that. Totally. I want you!”
“Still?”
“Always.”
He smiled and shoved the pad of his thumb against my vagina, right where it throbbed and dripped. The surprise of his sudden action made me gasp and my toes curl. His teasing swirl wouldn’t go in, it kept skimming, skimming, skimming the edges of a wet hole that ached to be royally pounded.
I closed my eyes and tilted my chin back.
“No, look at me. I haven’t given you permission to sink into yourself.” When I looked back at him he said, “Then, since you’re sticking with me, and we will become a THIS, you will say, ‘daisies’ if you want me to slow down but continue, ‘lilacs’ if you’ve reached your limit, which might get you a couple more swats and licks to wrap up, ‘puppies’ if you’re at your limit but want me to push you past it, and ‘torque’ if you need me to immediately stop. I just want to stress, that it will not disappoint me if you need to stop. So don’t be hesitant to speak up. I can’t know your limits or tastes unless you vocalize, especially at first. And since you’re a virgin, maybe you don’t know entirely what they are either. Again, I stress, I will practice safety at all times and aim to give you what you want and need out of this, which means you can set your own hard limits and change them up as you desire, and I will respect them. I will be the one to take care of your sexual needs, and you will do the same for me … except I retain the freedom to jerk off when I want to or go to strip clubs.”
“Yes, Sir. That is all fine with me.” I frowned at the thought of him going to strip clubs, but I should take delight in my Sir finding pleasure in whatever pleases him, even if it stings. Someday, such a thing will no longer sting, and his pleasure, and his alone, will be my greatest pleasure. I tingled at the kind of selflessness I could actually attain.
He switched to fondling me inside with his fingers, first one, then two, driving them in.
“Mmm. Thank you, Sir.”
“I will not do anything extreme to your body, like clamping, that I have not been properly trained to do, which I have not on that note. And I will get your opinion first before engaging in edgier endeavors, but I just want you to know that my tastes and desires do not run extreme. I have found a most excellent store with clerks who give instruction and demonstrations and even let me sample their wares and train there. It’s where I mastered the art of flogging.”
Good god. My mouth juiced up, and I squeezed his fingers.
“Mmm. I thought you might like that bit of info. Everyone who works there is in the culture, each with their own collection of all the best toys. Would you like me to take you? Would it make your pussy warm and tingly to be able to shove thing after thing into tight, willing spaces and spank raised-up, bent over, tilted back asses ... or to have me try out all my new pet toys on you while they watch?”
“Fffffuuuhh, yes, it would. Uh, I’m so hot, Logan. I mean, Sir. I’d love, love to go.”
He laughed. “I know very well how turned on you are. I knew you’d like the idea. We will go then.” He pumped his fingers in and out of me, dragging all the way out, and then punching my lips with hard thrusts.
“Uuuhh! That feels wonderful, Sir.”
“Spread your legs more. Now, tell me what you want, what you hope for, what you’re into and opposed to.”
Now opened wider, I wanted so badly to raise my head back and give way to his touch, but I locked his gaze like he wanted. “I want to … Aaahh…Mmm.”
“To?”
“...to … sex up your body and be your dirty, little slut. I want to bow at your feet and kiss them. I want to rub you from top to bottom with baby oil or lotion, applied by only my tits. I want you to stand over me or sit across from me and watch all the ways I can make myself come. It was hard but I’ve been working on G-spot stimulation this week and I want to show you how climaxes can build, that is if you let me come. I want to please you orally, in every possible place you can imagine, or that you will allow—the more bold and dangerous, the better. And I want you to go Dom on me, out in the open air in broad daylight, even if people are around to witness my humiliation and punishment, and also at night on some balcony in New York City, where I want you to spank and paddle and finger me senseless and force me to swallow your cock and cum. I want that whole goddamn city to know and see what a bad girl I am, and to know that I am your perfectly punished sub.”
“Damn. I love the twisted way your mind works.” He seized my wrist and forced my fingers around his rigid dick. Through clenched teeth he said, “See how stiff you’ve made me, bad girl? What else? Do you have any other fetishes besides spanking?”
“Not that I know of. Guess I will find out once we get going.” He felt amazing. I gripped him and rubbed him through his pants, not wanting to let go. “I’m cool with roleplay for our scenes. I’d prefer that actually, for the most part, but I want to go all out with costumes, props and everything. I’m game to any scenarios except the incestuous kind—’cause the last thing in the world I wanna be thinking about is my parents when I’m in the mind for kink. I want to write my own sub lit and poetry and read it to you while you spatula-slap my pussy. Things I’m not into that I can say right now: I don’t want to bleed, maybe a little, but not all up and down my body. No piercing or needle play. I’m not into potty stuff at all, I’ll do hoods maybe but no face masks or anything that would make me feel likewise smothered, no extreme torture. I’m freaked out about anal sex but not entirely opposed to it, if you know what you’re doing and use care. And most people would squawk about the true state of my virginity since I’ve had oral, but I consider myself to be one because I’ve never had actual, vaginal sex. So if you ever decide to sex me up, I want my first time to stem from passion. I don’t want to be a fuck-toy, a sub, not that first time. I don’t want to be forced or commanded or encouraged to just lay there and be fucked. I want to be engaged in it, sexy, wild and free. You said ‘lover’. You gave me a lover box, so I’m hoping that means you’re okay with what I want.”
“That’s fine.” He did not look happy though and ripped my hand away from his bulge. “Enough. Hand back over your head with the other. Go on.”
I slid my hand back and my eyes prickled with forming tears. I was so confused as to why he was suddenly curt. “Um, you are the only person to ever spank me, so, obviously, I haven’t been subject to the full spectrum of implements, but I prefer the sound and would most likely prefer the feel of the heartier ones, versus the thin, willowy ones like switches and canes that just leave you with a ton of stripes, welts and gashes. I am willing to try them if you wish, but I really don’t think I will enjoy or learn from it.”
“Fair enough. What about licorice?”
I stopped breathing for several seconds, just long enough to stuff my eyes back into my head. When I started up again, my lungs went spastic. I ached to reach down and clutch myself so I wouldn’t soak his couch more than I already was. Licorice? One I’d never thought of, and I was juicing up over the fact that he had. Until this second, I wasn’t totally positive if spanking was a fetish for him, but him considering creative implements meant that it was, and that only made getting them more delicious. I craved to arch my back and push down on him, to beg him to bring me to orgasm right NOW. “Yes!”
“Plastic hangers?”
“Why not.”
“Crops, floggers, slippers, wet towels, kitchen gadgets galore?”
“Aaaahh, yes. All yes.”
“Not a spanking tool, but how about the violet wand? Do you know what that is?”
“Yes, I do. It freaks me out, but maybe it would be okay. I’ll think on that one. I want to see a demo.”
“I know you cherish the hand, the paddle, the belt and the brush. How about single-tailed whips?”
“Um, it depends on the type and how hard it’s used. What I don’t want is to be covered in lines, gashes and cuts that last for days or maybe even forever. What I love most about spankin
g is the heat and the building sting, a robust hit and the patches of pink that grow and glow, and a whip just doesn’t provide all that.”
“Mmm. We seem to have the same idea about spank beauty, overall, but I think you might need the whip, Addison, who knows, but I would not want to be left shorthanded should you require that kind of discipline. And by discipline, I mean correction that pushes your growth. It can be a very useful tool in your training and it can be a very bonding, erotic and even spiritual experience between a Dom and a sub. It is an extension of the Dom to the sub. Maybe a few whip lines are just what you need. As I said, I haven’t live-Dommed, so I think a trip to that store is in order so I know how to wield one across your body correctly. We can then purchase one we both like, and I’ll spend a few weeks learning the precise art of decorative slashing.”
I really liked the way he saw it, not as a sadist’s unleashing of hellfire, but as a gift. I imagined him sampling various whips or floggers on me in the store as clerks or maybe even patrons watched, and I got so aroused, mostly because such a scene would show others exactly who I belonged to and how lovingly he could ‘deal with’ me. “We could … or … I could just bring back the one from my box. I bought it for kicks, to whirl around and slice up my stuffed bears. But, you can whip me, Sir, if you find it necessary. I trust you and will take whatever punishment or pleasure you see fit for me.”
His eyelids fell into heated slits, and he pulled out of me and was on top of before my next breath. “Wait. Go back. You have a box?” He dragged his wet fingers across my lips. I kissed off my sugar water.
I nodded slowly and sucked him, giving him my naughtiest eyes. “Mmm hmm. At home.”
“I’m not surprised. You will bring me some of the contents. I’m quite curious. I’ve always known that a bad girl was in there. And now, little pet, I know for certain you’ve been hoping and praying and fingering in the dark, waiting for some stern prince to find you and paddle you right and bring out even more naughty. Your box has a whip? Then we will definitely, definitely have to add one to mine. No question.”
He has a box! I smiled. “Yes, Sir.” My heart pounded frantically under his chest, even more so when he excavated passion between us with his tongue dives into my mouth. His kiss came off me with a slow, sticky release.
“Do you have any allergies or health concerns I need to be aware of?”
“Nope.”
“So, we’re set in our framework for now? Do you have anything else to add?”
“Mmm. Not that I can think of.”
“We can tweak as we go along.”
CHAPTER 2
I teared up as my heart felt like it was blossoming into a newer, better organ, because Logan Thorndike was now my Sir. Mine, all mine. “Yes. I’m so delighted you’ve chosen me to be your sub. I’m so happy. Please don’t hurt me too much.”
“Wonderful. I have no desire to hurt you. When it comes to pain, I will always give you exactly what you require or deserve, nothing more.” He got off me and stood. “Up on your feet and take off my shirt.”
I stood immediately and said, “About time,” while I yanked his shirt, the shirt on him. Which was a mistake I realized by the time it got up to his chest.
He cracked up as he jerked his shirt from my double-handed grip and back down, but my cheeks were still burning from the sight of his abs. He didn’t have a bulging six pack, but I could see that he was beginning to carve them out nicely with some kind of workout regimen. “Anxious to see my hot bod, are we? Not yet. I will phrase things better next time. The one on you. Strip.”
“Yeah, I know that now. Sorry, Sir.” I snickered and brought my hands to each side of his unbuttoned dress shirt and tossed it back over my shoulders. It slid down my arms, and as it gathered at my wrists, I shook it onto the floor, eagerly accepting my nakedness before him.
“Don’t be a slob. Respecting me goes for my domain and car as well. Fold it up neatly please and set it on the couch.”
His car. My pussy throbbed as I thought about hot action in and around his car. I folded the shirt and set it down as he asked.
“Good. Now, you are going to pose for me. I want you to lay on the floor, flat on your back, hands together and up over your head, with your legs spread open as far as they will go. I expect you to love doing this for me, being open to my gaze or touch. You are to only speak when addressed. Got it?”
“Yes, Sir.” I got down on one knee, crawled to a good spot of free space on the Oriental rug, flipped onto my back and got into the position he desired. But what he didn’t know was how far I could spread, so I showed him. It was one of the only perks I still owned from my experiment with ballet and gymnastics in middle school and cheering in ninth grade. I could do splits fine, but I struggled these days to slide into a perfect Russian, the crotch in my upright always stopping about 6 inches from the floor. But he was impressed with my lingering limberness, his adorable gawk said, as my spread-eagle span exceeded his expectations and reached 130-degrees, maybe even 140. Partaking in various extracurricular activities, I just wanted to catch and hold the interest of my parents for two seconds, but they never even came to one event, not one stinking recital. My Dom’s searing gaze branded me and a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Fuck them! His look, right there, was the best, most glorious interest and praise of all. It made up for a lifetime of dismissals and I’m-too-busys.
“You will stay that way, right where you are, until I tell you to get up. Don’t move an inch.”
I did not move. I would not. I could do this. Easy. I felt more exposed and vulnerable like this than I did with my legs up over my head, and it excited me to know I was laying this way before him. My fully accessible pussy felt the coolness in the air and, at the same time, warmth from the fire right behind me. It coasted over my body in waves and licked me, licked me, licked me, right on my perky nipples and clit.
He sat down on the couch and frisked me with his traveling scrutiny. “Very nice, little pet. Thank me please. Not only now, but anytime you’re given verbal correction, a direction, a punishment or a treat.”
“Thank you for letting me lay here before you, Sir.”
He did not respond to me at all.
Fuck! I bit my lip. A burn began to build up in my thighs and it snaked its way down to my knees. I suddenly realized my move to spread open so far was a bad, very bad idea. I panicked. My body started shaking.
My Dom, mine, sat on the couch, grabbed the remote and turned on a freaking football game. He propped his feet up on the ottoman and pulled a beer out of the side table that I now knew doubled as a fridge. The beer can clicked opened, and he devoured foam as it rose. He deliberately licked it slowly, all around the rim, and sucked it and his first sip up with a slurp. He was paying more attention to a freaking beer can than me, and reminding me how he could delight me at any moment with that luscious mouth if he chose but didn’t.
My vagina, that he’d just brought up into this wet, hot condition with his touching and kissing on the couch, ached for release, even more so because he was leaving me in it, refusing to satisfy me. The longer I laid here, the more furiously horny and agitated I got. When I’d laid down, I assumed he was gonna finish me off, not stick me here while he watched the Cowboys pummel the Eagles, according to the score. Why couldn’t this be the Pats game? At least then I’d care about the outcome or maybe get some entertainment out of this. He looked at me on occasion but didn’t say a word. By the time the game neared the end of the first quarter, he wasn’t even looking at me at all. He cheered at first downs and every notable rush or carry, and he shouted out at an interception and some bad calls.
I tried to enjoy the sound of his voice, and take pleasure in that alone and the way he exhaled and pumped his fists, but my thighs were kindling logs. I was quaking so badly, I’m sure I was rubbing red, rust, purple and blue off the flowers beneath me. And he was not even concerned with me at all! I bit my lip to hold back my verbal cries, but tears spilled out of my eyes a
nd into my hair.
During some commercial break, he, thank god, finally acknowledged me. “What’s your major?”
I cleared my throat to speak, but cracked out the words anyway, “Broadcast Communications.”
“Do you want to be a broadcaster, a techie or the writer behind the scenes?”
“A reporter and eventually a news anchor.”
“Hmmm.” And the silence returned. He was back to ignoring me and nursing his second beer, while I laid here in agony and fiery arousal.
The first half ended, and even as five commentators argued aspects of the game, he left me here, unattended to. He left me here, in pain and in want. He had to know how much this was killing me. My cries became blubbering warbles I couldn’t control.
He ignored that too, even as the third quarter off of just an inch on each side.
Out of nowhere, in the middle of the fourth quarter, he said, “What is the matter, Addison? Why are you crying? Do you not enjoy posing for me, for my delight?”
“I’m … it hurts so much. I spread open too far. Please. And you’re ignoring me.”
“Deal with it. Dig for the strength I know you possess. I can and perhaps might make you stay like this all day. I hoped you would love this and fully expected you to. I despise complaining. That goes for your spirit too, not just the words coming out of your mouth. Complaint is a sign of ungratefulness and it stems from a misalignment in priorities, in affection, in focus. You should be focused on me, happy to serve and hurt for me. What did I say I will do about complaining?”
Red Hot Obsessions: Ten Contemporary Hot Alpha Male Romance Novels Boxed Set Page 214