Tasting Candy

by Candy Quinn

  He went to his bureau, grabbing his camera from the top of it and walked back to the foot of his bed. She’d always dressed in such loose outfits, and to see the secrets hidden beneath the baggy cloth was like entering heaven, into a realm he felt so at peace in.

  The sweet little woman, so eager to please him, her keeper. Her benefactor.

  “I want you to lie still for a little while,” he asked in a husky voice, his throat tightened by his own lust.

  Her head tilted to the side, her delicate little chin angling towards his direction as he moved. “You’re not going to leave are you?” she asked, sounding almost heartbroken at the prospect of him going. Though of course, he had absolutely zero intention of doing so.

  Otherwise she obeyed, her slender form motionless atop his big, posh bed, her slender limbs so still. As if she were the doll she resembled, frozen in time where some young girl had laid to rest in her doll house.

  He exhaled and let his hand click the shutter, capturing the moment forever. Anticipation swirled heavily between them, and he could see those little tells in her body, he read her so easily. She needed someone like him, and she was lucky he found her.

  It was a blessing, then, that he coveted her for himself.

  He clicked the camera shutter again, from a slightly different angle, keeping the flash off so as to capture the feel of the room. The dark ambiance, the dancing shadows, the strange tint of the fire reflecting off her pale flesh.

  “Take off your shoes, sweetie. You’re messing up the bed.”

  “S-sorry,” she murmured, her cheeks burning a bright red from the realization she was staining his expensive bed sheets with her outdoor shoes. She bent her lithe legs back one at a time, the muscles in her calves straining and bulging a little as she reached down, undid the clasps and pulled off one, then the other, before trying to reach down and set them at the foot of the bed.

  She underestimated the height of the bed, and they dropped with a bit of clatter. “Sorry!” she repeated, her voice a little high pitched from anxiety, worried about displeasing him.

  But that gave him the excuse he needed, and he placed the camera aside as he strode towards her. His fingers reached out, encircling her wrists, and he tut-tutted. “You’re going to have to learn to be more careful, little girl,” he chastised, his voice dark.

  Never could he recall being so turned on, so desperate for her, and the feel of her delicate wrist in his hand was exquisite.

  Her stockinged feet curled up beneath her pert little rear, and she bit down upon her lower lip once more as he took hold of her wrist. Anxiety was written all over her beautiful, porcelain face, and she hung her head a little, still blinded because of the mask.

  “I’m so so sorry,” she pleaded, sounding so meek and pathetic, so injured by his reprimand as if she’d failed a very important test. Not understanding that he’d hoped for her to give him the excuse.

  But that made it all the sweeter, and his pulse quickened as he sat upon the bed, his larger weight pulling her towards him. “You don’t apologize like that,” he said. “You crawl into my lap like a good girl...” He could barely believe he was saying the words. That they were finally coming from his lips. “Stomach down.”

  She froze.

  Her whole body went stationary for a moment and he feared he’d gone too far when her lips parted as if to speak, only to shut and remain silent.

  The seconds were excruciating, and he feared she’d say that word. That one, simple, bright word that would bring this all to a stop and risk everything he’d planned for.

  She was the one to break the tension, however, and to his unimaginable delight she shimmied across the bed and did just as he commanded. Pressing her slender form over his lap, her stomach to his thighs as her pert little rear pushed up behind her beneath her pleated skirt. “I’m sorry,” she murmured softly.

  There was no hiding his arousal from her, even though he still wore his finely tailored pants. He was fully dressed, but for his shoes, and that made him feel more in control. More empowered over the trembling leaf of a woman pressed so helplessly to him.

  Her sweet apology just made things all the more sensual for him, and he rubbed his heavy hand down along her spine. He touched her, through her clothes, and it was everything he’d dreamed it could be. She was warm, almost a bit sticky in the heated room as the fire danced beside them, and he could note her scent more easily in the air.

  “Pull up your skirt, sweetie. It’s time to show me how sorry you are.”

  Her first inclination was to obey, and that made his heart sore with want. Her arms immediately moved to do as he said without any thought, and only hesitated afterwards as the thought of the impropriety settled in.

  “I-- but…” she muttered, but before he could administer further admonishments she acquiesced. Her hands lowered down and she shakily grasped the edge of her frilly skirt, drawing it up slowly to reveal the round, pale flesh of her bottom.

  Those cheeks of hers suited her body--not large, but perky all the same. Round and oh so smooth, with her white panties nestled between the plush cheeks. The cotton fabric cupping her mound, showing her slit betwixt her thighs.

  He could do nothing for a moment but stare, to drink in that soft, youthful flesh.

  His hand stroked over her spine again, feeling out her form as he stared, letting her stew. To settle into the discomfort of the situation, to make her uncertain and off kilter. She would be waiting for what was to happen next, the inevitability of his strike, but still he wanted it to be unexpected.

  He lifted his hand from her blouse, and simply caressed her with his eyes, going over her form with such affection that was as invisible to her as everything else through that blindfold. Things she didn’t know existed. Those hidden secrets gave him the greatest pleasures, and when he brought his hand down on the fleshiest part of her ass, it was sudden and hard. The crack resounded in the sparsely furnished room, and even stung his hand a little.

  That nubile flesh rippled with the impact, so soft and supple. Those twin clefts jiggled as her body tensed and her voice rang out in a high pitched little squeal at the strike. She was so tender, so delicate, and she pressed against his manhood harder as her spine arched and her stomach jutted down further.

  Yet she didn’t try to get away, didn’t protest, just squealed then whimpered, gnawing her lower lip as her bare cheeks showed the outline of his hand in ruddy pink.

  He rubbed that tender cheek, encouraging the blood to the surface, marring the pure white of her flesh. Oh, how did anyone become so perfect as she?

  He felt over the heated flesh, but didn’t tease lower. He didn’t stroke the places he truly lusted for, nor did he pull her panties from the cleft of her ass. He wanted to, but he held himself back as his member throbbed beneath her slim stomach.

  Again his hand cracked down, and again she whimpered and straightened in his lap.

  “What do good girls say?” he growled out in his lust-laden voice.

  Aubrey jumped, her whole body twitching atop his lap as he struck her again, a yelp escaping her pouty lips as she wriggled and writhed. Her body squirmed a little as her pert rear smarted from the twin strikes.

  “I’m… I’m so sorry!” she called out, not sure what else she could say, her long, slender legs sticking out behind her. Her fingernails dug into his thighs as she squirmed atop his lap in her pain.

  But her squirming only made his cock throb harder, and his breathing got louder. “You were a bad girl,” he admonished, bringing his hand down again with another hard smack and leaving his palm on the smarting flesh. “But I can forgive bad girls.”

  She twitched and her nails dug into him harder, her wail this time louder as she seemed to border on more tears. Though this time they were not tears from emotional anguish, but just raw, physical hurt on her tender, sensitive flesh.

  Though the more she wriggled and struggled atop his lap, the more it tantalizingly swayed her perfect little rear. That round swell
of flesh waggling before him so delightfully.

  “Forgive me, pleeeaase,” she whimpered out pathetically.

  It was hard to resist not bringing his hand down again, punishing that tight little bottom of hers further. It was so sweet, and the way she wiggled was divine. His head felt a bit heavy, her loins throbbing so desperately as she cried and squirmed against his hardness, but he rubbed her ass in a tender manner.

  It was still tortuous, to have that sensitive skin rubbed so roughly, the threat still lingering in the air. He listened as she cooed and sobbed, her shoulders pinched and her ass tensed as she awaited the next blow that never came. He rubbed her for a long few moments, waiting for her to settle down, and his cock with it, and when finally she soothed, he stroked the back of her head with his free hand.

  “That’s enough crying for now, little pet,” he growled. “But I don't think you've learned your lesson yet.”

  Her breathing hitched a few times but she ceased her crying at his command, proving an obedient pet indeed.

  That delicate body shivered a while before stilling, calming atop his lap, her bare bottom red and exposed still. “I haven’t?” she squeaked out pathetically to him. She didn’t know what to expect, acting so lost, even if she gleefully crawled into his hands.

  The fact that she couldn’t see, was denied that right to take in what was happening with all of her senses, that just made it all sweeter. She was reliant upon him, and he stroked her ass affectionately. His other hand curled her long, blonde hair between it, feeling to soft strands out.

  “No. But I will teach you. Climb back onto the bed.”

  She had tensed up the moment he’d tightened her hair between her fingers, but with that command she relaxed. Her nails no longer dug into his thigh so much and she tentatively pushed herself up, her slender body rising, lifting up off him. She tottered off his lap and back to the sheets to sit sheepishly, resting her weight back upon her elbows, her knees bent and pointed up as she waited.

  He massaged himself for a moment, trying to relieve the tension in his pants, to calm his hardness, but it was useless. There was no fighting it. Not with just how perfect she was, how compliant. It was time to push her, to see how far he could take her.

  To see how far she would willingly go.

  She still hadn’t uttered that safe word, despite how he knew her ass must sting and burn. His hand still tingled, after all.

  “Aubrey,” he said as he stood, moving towards the foot of the bed once more and picking up his camera from where he’d left it. “I want you to pull off your panties.”

  Again, he watched attentively as her first instinct to obey took hold, but then… hesitation set in. Her arms froze midway to her undergarments.

  "My… my panties?” she murmured softly, those full lips quivering a little as she tried to look in his direction, unable to find him precisely because of her lack of sight. “I-- I don’t know..” she murmured sheepishly, gnawing her lower lip once more, but despite her apprehension, he could sense that she was teetering at the edge of capitulation, so close to giving in.

  She just needed a bit more of a push.

  But it was so sweet to watch as her body changed, those little motions so subtle and appealing as she struggled with his command.

  “Don’t you want to be a good girl, pet?” he asked, and his voice was hard, almost mocking. Daring her to not follow his instructions, to disobey.

  Her ass still stung, and she sat as she did to try and take pressure off it, hoisting her weight up on her elbows. It was too fresh of a reminder, and though she waffled, hesitating a moment longer, he then watched as she lifted her pleated skirt, reached in under it to her hips, and hooked her thumbs into the waistband.

  She wriggled her hips from side to side and kept her thighs together, barely about to tug the panties down between them, but she couldn’t hide it all despite her attempts at propriety. He caught a glimpse of her pink little cunny, the puffy labia dainty and sweet betwixt her legs before she lowered her skirt again.

  “I do,” was all she said to him, her cheeks burning a bright red.

  He didn’t even take a picture. He was too caught up in capturing the moment with his mind, committing every single motion to memory. He saw the brief flashes of bare skin, of forbidden flesh, and it sent his thoughts into a haze.

  The fire crackled behind him and a bead of sweat trailed down under his finely tailored shirt. “Good girl,” he rewarded his pet, but his voice was tight. Constricted. He cleared his throat, trying to get back his sense of command and dominance.

  “I want you to lay back, and spread your arms to either side of the bed.”

  Her legs were pressed so tightly together that as she lay down flat, he never got another glimpse of her slit, nor the little tuft of wispy blonde hairs above it. She obeyed, though, splaying her arms out to the side, leaving her panties discarded on the edge of the bed, twisted and pretty as she did as he told.

  He swallowed and took another picture, leaving the camera as he walked to her left side. He kneeled at the bed, his fingers trailing over her bare arm. The underside of it was so fair, with blue veins just barely visible beneath the surface. He traced them, feeling the soft pulse quicken at his touch.

  Licking his lips, he turned her arm over, his gaze following the light hairs along her forearm. They glistened from the orange light of the candles and fire, the downy hair so soft. He reached beneath the bed and with a soft clatter, removed the heavy chain and soft leather from beneath the bed skirt. He caressed her arm once more before he spoke. “Do you trust me?”

  Her spindly limbs tensed at the sound of those chains, and she lifted her head off the bed just a fraction of an inch, still so blind to the world around her. Her lips parted and she looked as if about to ask him what the noise was, but instead she licked her pink lips and nodded to him so very briefly, and he had a tantalizing suspicion that she knew.

  “Yes sir,” she said meekly, just a wisp of her usual soft voice available.

  He caressed her again, bringing his mouth to her wrist and pressing it there for a long moment, tasting her skin. He nuzzled her flesh before pulling away, bringing the soft leather to her hand. He held her fingers in his, guiding them along the dark leather, feeling out the rich texture of the material.

  “This won’t hurt, sweetheart,” he said softly, taking her dainty wrist and wrapping the binding tightly around it. He secured it in place and kissed each of her fingers in turn.

  Her soft little breaths caught a few times as he kissed upon her delicate skin, her slender fingers twitching as he treated her with such care. She seemed to expect more, some hurt, some pain, but instead he merely wrapped those bindings about her and gave her such tender affections.

  It made her shiver and fidget just a bit, rubbing her thighs together as she waited restlessly for the hitch. The catch to all this. She was feeling the same buildup he had clung to for all this time.

  He walked to the other side of the bed, repeating the same motions with such tender affection, teasing her skin with gentle caresses. When that one, too, was secured, he moved to her foot. He didn’t ask, this time. Instead, he reached across the bed and caressed over the top of her foot, down over her instep, tickling the arch through her stocking.

  Each motion was so slow, so sensual, and when he got to her ankle and began coaxing her legs open, her foot towards him, it all seemed and felt so natural.

  Though he hadn’t asked, she never resisted. Her legs parting as he pulled them gently to the side to tie them down, her shaking seeming to still while he strapped her limbs to the bed. Perhaps the lack of control brought her comfort, or perhaps she simply had less room to quiver as she was tied down.

  Either way, her beautiful, pale form looked at ease as he ensnared her, trapping her to the bed, her white blouse betraying the outlines of her perky little teats, aroused and stiffened through the nearly see-through fabric.

  As he finished with the last foot, he stood back to admire hi
s work. To admire her.

  Never had he seen someone so beautiful, who had been so worth waiting for. Holding out for. He knew how lucky he was for her to be so perfectly crafted for him, so much so that it made him wonder if there truly was a greater power looking out for him.

  For both of them.

  He knew that she needed this, needed him, just as badly, and as he watched her body still and calm, he knew that they’d both feel whole after this evening.

  He crawled onto the bed, careful not to hurt her slender legs as he moved between them. He knelt over her, his body weight shifting the mattress a bit as he hovered, staring down at her face. His gaze caressed her nose, her mouth, over her throat and down over the buttons of her blouse.

  His fingers crept over her thighs, never disturbing the skirt, but instead going towards the first button on her blouse and pushing it through the sewn hole.

  She’d remained so calm and quiet through it all, but as he popped that first button she gasped, softly and quietly. Her shoulders shrank inwards and she seemed to want to retreat within herself, but instead she stilled, calmed herself, her breathing having grown as he lowered her top, to show her milky white skin down to the pale white peaks of her breasts, cupped so tightly by her thin, fabric bra.

  It was torture for him. He wanted to tear the shirt off, to ravish her, but even now, when he'd come so far, he refused himself that pleasure. No, he didn’t want her for the moment.

  He needed to possess her, always. And he wouldn’t get there by pushing her to the limit.

  Instead, he brought his mouth to her collarbone, letting his lips trace over the delicate skin, his bristly stubble contrasting to the softness of his kisses.

  And against her smooth, blemishless skin, his coarse jawline was like a scrub brush. It made her gasp and squirm a little, shifting away from him, but unable to move more than mere centimeters away from his hungry mouth.