“God, I cannot wait to spank you,” he declared.
“Ah, but wait you must, by your own choice.”
“You’re impossible,” he chuckled.
“No, I’m not, I’m perfect,” she quipped. “You said so yourself.”
“You’re perfectly impossible,” he responded, “and as I just decreed, after we have finished our late afternoon tea, we are going upstairs, taking a quick shower, and a long nap.”
He looked so intense she took pity on him, and leaning forward kissed him sweetly on the cheek.
“I think that sounds perfect,” she winked.
Before dinner, he instructed Belle to take a long, warm bubble bath, and laid his dress of choice on the bed. When she found it, along with a note, her heart jumped, and sitting on the edge of the mattress, just a towel around her middle, she opened the envelope.
Tonight will be one of memories made, memories to be cherished, and memories that will see us through times that might not be perfect.
Tingling with anticipation, she blow-dried her hair into a soft, wavy style he’d not seen, then dressed and carefully applied her makeup. Satisfied with what her mirror reflected, she headed off for the dining room.
Simon was standing by the fireplace, dressed in a dark green, silk shirt and black trousers. The shirt was the same color as the turtleneck he’d worn that afternoon, and in the soft glow of the dining room’s light, the olive hue against his sparkling eyes made them appear even more captivating.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“Is there any vanilla vodka in the house?” she queried.
“Of course, why did I even ask? You look beautiful, Belle. Just beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she smiled, feeling the familiar warmth cross her face.
“It’s not cold, is that all right?” he asked walking to the liquor cabinet. “I forgot to put it in the freezer,”
“It is. I prefer it room temperature. It’s softer.”
“Ah, good. I’ll remember that,” he replied, pouring a shot into a small crystal glass and carrying it across to her.
“Aren’t you drinking?”
“Yes, a cabernet with dinner, which is about to be served,” he smiled.
Belle tilted her head to one side, a gesture Simon was beginning to understand. It meant she was picking something up, sensing something.
“You’re anxious,” she observed. “I’ve never seen you anxious.”
“I’m not anxious,” he replied too quickly, then grinned, adding, “well, perhaps a little bit.”
She sipped her vodka, relishing the slightly sweet, spicy liquid as it slid down her throat.
“That is so good,” she sighed.
“Shall we go in?” he asked.
“Sure,” she giggled. “I don’t think I can stand to watch you suffer any longer.”
“Oh, little girl, you just wait,” he warned, patting her backside.
“Um, I apologize for anything I may have said or done today that might have caused you any kind of, uh–”
“Bit late for that, my sweet,” he whispered cutting her off.
Belle felt a dozen butterflies join the fluttering few, and as they entered the dining room, the smell of something delicious tantalized her nostrils.
“Whatever that is, I already know it’s going to be amazing.”
She discovered the aroma came from Cajun salmon and pecan rice, and it was as divinely delectable as its redolence had promised.
“Dessert will be in our room, later,” he promised, and walking around he helped her from her chair.
“Are we going, um, downstairs?”
“Not yet. We’re going into the study.”
Puzzled, Belle followed him down the hallway and across the foyer into his masculine, Thomas Crown study. As she entered she saw the fire already burning, and his liquor cabinet open. The lights were dim, a golden aura illuminating the room. He locked the doors behind her, and walked to the small, ornate bar.
“Please, sit on the sofa,” he said, and pulling two brandy glasses from the rack, splashed the amber liquid into both.
Completely intrigued, she ambled across to the couch and dropped down, soaking in the warm ambience, allowing herself to be hypnotized by the fire.
“This is some kind of heavenly,” she sighed, accepting the glass.
She was expecting him to sit next to her, but he moved away, taking up a position by the fireplace hearth.
“Tell me, what is the greatest challenge you’ve faced?” he inquired.
The question surprised her, and she sipped the brandy as she searched for the answer.
“I suppose,” she finally replied, “when I moved here with my family when I was a teenager. Dad was even busier here than he had been in Washington, and my mother was completely involved with my sister. I was only fifteen and I had to, well, create my own life. It was lonely and very challenging at first, but then it became wonderful. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” he said thoughtfully, ambling over to the chess set behind the couch, “except for my relationship with you, my challenges are no longer challenges. They haven’t been for a long time.”
“Wait, you think our relationship is challenging?”
“Probably the most challenging thing I’ve ever encountered. You are far more challenging than my business adversaries, or any deal I’ve ever made,” he replied, idly moving the chess pieces haphazardly around the board.
“I am not challenging!” she scoffed, setting her brandy on the side table and turning to face him. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about. That’s ridiculous.”
“See?” he declared, spinning around to meet her gaze. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. There isn’t anyone I know who would have responded that way. Everyone has an agenda, or their responses are calculated, part of a negotiation, or they’re so intimidated by me and my wealth they don’t question me. I can see right through them, but you Belle, you are just, well, you,” he exclaimed.
Abruptly he marched around the couch, and placing his brandy next to hers on the side table, he reached down, grabbed her elbow, and pulled her up, bringing her body close to his.
“Do you recall that kiss, that amazing kiss, when Thomas Crown yanked Vicki to her feet during their chess game?” he demanded gruffly. “The camera spun them around and around.”
“Of course,” Belle stammered, jolted by his impetuous outburst. “We talked about it earlier, and the whole thing about you feeling unchallenged.”
“I know, but I need to talk about it again. She had him completely unnerved, so much so that she was able to place his king in danger.”
He was clutching her, his sparkling eyes burning into hers. She could feel her heart skipping, and there was something radiating from him she’d never felt before, a raging fierceness lurking under the usually serene Simon Sinclair facade.
“Yes, I remember,” she whispered.
“He couldn’t think, he couldn’t focus,” Simon continued vehemently. “That’s what you do to me. No-one, not international business barristers, not royalty, not anyone, no-one has ever done that to me before. You, Belle Somers, you do that to me.”
Gripping the back of her head, he plunged his lips against hers, turning her body to jello as his tongue probed, his mouth and body hard and unrelenting, commanding her complete surrender.
It was timeless and endless, and when they finally broke apart, Belle was gasping, catching her breath, held up only by his arms wrapped around her in a vice-like hug. His fingers were buried in her hair, and he brought his mouth to her ear.
“I–I–” he stammered, hot breath in her ear.
She waited, barely breathing, aching to hear the words she believed he wanted to utter.
Say it. SAY IT! his voice screamed. You love her you damn fool. SAY IT! ----- I can’t. Not yet. I just can’t.
His hold slowly relaxed, and he pulled back, kissing her gently.
“Our dungeon aw
aits,” he murmured. “Stay there.”
He moved quickly to the study doors, unlocking them, then turned down the fire and returned to her.
“I don’t understand,” she declared.
“You will,” he smiled.
Taking her hand he lead her to the bar, and Belle, still recovering from his impassioned attack and uttered words, both spoken and unspoken, did her best to focus on what it was he was showing her, but it wasn’t until she realized he was pulling on a lever hidden behind a sculpture, that she understood what was happening.
“Leads to the dungeon,” he grinned, gesturing into the dark space.
The solid-looking, wood-paneled wall creaked open, and reaching just inside, Simon retrieved a large lantern.
“Hold my hand and follow me carefully,” he said. “This stairwell is steeper than the one you were on before.”
She stepped into the darkness, his lantern illuminating the space, and he reached across and pulled another lever, causing the door to creak back into place.
“Marvelous isn’t it?” he said, a statement more than a question.
“It is,” Belle agreed. “Absolutely marvelous.”
Slowly they made their way down the spiral staircase and through a corridor, ending up on the landing she’d climbed to the day before. Simon pulled the lever on the rock wall, and the door magically swung open, revealing the stairwell to the dungeon.
“After you, my dear,” he declared, ushering her forward.
“Thank you, kind Sir,” she curtsied, and moved on to the landing, waiting until he closed the hidden opening, and together they descended into the cavernous underground of the manor.
Belle’a stomach danced as she followed him through the entrance by the bed and bookcase. He had said he was going to flog her, and she couldn’t quite identify how she was feeling. Her excitement and amatory anticipation was spiced with a healthy dose of fear. The dungeon was illuminated with honey colored light, and when he wrapped his arm around her waist, nuzzling her neck, she leaned against him, welcoming the support.
“Come along, my lovely, time to prepare you.”
What he meant she couldn’t possibly fathom, but it wasn’t long before she found out. Standing her next to the bed, he slowly, tenderly, deliberately undressed her, running his fingertips across her skin, tracing circles around her elbows, kissing every part of her as her flesh was exposed.
“Simon, I feel weak,” she mewed.
“I know, my darling,” he breathed. “That’s why you’re next to the bed, so if you need to sit for a moment you may.”
“I think I do,” she sighed.
Sliding her dress down to sit around her thighs, revealing her nakedness below the hem of the red satin corset, he paused, lowering his head to kiss her belly button, then gently sat her on the mattress.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He pulled the dress away completely, laying it neatly at the foot of the bed, and sitting next to her, he smoothed his hand across her back, kissed her shoulders, then reaching into his pants pocket, retrieved a black, silk scarf.
“Eyes,” he said simply.
She turned her head, feeling the sensuous fabric slide into place as it stole her sight.
“Comfortable?” he asked, tying it at the back of her head.
“Yes,” she breathed, her heavy anticipation and fluttering butterflies making it difficult to focus.
His arm reached around her, moving her over his lap, allowing her head to rest on the mattress. She heard him groan as his hand traveled across her backside, the palm of his hand following the swell of her naked cheeks.
“You can make as much noise as you wish,” he offered, “at any time.”
The tender, fondling palm became the bearer of a hot sting, landing smack after smack, crisscrossing her bottom with its message of prurient pain and pleasure.
Every few minutes his hand stopped its spanking, and his fingers slid between her legs, touching and probing, then returned to slap down even harder and faster than before. She began to lose her sense of place, time and thought, the spice slicing through her skin, the heat burning through her sex, until finally, gasping and panting, he brought back up to sit beside him.
“Drink,” he ordered, raising a crystal tumbler to her lips.
She took the glass and gulped the icy water. It revived her, and she exhaled heavily, leaning her head against his shoulder, then drank some more. Removing the glass from her hands, he stood her up and guided her slowly across to the center of the room, where he lifted her arms, shackling them to chains suspended from the ceiling.
“Oooohhh, Sir,” she moaned.
Standing beside her, he wrapped his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her head back, then lowered his mouth on to hers. His warm, wet, ardent kiss sent her spiraling back into her carnal hunger, and as his fingers searched in her pussy, pinching and touching her sensitive button, she whimpered her words of wanting against his lips.
“Lovely Belle,” he purred, softly rubbing her hot cheeks. “You’re ready now.”
He softly moved away, walking across to the rack of floggers, and eyeing the selection, chose the one he knew would offer just the right amount of zing without inflicting heavy punishment. This was not discipline; this was going to deliver her to the ether of subspace, take her to heights only reachable on dark nights like this, when the elements of emotional and physical excess joined together.
Running his fingers through the lush leather tongues, he shook them by the handle, watching them dance in the air. He would observe her carefully as he whistled them across her skin, keen to every whimper, every moan, calculating the moment when he would release her to slither his cock through her lusciously wet pussy.
Breaking from his reverie, he walked back, moving like a panther. He could feel the fever taking him, his temperature was rising, and placing the flogger on a small table nearby, he removed his shirt, feasting his eyes on the beautiful Belle waiting anxiously in her chains.
Her skin glowed golden in the dim amber light, except for the upside-down, perfectly pink heart that lay so invitingly just below her hips. The hue told him her bottom was ready for the flogger, would accept it with joyous rapture, and it wouldn’t take but a few lashes for her heart and mind to utterly surrender to its exquisite gift.
Placing his shirt around the back of a chair, he picked up the flogger and glided to her side, draping its tendrils over her shoulder, allowing its ends to tickle her chest, her breasts still encased in the cups of the corset. Those he was saving for dessert.
“My beautiful Belle,” he crooned softly, silently adding, I have waited a lifetime to see you in my dungeon, and here you are. The woman I didn’t even know I was dreaming of.
“Sir,” she whimpered, “what is wrong with me, that this transports me to heaven?”
“It is not what is wrong with you,” he replied tenderly, expertly floating the leather strips across her chest. “It’s what’s right with you.”
Gliding it over her shoulder, letting the tails drop away, he stepped back, taking up his position.
Why do I love this soooo much? Belle wondered, her thoughts flittering through her brain. Why do I never want this to end? This man. This man and this moment, I want it to last for–
The leather strips lashed across her bottom, a heavy, hot thudding coursed through her being. A second’s pause, and it was followed by another, the dull sting subordinate to the power of the flogger’s stroke.
Moving quickly beside her, he caressed her flesh, rubbing firmly, then buried a finger between her legs.
“Belle, you’re dripping,” he groaned, feeling the blood rush to his cock.
“Please, please will you kiss me?” she begged.
Pulling her head back, he lowered his lips against her mouth, stabbing his tongue between her teeth, pressing the handle of the flogger against her sex. The urgency in his trousers was growing, and forcing himself to slowly pull away, he nuzzled her neck for a fleeting
moment, before standing back to continue his work.
She was prepared now. She knew what to expect. She was already in love with the dense authority of the flogger, and its all-consuming domination. He released the tongues, flicking them forward, and when their liberated energy kissed their target, they received a gasping cry from their victim.
With skill and expertise borne from many hours of tutelage by an elderly master, he continued to fly the flogger through the air. Her hips danced with their partner, Simon’s febrility pumped through his soul, until his fevered instinct told him it was time.
Dropping his weapon, he strode to her side, and releasing the chains, scooped her up. She was heavy in his arms, but he bore no apprehension, her quiet moaning and panting breaths were evidence of her treasured state.
Laying her on the bed, he stripped slowly, and placing the requisite condom on his turgid prick, he watched the rapture burn through her, the undulating body moving like a mermaid in a pool of still, warm water.
Climbing on the bed he gently unfastened the zipper than ran along the side of the corset, releasing her from its rigid hold. She sighed as her body and breasts were freed, then groaned as his lips sought out her nipples, his hands fondling as he nipped and sucked.
Pulling the garment from under her body, he threw it aside, then returned to his machinations, exploring and licking, touching and tickling, covering her nakedness with soft wet kisses, his tongue lapping against her skin, his cock constantly rubbing against her, fueling their mutual hunger.
Rising over her, taking hold of her wrists, placing them on either side of her head, he allowed his cock to find its way to her soaking, starving cunt. The beast needed no help, no guiding hand, finding her pussy open and slippery with its covetous need, snaking inside the succulent morsel and moving of its own accord.
Dropping his lips on hers, he probed his tongue in unison with his probing manhood, fucking her pussy and mouth, slowly and deliberately. Her mouth sucked back, her pussy walls pulsed, and it was all that existed in their united world; his cock, her cunt, his tongue, her mouth, as he drove them forward, leading her inexorably onward to the ultimate euphoria.
The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Two Page 12