by Rachel Clark
“I caught a cab,” she said suggestively. “Maybe you could give me a lift home.”
She smiled at him when he hailed a cab, opened the door for her, and helped her in. She looked less impressed when he handed the driver more than enough money to drive her across town if need be, and wished her good-night. He almost regretted that Alicia wasn’t here to see her friend’s face as he closed the cab door on her.
Although that thought did lead him to another interesting one.
Alicia would have known that Lisa wasn’t his type. Had she deliberately sabotaged his chances of success by supplying the least likely candidate to capture his attention?
God, he hoped so.
Now he just needed to speak to Doug.
Chapter Two
I’m not sure what I was expecting Doug’s apartment to look like, but I’m a little surprised by how warm and welcoming it seems. Far from the sterile, chrome-and-leather, professionally decorated bachelor pad that many men of his age and income bracket seem to prefer, Doug’s apartment is a pleasant mismatch of older—but well-maintained—pieces of true craftsmanship.
“My great-grandfather made the rocking chair for his wife when she was pregnant with my grandfather,” he says as he takes my hand and leads me through his apartment. “The dining table and chairs were my grandfather’s work.” We step into the kitchen, and he helps me onto a stool at the bench. It’s a rather unusual shape—wooden but sort of resembling a saddle. I can almost sit with my legs closed—almost—but it’s far more comfortable not to try. I do, however, valiantly attempt to keep my skirt in the right place and keep up with the conversation. His next words catch my attention again and I’m no longer thinking about the strange seat. “My father made the bed, but I’ll show you that another time.”
Surprisingly, despite my doubts about coming home with him—and the fact that I am irrevocably in love with my best friend—I’m a little disappointed that Doug doesn’t want to sleep with me. I don’t even want to think about what that might mean about me. It is our first and last date after all.
How could I continue to see such a great guy when my heart belongs to another? That’s assuming that Doug even wants another date. I mean, I haven’t exactly been stellar company. Oh, hell, he probably thinks I’m nuts already. But if he doesn’t want to sleep with me tonight, and a second date is unlikely, then why did he even bring me here? Why not just let me get a lift home with Lachlan?
Unless he was trying to clear the way for Lachlan to have hot, sweaty sex with that unsuitable bi—
The quick slap of a wooden spoon on my thigh derails every thought.
“Ouch?” I sort of ask again. I should be really annoyed at what, by the strict definition of law, amounts to assault, but instead I find myself hoping he’ll do it again. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Better?” he asks as he puts the spoon on the bench and moves to rub gently over the small red spot on my skin.
“Why?” I ask, because I seriously don’t understand what’s happening between us. Since meeting him he’s flicked my finger, squeezed my knuckles painfully, and whacked my leg with a wooden spoon. I should be seriously pissed. Should be…
“Because you need it,” he says as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. Somehow, even surrounded by his hard muscles, I feel safe with him. Maybe I’ve finally had one too many panic attacks and the increased chemical activity in my brain actually fried my synapses. I mean, really, if he wasn’t a friend of Lachlan’s, I’d be all kinds of stupid not to be trying to leave right about now.
“I don’t understand,” I say quietly. To be honest I think maybe I do understand just a little. Every time I’ve been on the verge of another panic attack, the small pain he inflicted has brought me back to reality. “Why pain? Why not just kiss me?”
He laughs quietly, the deep sound vibrating against my face as I cuddle closer into him. “In a public place? On a first date?” he asks with humor in his voice.
“Point taken,” I say with a genuine laugh when I imagine some of my possible reactions to being kissed by a man I’d only just met. And truly the flick on the fingertip and the squeeze of my knuckles had been but a momentary hurt, and not truly painful. “But what about here and now?”
He is still rubbing his hand lightly over the spot on my thigh. The wooden spoon had stung sharply and my skin still feels a little raw. He moves back, releasing me from his hold. Too late do I realize it’s so he can see my face.
“This one was for both of us.”
“Huh.” Color me seriously confused, now.
He’s still rubbing over the tiny sore spot. “I like seeing my mark on your skin.”
“Your mark?” I ask inanely. I would have called it the spoon’s mark, but hey if he wants to lay claim to it.
“Have you ever heard of BDSM?” he asks, still rubbing over the little red welt. It’s no longer sore, but the tingles shooting from there straight to my pussy are more than a little disconcerting.
“BDSM as in bondage and spanking and stuff?”
“Sort of,” he says as he finally takes his hand away from my thigh. He moves into the kitchen and goes back to what he was doing before the spoon thing. “I think you’re a submissive.”
Huh? I’m not exactly sure what “a submissive” is, but I know the dictionary meaning of “submit.” I shake my head even though he’s not actually looking at me. I don’t surrender to anyone. Hell, I won’t even surrender to my panic attacks. No way in hell am I submitting to him.
“I can train you,” he says helpfully, still not looking in my direction. My mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of water, but no words are coming out. How dare he? Who the fuck does he think he is? Train me? Like fuck, he’ll train me! I’m liable to kick his ass just for suggesting it. I’m halfway off the stool, ready to confront him, ready to make him turn around, but two calm words freeze me in place. “Sit down.”
I want to do as he says, and suddenly I’m finding a ridiculous pleasure in the idea of making him happy. Where the hell is my self-confident, kick-ass personality?
Doug turns to me, indicates with his eyes what he wants, and then gives me a warm smile when I finally do it. Sheesh. I’m leaning back toward that chemical-overload-fried-brain theory. This is so not me.
“Alicia, I can help you,” he says as he comes back to stand in front of me. There is a whole bench between us, but for some reason I feel like he’s caressing me all over.
“How?” I ask suspiciously.
“I can give you ways to cope with the panic attacks. In some ways submitting to your Dom is like meditation. It gives you a chance to let go of the pressures of the world and just be free to relax.”
“What do you get out of it?” I’m assuming when he says the word Dom he’s referring to himself.
“I have certain kinks that I like to indulge. Turning a submissive’s backside a pretty shade of pink is something I quite enjoy.”
“So you want to spank me?” Even as I try to dismiss the idea in my head, my body throbs at the imagined pain. When did I start thinking like that? I’ve had my fair share of minor injuries from the sports I’ve played over the years, but I can’t really say I enjoyed the pain from them, can I? My heart starts to race a little faster. Hell, I probably can say I enjoyed the pain. Why did I really refuse painkillers the last time I twisted my ankle playing hockey? I was in agony for days. The doctor damn near insisted, but I just smiled through the pain and went back to work.
The touch on my thigh stills my panicked thoughts for a moment.
“I think you need to be spanked right now,” he says confidently. Fuck, I almost nod in agreement. “How many panic attacks do you have a day?”
I shake my head, hopefully quickly dispelling his interpretation. “Today”—I drag in a deep breath—“isn’t typical.” I know the evidence suggests otherwise, but it’s been a particularly stressful week. I certainly could have done without the worry of the blind double “dat
e” Lachlan had asked me to arrange.
“Would you like to try a spanking? I promise to stop if you find it’s not working for you. All you have to do is say ‘stop’ and I’ll stop immediately.”
At this point I’m really tempted to give it a go. It’s been hell trying to hide the panic attacks all these years. If I could find a way to stop them before they really begin, it might make the rest of my life less stressful. Finally, still not convinced it would work, but willing to at least give it a try, I nod my agreement.
He smiles, leans over to press a kiss to my lips, and then helps me off the stool. He leads me into the living room, sits on a large padded wooden chair that seems to have been created exactly for this purpose, and pats his knees. I’m not sure how one goes about lying over someone’s lap, so I’m almost relieved when he grabs my wrist and tugs me off-balance. It feels very strange to be lying here like this, but then he starts caressing the globes of my ass through my skirt and panties, and I stop worrying about the strange sight I probably make.
“I’m going to spank you as hard as I think you need,” he says, still rubbing my ass. He can’t miss the shudder that works its way down my spine. I’ve just given this man permission to hurt me. This may well be the stupidest decision I’ve ever made. “Ordinarily I would give you a safe word—a word that you wouldn’t often use when you’re in pain or upset—but with you being so new to this I will cease spanking you if you say the word ‘stop.’ But only the word ‘stop.’ I will ignore anything else you say.”
“Ignore?” I ask in a small, frightened voice.
“That’s right,” Doug says, running his warm hand up my thigh and under the loose material of my skirt. “You can scream the word ‘no’ all you like. Only the word ‘stop’ will call a halt.”
“Okay,” I say, gasping as he lifts my skirt up and exposes my black panties to his gaze. Thank God I thought to wear my nicest pair. They’re quite demure as lingerie goes, but at least they’re not the cotton flower-covered granny panties I usually wear.
His fingers caress over the silky material for a few moments before he slips his whole hand inside and pushes them down to my knees. I shiver in reaction, the word “stop” trembling on my lips. I hadn’t realized he meant a bare-assed spanking. Fuck, I should have though. He said he liked turning a submissive’s bottom pink. Crap. Instead of listening to my own internal panicky dialogue I should have been listening more closely to what the man was saying.
The first slap stings, but is actually quite pleasant. He follows with five or six more just like it, the sharp whacks all landing in different places. When he rubs his calloused hand over my skin, the heat from the slaps intensifies.
“Are you still with me, Alicia?”
I have to swallow before I can answer. “Yes, I think so.”
“Good girl,” he says in a praising tone of voice that makes me want to hear it more often. I can hardly believe that letting him spank me is making him happy, but judging by the hard rod I can feel pressing into my hip, it’s definitely working for him.
The next slap is a lot harder, a startled cry leaving my lips a moment before the next one lands. The pain is intense, the sting bringing tears to my eyes. Four more hits leave me gasping for air. But just like before, he caresses his hands over my stinging flesh and gives me a chance to settle down.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks in a neutral tone. I kind of do, but I also want to hear that praising tone of voice again.
“I’m okay,” I say to him even though I’m gasping for air, but then I almost melt as he praises my decision.
The next six are even harder, but strangely don’t hurt as much. He stops again, but this time he doesn’t ask me a question. This time he just waits.
“Perfect,” he says as the next round starts. But I can no longer feel the pain. For some reason I’m moving into the harsh blows, enjoying the sting, embracing the throbbing. My mind seems to be floating outside my body, the tears streaming down my face unimportant as reality fades away.
I have no idea how long I’m gone, but after a while it finally registers that I’m sitting up, curled into Doug’s embrace as he comforts me. My eyes are raw, my makeup surely smeared all over my face, but I can’t deny the pure, simple pleasure of feeling content in this man’s arms.
I notice again the hard length of his cock underneath me and can’t resist the need to adjust my body slightly so that I can feel him more fully.
Strong arms lift me, moving me away from that deliciously hard appendage.
“Welcome back,” he says with a soft laugh. “How’re you feeling?”
It’s a hard question to answer. My ass is throbbing, and if I have to guess I’d say I’m going to remember this part of my “blind date” every time I sit down in the next few days, but I feel like it’s been a positive experience. How strange.
“Stand up,” he says as he helps me to my feet. I’m a bit wobbly so I’m very grateful for the hand he wraps around my waist. I’m sure my face is as red as my ass as he pushes me forward and inspects the damage to my derriere. I moan in pleasure as he runs his hands over the sore spots. I can feel my pussy creaming with my arousal. How the hell does something like a spanking manage to turn us both on?
“Sorry,” I mumble in embarrassment.
“Don’t be,” he says, sliding his hands over my bottom, his fingers grazing close to my pussy but not quite touching. “A spanking is a very pleasurable experience for both of us. It’s only natural that we’d both be aroused by it.”
I try to move so that his fingers touch that place that throbs to be filled. Hell, when was the last time I was this close to a good hard cock? But instead of sliding his fingers inside me like I hope, he slaps my sore ass instead.
“Behave,” he says as he flips my skirt down to cover my ass from his view. “Neither of us is ready to have sex.”
I pout, annoyed by his assumption but actually agreeing with what he said. Hell, this is our first date. For some reason that thought amuses me. This is so not my usual behavior. I try to control the inappropriate laughter, but as he’s been doing all night he sees right through me.
He smiles, leans down, and grabs the panties from around my ankles, and then lets me turn around to see him push them into his pocket. “Souvenir,” he explains with a grin, before taking my hand and leading me back to the kitchen. This time he flips my skirt out of the way so that my bare ass and wet pussy will be sitting directly on the cool wood of the strangely shaped seat. I try to protest—staining the furniture was not in my plans for this evening—but he gives me a stern look and lifts me onto the stool.
With its sort of “saddle” shape, the smooth, cold wood actually feels quite nice against my hot skin, but I try to sit in such a way that my wet pussy isn’t quite touching the seat. Doug grins at me like he knows exactly what I’m trying to do, then steps closer, forcing my legs to open as he wedges his hips between my thighs. “Relax,” he orders, grinning wider when he tilts me forward slightly and forces me onto an angle that connects my clit and pussy lips directly to the smooth wood. I moan as I feel my pussy pulse, leaking even more of my arousal onto the polished wood.
Holy fuck.
“Relax,” he says again.
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter as he walks back into the kitchen. I’m shaking with arousal, and he’s telling me to relax while pressing my swollen, needy clit against a type of saddle horn? Is he fucking joking? He comes back in a moment, presses a bottle of cold water into my hand with a look that can’t be interpreted as anything less than “drink,” and then stands back to watch me.
* * * *
Doug was pretty surprised by his own reaction and quite frankly struggling to hide it. He’d known almost from the first word that Alicia was submissive, but that hadn’t prepared him for the emotions she evoked in him. He’d spanked dozens of submissives—some to orgasm, most simply to a cathartic emotional release—but none of them had affected him as deeply as Alicia.
Fuck. He had to get a grip. He was supposed to be testing the woman, making certain that she wouldn’t be offended by their lifestyle before Lachlan risked losing his best friend by revealing his kinks. Doug wasn’t supposed to be falling for Alicia himself.
When Lachlan had first asked this favor of him, he’d actually thought the man a little cowardly. Why would he even want a woman who wouldn’t accept him for who he was? But having met her, Doug was beginning to understand. The woman appealed to him in ways he wouldn’t have even been able to imagine a day ago. After only one date—and the most intense spanking session he’d ever experienced—Doug didn’t want to think about never seeing her again either.
Chapter Three
“Come for me, little sub,” he says.
I look at him as if he’s lost his mind. Surely he didn’t just say what I thought he said. I’m already rolling the cold water bottle against my heated forehead. Surely it’s just my imagination running wild.
“It won’t take much,” he says with a grin. “Just lean forward and rub that swollen little clit against the wood.”
“W–Why?” I ask breathlessly.
“Because you need it,” he says with a warm smile, “and because I need to watch you.”
Well I can’t really argue with him there. Lord knows I haven’t had an orgasm in a very long time. After my last lousy relationship even my vibrator no longer seemed appealing.
“Do it,” he orders in a voice that’s almost teasing. “I dare you.”
I’ve never been able to resist a dare, and judging by the grin on Doug’s face, Lachlan filled him in on a few too many details about me. And, hell, when it boils down to it I really do need to come. Maybe by using his dare as an excuse I don’t have to admit my surprising need even to myself.
I wriggle experimentally, almost falling from the seat in surprise. Holy hell, I’m beginning to think this chair was made exactly for this purpose.