She folded up the bustier and set it on top of the dresser. The skirt followed it, leaving her standing there in stockings, heels and panties. Her left hand drifted upward, covering her breasts, though he’d already had an eyeful.
‘And the rest.’
‘I thought … well the girl still wore panties for her spanking.’
‘And this is private. No one else will be able to see you except me. You either strip or leave.’ His gaze narrowed cold and dark as he looked at her. ‘Well, girl, what’s your decision?’
She glanced at the door and then back at him. ‘But why do you …?’
‘This isn’t open for discussion.’ His voice was ice cold.
Her breathing hitched in the back of her throat. ‘OK, I’ll do it. I just need a minute to …’
‘Now.’
Her hands moved before she realized what she was doing. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her panties and skimmed them down her thighs. The thin strip of hair over the curve of her mound brought a flush to her face.
‘Better. You can leave the stockings and heels on. I’ve relented a little. You won’t be completely naked.’
Somehow that didn’t make her feel any better.
‘The cross or the bed? The cross, I think.’ He gestured toward the St Andrew’s cross against the wall.
The cross held less fear for her than the bed but walking to it took more strength than she’d ever believed possible. Her palms were damp but her heart raced and her nipples were hard and aching for his touch. A liquid heat coated her nether lips and her clit throbbed. What was she doing? There was enough time to change her mind – there had to be. And he’d given her a safe word that would end things if she didn’t like what he was doing.
‘Reach your hands up, girl.’
She looked up and to each side before she lifted her hands up to the edges of the frame where manacles waited for her wrists. Would it hurt, being bound like this?
Drake locked her wrists in place. ‘Now your legs. Ease your left out toward the manacle.’ He knelt down by her left leg and soon both of her legs were locked in place. ‘Good, now we can begin.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Sir …’
‘I don’t understand.’ She frowned and twisted to look back at him over her shoulder.
‘Face the wall.’ He touched the back of her head. ‘And you will address me as sir during our little exploration. Is that clear?’
‘Y–yes, sir.’ She looked at the wall and shuddered.
‘Better, much better.’ He traced one hand slowly down the length of her spine then reached between her thighs and cupped her naked nether lips. ‘You’re already wet, girl.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She blushed at his words but there was no denying the truth. Her body hungered for something she couldn’t express. She was wet for a man she didn’t know, a stranger who hadn’t even told her his real name.
‘Good.’ He moved his hand from between her thighs and cupped her left ass cheek. It lifted away from her flesh briefly, only to be brought down against her bare backside in a stinging slap.
She cried out, arching onto her toes, her thighs already stretched by the manacles. It hurt but the sensation between her thighs was intense. Her inner walls clenched, her body arching, lifting and offering her bottom to him again.
‘Good, very good,’ he growled in pleasure. He brought his hand down twice more before shifting to her other ass cheek.
She sobbed for breath, her hips rolling with each blow. Her thighs clenched, muscles taut as she tried to lean into his touch. This was happening too fast but her body welcomed it and needed what he was doing to her. ‘More please, sir. More!’
‘Greedy slut.’ He laughed and stepped away, returning a moment later. ‘But more you shall have. I like to see a girl enjoying herself.’ He rubbed something over her backside. ‘This is a paddle. Let’s see if you like this the way you do my hand.’
Paddle? She tensed, remembering the paddle she’d seen in the other man’s hand. How could he think she’d be ready for this?
The paddle smacked against her ass, harder, deeper than a blow from a hand. She cried out, shaking her head, wanting to deny him but it was too late. A second blow landed, harder than the first. She struggled against the manacles, her body pressed tight against the frame. The third one tore a wild scream from her lips.
‘You can stop this with a single word.’ He smoothed the wooden paddle over her stinging backside. ‘You know that.’
She gulped, the pain easing to a deep warmth. Her pussy clenched, released and clenched again, seeking something, anything that would fill her. Her hips rolled now that he’d stopped using the paddle on her.
‘You’re horny. I can smell it. The scent of your pussy is everywhere.’ He eased the edge of the paddle between her thighs. ‘But this is only the beginning. There’s so much more to introduce you to, slut. Are you ready for more?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She sobbed the words out. ‘Please. I want more, sir.’ It was more than a want. A need. One that threatened to burn out of control.
‘Then more you shall have.’ He moved the paddle between her thighs until the edge touched her swollen nether lips. ‘As much as you can handle.’
And how much would that be?
The paddle moved swiftly, the edge slapping her pussy lips once, twice, three times, pulling soft hisses of pain from her. Then it was moved, down between her thighs, where Drake moved it, slapping the paddle from one inner thigh to the other and back again in rapid, sticking slaps.
She sobbed, twisting, moving with the blows. Blows that should have made her scream at him to stop, but she didn’t. She only screamed.
‘Do you want this to stop, girl?’ He tapped lightly between her thighs with the paddle.
‘No, sir. No I don’t. Please, don’t stop!’ Had she actually said that?
The paddle picked up the pace, slapping harder and faster between her thighs. The pain radiated up into her pussy, vibrating in time to the slaps of the paddle.
‘Are you sure?’ He leaned in close, nipping the back of her neck, the paddle never ceasing its tapping torment. ‘You screamed, little one. Screamed as if you were really in pain and afraid. Tell me to stop and I will.’
She whimpered, turning to look over her shoulder. ‘Please, don’t stop. I need more. I need …’ Oh God, what did she need? This was all happening too fast! Her hips rolled, dancing with the tap of the paddle. She needed him, needed something, something she didn’t dare name.
‘You need to be fucked, don’t you, slut?’
‘Yes, oh God, yes.’ She should have told him no. He didn’t need to know what was going through her mind and yet she’d answered without hesitation.
‘By me?’ He reached up, tangling his free hand in her hair.
‘Yes!’ Why hadn’t he gagged her? That way she wouldn’t be saying such things.
‘Then beg me to fuck you.’
‘Please, sir, fuck me!’ Why was she saying that?
He tossed the paddle aside. ‘Is that what you really want, girl? To be fucked by a man, a dominant you don’t know?’
‘Yes, sir. I want … no, I need you to fuck me.’ She squirmed as his hand cupped her heated mound.
He laughed, the sound cold and cruel, yet that only added to her need. She arched her back, pressing her bottom out to him. If he took her like this she couldn’t stop him. She’d be helpless and taken at his mercy. It didn’t matter that the reality was nothing like the fantasy her mind now offered her – that she could stop him with a single word if she desired.
In this moment she was helpless, about to be taken by a man she didn’t know.
He moved his hand from between her thighs and stepped away. A ripping sound caught her attention and then a soft tap of something hitting the floor. She frowned, uncertain what she’d heard.
Something pressed between her thighs as he placed one hand on her hip, pulling her bottom out, away from the frame. The head o
f his cock pressed between her swollen nether lips, filling her pussy in one hard, full stroke.
Cathy sobbed in delight, her slick inner walls clenching around his cock. Her hips rolled, pushing back as far as she could when he pulled out, only to slam back into her. His balls slapped against her tender lips, his hand tight on her hip, controlling her body as he filled her again and again.
She groaned, welcoming each deep thrust even as his free hand reached around to touch her clit, his fingers searching, finding and circling the small throbbing nub. With each new thrust her body soared a little higher. There was something else, a sensation she hadn’t counted on.
Clothing?
He was still fully dressed!
She wanted to be angry, to tell him to stop, but it felt right. This wasn’t a lover’s tryst, but a hard, fast fuck to satisfy an itch they both shared.
She wanted to move, to turn and see him, but she couldn’t. The way she was bound on the frame meant she was being taken, not made love to. That should have turned her off, but it didn’t. Instead she burned hotter, higher than she’d ever experienced before.
Each new touch to her clit was timed with a thrust. Her walls clenched, released and clenched again. A pressure built in the pit of her being and threatened to consume her. She cried out, sobbing, pleading wordlessly as her core wept, wanting him to take her harder, faster and deeper than before.
‘You’re going to come for me, but not yet.’ He buried himself deep within her core and slowly licked the back of her neck. ‘You’re going to wait until I give you permission to come. Do you understand me, girl?’
‘Yes, sir, I understand.’ She shuddered, her body struggling to regain control of itself. Once he’d said the words her body had wanted to disobey him. She tried not to move or to think of the feel of his cock as it slid slowly in and out of her but it was impossible.
He tapped one finger against her clit. ‘You want to come, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she groaned.
‘But you won’t, not until I let you.’ His finger moved rapidly on her clit.
‘No, sir.’ Her hips circled, her inner walls tight around his cock. She didn’t know how long she could hold out. If he kept this up much longer her body would betray her, and then what?
‘You know I’d punish you if you came without permission, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she whimpered, struggling to still her body. Her thighs tightened and her inner walls rippled along the length of his cock.
He pulled slowly out of her body until only the tip of his cock remained within her. The slow, deliberate movement tormented her inner walls as his finger did the same with her clit. His breath was hot and heavy against the back of her neck as he played with her body, forcing her to feel every small touch, each breath, scrape of skin against skin, even the feel of his clothing brushing her body.
She couldn’t hold on any longer. ‘Sir, please!’
He growled, thrusting into her hard, fast and deep. So hard that the St Andrew’s cross groaned and the chains attached to the manacles rattled, but still he didn’t give her permission to come.
Pressure built beyond control, her body aching, threatening to spin her into the void and yet still he forced her to endure more.
‘Sir!’ she pleaded.
His finger and thumb closed on her clit, pinching it. ‘Come for me now!’
Pain and pleasure mixed in a wave that consumed her. She arched, her muscles clenching, hips writhing as she pressed back against him. He growled, thrusting, filling her, his teeth scraping against the back of her neck as he pushed her to the edge of sanity. Her ability to think fled. All she knew were the waves of pleasure that hit her one after the other until she no longer knew where one ended and the next began.
And then it was over.
With a low, sated groan he pulled free of her body, leaving her hanging in the manacles.
She’d done it, stuck her toe in the water, but in doing so she knew there was no going back to the life and the world she had known before tonight.
A stranger, this Drake, had shown her that this was where she belonged.
Hot and Bothered
Kat Black
Trapped inside the little timber-board beach villa, the night air is stifling. On the oversized honeymoon bed that dominates the shadowy, driftwood-chic interior I toss and turn, unable to sleep.
Briefly, I consider trying the old sheep-counting trick, perhaps swapping the traditional fluffy animals for the innumerable pillows stacked against the headboard; but settle for hurling most of them to the floor instead. Around my calves the sheet weighs as heavy as a woollen blanket and with a flurry of irritable kicks I work myself free.
Gaining no relief at all for my efforts, I huff and flop over onto my back, picking at the T-shirt plastered to my clammy curves. Glaring up through the dimness at the stationary blades of the fan suspended overhead, I wonder how much longer it can take to restore such a basic necessity as electricity to a luxury holiday resort.
As close and cloying as the humidity is, I have to admit it’s only partly responsible for my state of restless insomnia. Squeezed in the grip of an intense nerve-fizzing, tooth-grinding sexual frustration, I’m way too wired to relax, let alone sleep.
Determined to at least try, I shut my eyes and block out any thoughts likely to further incite my riotous libido. I succeed for all of thirty seconds before my one-track mind is revisiting a sun-drenched beach full of taut, tanned torsos, glistening wet skin and contour-clinging trunks. The fidgeting threatens to start all over again.
Clapping one hand against the insistent niggle of need between my legs, I hold it down over the pyjama shorts covering my pubic mound and press hard. Beneath the pressure of my fingers, the fluttering pulse intensifies to a heavy throb and with a half-strangled sob I begin to rub against it.
If I thought the room was hot, it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating through the flimsy cotton barrier of my shorts as they sink easily into the moist valley between my labia. With each circling pass of my fingertips, the roughened edge of the seam at the gusset catches the sensitive nub of my clit in a way that makes my breath hitch and my nipples twinge. I can’t help but quicken the caress.
This is just what I need. Around and around the pleasure builds, the pressure tightens. Brushing my other hand across my chest, I feel the rigid pucker of my nipples pushing up against my T-shirt and use my nails to flick against each stiff little peak in turn, firing bolts of electric exhilaration back down to my groin. My spine bows off the mattress and my knees draw up, thighs squeezing together to lock my hand in place at their juncture … I freeze as a soft mumble sounds from the pillow beside me. My eyes fly open.
Straining to listen over the pulse pounding in my ears, I lie there for interminable seconds, stiff as a board, still as a statue, mortified as a Catholic. Only when I hear a gentle snore and feel a wash of booze-scented breath drift across my face do I dare risk a peek out of the corner of my eye.
In the semi-darkness, I can just make out slack features and a gaping mouth, and with a sigh of relief I retract my fingers from their compromising location.
At least poor Sara has managed to find a state of blissful oblivion despite the unremitting temperature. If anyone needs the escape of sleep, she does. In the five emotionally raw days since she’d been left standing stricken at the alter by her louse of a groom she’s seemed hell-bent on drowning her sorrows with the aid of every last drop of rum in the Caribbean.
And who can blame her? I lift my head to scoop my hair away from my perspiration-soaked neck and fan the damp tendrils across the pillow. When the jilted bride had insisted on going ahead with the week’s luxury honeymoon, substituting me – her redundant maid of honour – for said missing groom, I’d let her hysteria override my concerns that a romantic couples’ destination would be the type of place more likely to rub salt into her gaping wounds than provide a pampering salve to her torn and broken heart.
If eith
er of us had known quite how sensual the ambience of Eros Cove was going to be, how beautifully and relentlessly seductive the setting, I’m sure we’d have reconsidered in favour of a loud, purgative, girls-behaving-badly weekend clubbing in Brighton instead.
Shifting onto my right side, I pound the pillow into a more comfortable shape and remind myself of the futility of if onlys. For better or worse, here we are; the decidedly odd couple out in a dreamy, magical lovers’ paradise of sun and sea and sex and sand. No wonder Sara’s being driven to drink and I’m being driven to distraction.
And then there are the men! I doubt I’ve ever seen a finer collection anywhere in my life, strutting their stuff across the tinted mini-screens of my sunglasses by day, only to keep my mind on continuous spool half the night. Figures all the good ones would be here in a couples’ resort: tantalising, tempting and taken.
Even more frustrating is the sure knowledge that everyone in the place is busy getting their rocks off as and when they want. I flip over onto my left side and shut my eyes, wondering what I wouldn’t give to join their ranks and to be lying here right now, naked, legs draped over a broad set of sun-burnished shoulders, ripe pink flesh laid open by firm, tanned fingers in welcome of a hungry mouth and a scruff-roughened jaw. Or perhaps sweat-soaked and pinned to the mattress by a smooth, hard body rocking the impressive length of an equally smooth, hard cock into my quivering depths with rhythmic control.
Oh, yeah. After several particularly dry months in the expanding desert of my love life, I could just imagine how good that wet glide would feel as it stretched and invaded, raking my neglected nerve endings with pleasure over and over and over again.
With a gasp, my eyes spring open and I finally admit defeat, giving up any thoughts of sleep. Between my legs, my shorts are damp with more than just perspiration, and the throb of desire is worse than ever, demanding that I take matters into my own hands, now. I’m too paranoid to risk the shared bed again, and the idea of creeping into the pitch-black bathroom to administer a bit of furtive self-pleasuring while my friend snores nearby just doesn’t seem very pleasurable at all. Maybe I should try and cool things down instead.
Sex and the Stranger Page 8