by Cara Bristol
A strong spasm shuddered through the body part he’d mentioned. “The hell you will.” She yanked hard and freed her hand, but her victory was hollow. She suspected she’d gotten away only because he’d allowed it.
“You should know that swearing will get you spanked—unless, of course, what you’re yelling is, ‘Fuck me, harder.’”
She wondered how he felt about a face slap. No, she didn’t. She knew. Her butt muscles tightened.
“You’re entitled to your emotions and should express your feelings, but I expect respect.”
She ignored the wetness between her legs, the tightness of her beaded nipples. “You’re insane.” She was insane. Why was her body reacting to his outrageous pronouncement with arousal instead of anger? She should be charging out of his condo like a cat with its tail on fire. She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a choke of laughter. That was what he wanted to do to her: set her tail on fire.
“Are you afraid you can’t tolerate a spanking?”
“I can handle anything you mete out.” She glared at him. “I just don’t believe you.”
“What don’t you believe?”
“Your absurd assumption that I would go along with this. What gives you the idea a feminist would allow a man to spank her?”
“I don’t assume anything,” he said. “That’s why we’re discussing this. As for why you would allow it, well, whether you like it or not, you’re a natural submissive. I see it in your eyes, in the way you carry yourself, in your body’s responses to me.”
Her hard nipples ached. She resisted the urge to glance at her chest. The vest was wool, thank goodness. “You don’t see anything!” she said, hoping it was true. He did turn her on, but it was in spite of his domineering ways, not because of them. Wasn’t it?
“You protest like being submissive is a bad thing. It’s neither good nor bad; it’s neutral—like being introverted or extroverted, gregarious or serious. Masculine or feminine. But fighting against your nature requires you swim against the current. How long can you maintain that before you deplete your energy?”
Was that why she was so tired all the time? Why some days she felt like the world demanded more than she had to give? Ridiculous. She worked long hours. That was why.
“So you’re saying men are naturally dominant and women are naturally submissive.”
“That wasn’t what I meant, but in general? Yes. It’s not true of all men and women, of course.”
“And that’s why men should spank women?”
“I’m not saying anyone should do anything. But for many people, that form of communication keeps the relationship oiled and running smoothly.”
“Communication. That’s an interesting euphemism.”
Mark continued. “The trust a woman gives to a man when she bares her bottom cuts through all the petty relationship strife and strengthens their bond.”
“Why can’t the trust develop by the woman spanking the man? Why don’t you drop your pants?” She dared him.
“Would that do it for you?” His gaze was serious, intense. “If I allowed you to spank me, would you trust me enough to lie over my knee?”
“Like you would do that.” She rolled her eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s not respectful.” His tone filled in the blanks. Roll your eyes, and I’ll spank you.
She wiped her damp palms on her leggings. Stress had short-circuited her nervous system. Her entire body had gone haywire. Her stomach tumbled, her knees trembled, yet her pussy contracted, and her clit pulsed. Her breasts felt heavy and achy. And she was still here. Because despite his crazy ideas, being with him felt like she’d finally snapped into the right groove. He excited her, and in some strange way, he comforted her.
“Let’s go in the other room.” Mark tugged her to her feet.
Before she could protest, he’d propelled her into his bedroom, flipping on the lights as they passed through the doorway.
Underneath a glowing tray ceiling, a king bed dressed in nubby gray rested atop a platform, requiring two steps to climb into it. Plump pillows in silk a lighter shade than the coverlet leaned against a black headboard. That was all she had time to notice, because she jerked her gaze to Mark as he moved to a sleek black armoire and extracted a leather-covered paddle.
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Oh Gloria.
He shoved the paddle at her. “Here.”
After stepping to the platform, he undid his belt buckle and unzipped his trousers. He lowered his pants and briefs to his knees, exposing a tight, round ass, and leaned over the bed, resting his weight on his elbows. Stephanie was riveted on his behind, her face on fire. She’d fucked him in the car, but it had been her choice—not to mention dark—and this was so unexpected, she could only clutch the paddle in shock.
He peered at her. “I’m going to allow this only once, so do your worst. Have you ever spanked anyone before?”
“Of course not.”
He touched his back. “Stick to my butt. Don’t hit the lower spine. And please, avoid the family jewels. I’d like to have children someday.” He faced forward again.
She gawked. His balls were visible between his slightly spread legs. Dark hair was sprinkled over his muscled thighs, but his ass was as smooth as a baby’s. And taut. Buns of steel.
Stephanie swallowed. Several times during the evening she’d itched to hit him, but now the urge had vanished. But shouldn’t she take a whack anyway? He had no qualms about paddling her. This was her opportunity to settle a score for womankind. To show him she was dominant, not submissive like he claimed. To reassure herself.
She tested the paddle with a smack against her thigh. She flinched at the crack, but he didn’t so much as twitch. That clinched it. “All right!”
Right-handed, she stood to his left to get a good swing. She brought the paddle down in the center of his left cheek. His skin turned pink on contact but then faded to his normal tone. He uttered not a sound. Her stomach felt a little sick. She struck his other cheek harder. She winced, but he didn’t.
Wasn’t he supposed to yell ow or something?
Two quick smacks on the first cheek. Another hard one to the right.
No sound.
No reason. What was the point of paddling him? Because he’d called her bluff? She didn’t endorse copying what men did if it made no sense. That wasn’t liberation. She threw the paddle on the bed. “I can’t do it.”
He rolled onto his back and rested on his elbows. Even flaccid, his penis was big, well shaped, and surrounded by dark curly hair that disappeared under his shirt. “Are you sure?” he asked. “This is your last chance.”
He should have appeared ridiculous lying there, his pants scrunched around his ankles, but he didn’t. He seemed at ease, a man comfortable in his own skin. She feared looking him in the face, but she couldn’t keep staring at his penis, so reluctantly she met his gaze. “I’m sure.”
He stood and pulled up his pants. “We have an agreement, then. I’m going to spank you now.”
Technically she hadn’t verbally said yes, but her consent had been implicit. She could inform him thanks but no thanks, she had no wish to proceed further, but her conscience wouldn’t permit it. She sensed he stood by his word. He would never lie, never cheat. And though his domineering attitude set her teeth on edge, he’d gone out of his way to attend to her comfort and her needs even after she’d angered him. He’d noticed immediately she didn’t like bourbon and got her something she did like. She didn’t like him, but she trusted him. No, that wasn’t true. Despite his arrogance, she did like him. Too much. That was the problem. He was all wrong for her, and she needed to get him out of her system. And what better way to do that but with a good, hard spanking? That would get it through her thick head and pulsing body once and for all that Mark was not the man for her. Then she could sail away undistracted.
Her knees knocked together. “Yes,” she said, wishing her voice sounded stronger, wishing the little pang
in her heart would go away.
The leap of approval in his gaze zinged to her core, further weakening her legs. Never had a man looked at her with such pride. Oddly it kindled a desire to please him.
Chapter Six
At Stephanie’s quiet “yes,” lust and relief rocketed through Mark’s body. He had figured it was a long shot that she would allow him to paddle her. Logic told him he needed to give her more time to get to know him and to accept the notion of discipline. Except that he needed to get this woman over his knee. Needed it in a way he never had. With Ronnie and other women he’d been with, discipline, dominance, and spanking had been more of a concept. With Stephanie it was substantive, concrete. Her responses to him had revealed her submissive nature; his overwhelming attraction to her had demonstrated his dominant one. Heat curled in his stomach as he regarded her. She stood there, quaking yet courageous in her boots. Her willingness to bare her bottom represented no small act for her and for them, and he vowed to protect that trust. Though she didn’t realize it yet, she was taking the first step toward acceptance of her submissive nature. As he’d told her, the start of a relationship predicted its future.
“Take off your clothes, please. All of them.”
Her eyes flashed with rebellion. “You didn’t remove all your clothes.”
No, she hadn’t yet recognized her inherent submissiveness. He hid his amusement with a neutral expression. “You didn’t ask me to.”
“B-but—”
He folded his arms and waited.
She set her lips in a mutinous line but slipped out of the man’s vest and draped it over his leather-and-steel bench. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath. Her silk blouse had no buttons but toggles in loops, and she fumbled as she unhooked them. She shrugged out of the blouse, revealing creamy mounds spilling over a demi-cup bra, her erect brownish pink nipples visible under the transparent lace and nearly popping over the top. Her skin flushed the pale rose of embarrassment.
Her glance skipped off his nose. “What about my boots?”
“Those you can leave on or off, but it might be easier to remove your pants without them.”
Stephanie plopped her soon-to-be-spanked butt on the bench and leaned over to unzip her boots. Her nipples did pop out of her bra then. They were thick, erect, and when not drawn into tight buds, probably surrounded by large areolae. One day soon he would see her on all fours, her breasts swaying with each paddle strike, but her first spanking needed to be over his knee, a body-to-body connection.
She tugged on the lace to cover herself.
“No. Leave it,” he ordered. “It’s coming off soon enough anyway.”
She jutted her jaw but obeyed. Sans shoes, she stood to slip out of her leggings. Her black satin-and-lace thong matched her bra, the frivolous, feminine frippery contrasting starkly with the practical masculine clothing she donned on the outside.
He appreciated the smooth expanse of her statuesque body, her long legs, her toned arms and shoulders, her nipples peeking over the nothing bra. “Take off the rest.”
She freed her magnificent breasts first, then hooked her thumbs into her thong.
“You shave,” he said. He knew from touch her mound was bare, but seeing it presented a visual delight. Nothing would come between them.
“Wax. I swim sometimes. It’s worry free this way.”
Swimming explained her arm and shoulder muscle tone, her mean swing with a paddle. If she had been a Domme, she’d have put a man through his paces for sure.
He ached to touch her, to stroke her breasts, to explore secret crevices, coat his fingers in wetness, but a caress would confuse her. She had to learn the difference between a discipline spanking to be respected and an erotic one to be enjoyed. And he needed to get a grip on his emotions. He hadn’t counted on how stirring her submission would be, on the tenderness it would arouse in him. Context changed everything. He had to remind himself this was a punishment spanking and not an erotic one.
“You need to give me a word,” he said.
She creased her forehead. “A word?”
“A word that means no, a safe word.”
“What’s wrong with ‘no’?”
“No doesn’t always mean no. During a spanking, it’s normal to yell no or stop. No can mean ‘it hurts’ or ‘I don’t like this very much.’ Or ‘No, don’t stop.’ I don’t think you’ll need a safe word. It’s my responsibility to know your tolerance and your limits. But in case, you should have one.”
She planted her hands on her hips, a naked auburn Wonder Woman. “You sound pretty fucking confident there’s going to be more than one spanking.”
“You just earned a couple more swats. I warned you about swearing. What’s your word?”
“Ostrich. What happens if I use it?”
“Then I’ll stop spanking you and evaluate your condition. I might end it, or I might resume it at another time.”
She nibbled on her lower lip. “What if I yell ‘ostrich’ just to get you to stop?”
“Then you earn another spanking or other punishment for lying.” Mark sat on the mattress, resting his feet on the bottom step of the platform. He’d chosen this bed style because it worked well for over-the-knee spankings, his preferred position. Anticipation swelled. His heart thudded in his ears. He patted his lap. “Come here, please.”
She moved with such haughty beauty, his breath caught in his throat. After climbing onto the mattress beside him, she stretched herself over his thighs and lowered her body onto his lap. She squirmed, bumping against his erection, then settled into place. Beautiful. She fit on his lap like she belonged there, like they’d been doing this for years.
She had a small mole on her back, but otherwise her body was pure, smooth cream. Her hips were womanly, her rounded ass offering a generous spanking surface. He rested his forearm across her lower spine to hold her and serve as a barrier so he didn’t accidentally stray above her buttocks and upper thighs.
He palmed her ass, and she stiffened like a board. Her skin was as cool and smooth as the marble in his condo. He rubbed slow circles and kneaded her cheeks until her skin warmed to his touch. She probably wished he’d spank her and be done with it, but he intended it to be a complete sensory experience. Pain represented only one part of discipline. She needed to connect with him before he burned her behind. As he caressed her, her tension slowly released, until her body went limp. His did the opposite. Every muscle in his body tensed, and his cock was as hard as granite. He’d never wanted a woman more in his life. Stephanie sighed, and her legs slipped farther apart, exposing her swollen, glistening sex. Being over his lap, submitting to him, turned her on. He’d been ninety-nine percent sure that would be the case, but at the sight of the proof, he almost lost it. Before his focus and control diminished further, he squeezed her ass hard enough to hurt and then snapped his palm against her cheek.
STEPHANIE FLINCHED. SHE’D been enjoying having Mark stroke her butt; it had been both relaxing and arousing. She’d spread her legs, hoping he would caress her. When he’d made no move to spank her, she started to think the whole discipline thing had been a put-on.
Not.
He stung her ass. She wasn’t prepared for the sharpness—or the loud crack. He smacked her butt cheek dead center. Smack on the other one. She curled her fingers into his bedspread, commanding herself to remain silent. His arm was clamped like a vise over her lower back as he rained slaps upon her rear, the crease beneath her cheeks, the tops of her thighs. She wondered if striking her stung his hand as much as it hurt her ass. With all her heart, she hoped so.
He paused to rub her skin, easing the burn, then, holding her firmly again, he grabbed the paddle. Her ass cheeks and stomach clenched.
The first blow fell, searing skin already tender, and a whimper escaped her compressed lips. She’d thought his hand was unforgiving, but the paddle was worse. She buried her face in the nubby coverlet. With measured strokes, Mark spanked her as if timed by an invisible metronome. Cr
ack. One, two. Crack. one, two. Crack.
“Tell me why I’m doing this.”
Because you’re a domineering asshole. She gritted her teeth to keep the words inside.
“Stephanie. I’m not talking to myself. I expect you to answer, or I’ll spank you until you do.”
He struck the crease where her ass met her thigh four times.
“No!” She twisted to avoid the spanks, but he held her fast.
“Answer my question.” Four more strikes to the other side.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Big girls don’t cry. “Because I acted rudely to Elizabeth.”
“That’s right. You were disrespectful. To her and to me.” He laid several hard blows to the middle of her cheeks. She’d seen the desire in his eyes; now she felt his disappointment. Surprisingly that bothered her. His opinion shouldn’t matter to her, but it did.
He set the paddle on the bed and massaged her skin, not slowly like he had done before, but briskly. What had soothed now rasped. But somehow comforted. “Why did you act that way?” he asked.
“She tri—” Stephanie broke off to amend her reply. “I felt like she had tricked me. That she should have told me if I went out with you, this would happen.”
Her vocalized feelings sounded childish. A grown woman, she made her own choices. She, not Elizabeth, had opted for punishment—foolishly, perhaps, but she had no one but herself to blame. What occurred between her and Mark was only between them.
“I was wrong,” she admitted.
“Yes, you were.” He resumed paddling. The pain that had receded under his rough caresses returned in full force. She kicked, and he punished her thrashing thighs with several slaps.
Visions of a large, long-necked, small-headed bird indigenous to Africa darted across her mental field of vision. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t weak. She could handle whatever this man dished out. And she had treated a colleague and friend shabbily.