by BETH KERY
“Just take off the bra and panties,” he said, grabbing some items from a drawer and stalking toward her. His body blocked her view, making it difficult to see what he set on the padded table in addition to the paddle as she removed the requested garments. She glimpsed only one thing before he blocked her view as he walked toward her—an item that was like a long cone-shaped tube made of black rubber, a ring affixed to the thicker end.
She focused on his hand, her clit twanging in excitement when she saw the jar of stimulant. He must have noticed where she stared—or perhaps he noticed her stiffening nipples—because a grim smile tilted his hard mouth.
“That’s right. I’m weak when it comes to you. Pitifully so. I can’t bear to think of you experiencing only discomfort,” he said as he unscrewed the jar. He dipped a thick finger into the white emollient and met her stare. “Even for this—when you deserve a good, hard punishment.”
She swallowed thickly. “I really am sorry, Ian,” she said, not because of the intimidating black paddle over on the table, and not because of that strange black plug she’d glimpsed.
He frowned slightly and stepped toward her. She gasped loudly as he plunged his finger between her labia, rubbing the cream into her clit with a brisk precision that made her whimper.
“I spoil you,” he said, withdrawing his hand, leaving her to burn.
“I’ll have trouble believing that in a few minutes when my butt is on fire,” she muttered.
His gaze skipped to her face. Her eyes widened when she saw his potent smile. Heat rushed between her thighs.
She watched him, anticipation rising, as he went back over to the table and removed his jacket, admiring the lean flex of muscle beneath his dress shirt. He rolled back his shirtsleeves. She caught a glimpse of strong forearms and his gold watch. Nervous excitement frothed in her belly at the sight.
He meant business.
When he returned, she immediately tried to see what was in his hand.
“Curious?” he murmured.
She nodded.
“Since I’m going to blindfold you in a moment, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” he said quietly. He held up the familiar handcuffs. “I’m going to restrain your wrists, blindfold you, and give you an over the knee spanking. Once your ass is nice and hot,” he held up the black rubber plug with the circular end like a pacifier handle, as well as a bottle of clear gel, “I’m going to lube up this butt plug and ready your ass for my cock.”
Her heart froze for a suspended few seconds.
“You’re going to do what?”
“You heard me,” he said as he set the lubricant and butt plug on the couch. He nodded at one of her wrists. “The front,” he said, and she put her hands together before her mons, following his concise instructions without thought, her brain in stall mode. “Surely you knew men like to do that,” he said, noticing her bewilderment.
“Even if women don’t?”
“Some women do. A great deal.”
She thought of Ian’s huge penis and made her decision then and there. It would be a punishment to take it in her ass, pure and simple, no matter the clitoral stimulant that was beginning to make her prickle and burn in pleasure. He went to the table and came back holding a long black strip of silk—the blindfold. She frowned at him for good measure as he raised his hands to tie it around her eyes.
When he’d affixed the cloth and she was blindfolded, he led her to the couch. She thought she heard the soft sound of his large, solid body falling on the cushions. He guided her onto his lap. She came down awkwardly, her bound wrists causing her elbows to jab into his rock-solid thighs.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“It’s all right. Remember the position I taught you?” he murmured from somewhere above her. She nodded and slid her breasts over his outer thigh until the lower curves pressed against hard muscle, her bound hands were stretched out above her head, and her bare ass curved over his other leg. Her sex clenched tight when she clearly felt the outlines of his cock against her ribs and belly. A flare of panicked excitement bubbled up from her chest when she fully absorbed his dimensions and felt his throbbing warmth through the cloth of his pants.
“Ian, you’ll never be able to put that inside my—”
He cracked her ass with his palm, and she jumped in his lap.
“I will, lovely,” she heard him say. “And I’ll love every second of it. Now keep that bottom still.”
She bit her lip to keep from moaning as he began to slap her buttocks, and occasionally her thighs, with quick, stinging spanks. Her clit pinched in arousal. She decided she liked over-the-knee spankings more than the paddle. She liked Ian’s personal touch, and how his hand grew as warm as her smarting ass, and how his cock leapt against her body when he landed those firm slaps on the lower curves of her buttocks. Her entire focus narrowed to the feeling of his stark arousal pressing against her body and the anticipation of his next spank.
She adored how he paused in her punishment and stroked her now-fiery bottom with his big hand, as if to soothe the sting. She moaned when he suddenly squeezed an entire buttock tautly and flexed his hips, grinding her body against his raging erection.
“Why do you have to torment me, lovely?” she heard him rasp.
“I wonder the same thing about you,” she mumbled frantically, her face pressed into the couch, muffling her speech. He was still pressing her against his hard, aroused body, and her clit loved the pressure.
He grunted and released his hips.
“You’re a constant thorn in my side,” he said, sounding grim.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, missing the pressure of his cock, and his hand on her ass. What was he doing? She wondered, twisting her chin around, trying to hear something that would answer her question. A cry leaked out of her throat when he matter-of-factly spread an ass cheek with a large hand and kept it pried back. Her muscles tensed in anxiety when she felt a cool, hard pressure against her anus.
“I don’t really think you are sorry,” she heard Ian say from behind her. The pressure increased, and the tip of the plug slipped into her ass. “I think you like to torment me as much as I love to punish you.”
“Ian,” she moaned uncontrollably when he pushed the plug farther into her, and then began to slide the rubber tube out and back in several inches, back and forth, fucking her ass using the handle at the end, the lubrication making for a smooth glide despite the pressure.
“Yes?” he asked, his voice sounding rough.
Her mouth hung open, her flaming cheek pressed to the velvet of the couch.
“It feels so . . . strange,” she managed in a broken voice. She couldn’t adequately put into words how it felt—anxiety-provoking to lay in his lap at his mercy, shameful to give him control over such a private, forbidden part of her body, arousing to feel nerve endings flicker to life at the stimulation, mounting the burn at her clit in a way she’d never before experienced . . .
. . . beyond thrilling to feel the tension level leap in Ian’s muscles as he fucked her ass with the plug.
He sunk it deep, making her yelp in surprise.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, maintaining pressure with his fingers to keep the plug inserted.
She shook her head into the sofa, too overwhelmed to speak. The clit cream had gone into full effect. She tingled and simmered. As if Ian had sensed this, he reached beneath her and parted her labia, rubbing the erect piece of flesh. She shuddered in his lap.
“You begin to see why a woman might like this,” he drew the plug out of her and slid it back into her ass again, “as much as a man?”
She moaned uncontrollably. Did she ever. Nerves all along her sacrum flared to life as he continued to plunge the plug in and out of her while he rubbed her slick clit. If he kept this up, she’d soon be quivering in orgasm.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t Ian’s plan. He removed his hand, and the plug slid out of her ass, making her groan at the sudden interruption. She felt his fingers movin
g on the handcuffs. He unfastened the buckles and then slid the blindfold off her head. She blinked, even the subtle illumination from the crystal chandelier seeming bright after the pitch black of the blindfold. He took her hand.
“Stand up. I’ll help you,” he said.
She appreciated his guiding hands as she tried to do what he’d demanded, still disoriented from the light and the abrupt cessation of pleasure. She stood before him, feeling flushed with arousal and flustered and unsteady in the high heels. He looked up at her, his eyes glowing with heat and arousal, his long legs spread slightly, his arousal flagrantly obvious.
“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asked, his narrowed gaze studying her.
“No,” she whispered, knowing her hot cheeks, flushed skin, and tight nipples betrayed her lie.
He just smiled and stood. She looked up at him, unable to disguise her longing, when he gently smoothed her loose hair away from her face. She gasped softly at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back, caressing her, and the cloth of his pants and shirt brushing against her sensitive skin.
“Mutinous even in the face of sure defeat? You never cease to amaze me, lovely,” he murmured. “Come with me,” he said, taking her hand. She walked beside him, halting suddenly when she saw her reflection in the mirror.
The sheer black thigh-highs made her skin look very pale in contrast, as did the red-gold thatch of hair between her thighs. Her hair tumbled in a wild mess all the way to her waist. Her nipples were stained a dark pink and beaded tight in arousal, the pale globes of her breasts rose and fell as she panted shallowly.
She stared, slain by the image of herself transformed by desire.
“You see it?” Ian asked, leaning down near her, his warm breath in her ear causing a spike of pleasure to go through her. “You see it, don’t you?” he murmured as he spread his hand over her belly in a possessive gesture. “You see how beautiful you are?”
Her flushed lips parted, but no words came out.
“Say it,” he whispered roughly. “Say you see what I see when I look at you.”
“I see it,” she replied, her tone dazed . . . a little wondrous, as if she actually thought, for a few seconds, that he possessed magic mirrors.
“Yes. And that’s not a power you play with, is it?”
It took her a moment to realize Ian’s small smile didn’t come from smugness or cockiness. No—he looked triumphant because of what she’d seen in the mirror . . . because of her admission. Why did he care whether or not she thought she was beautiful?
He led her over to the kinky-looking contraption that hung from the ceiling with the inexplicable harnesses and straps, her heart pounding uncomfortably fast. He pulled down on the main horizontal black bar, stretching a spring on the contraption so that three four-inch-wide padded-leather harnesses fell horizontally about four feet from the floor. Wait a second . . . those leather loops could be used to suspend a body in midair. If that circular pad of leather was to support the head, and that harness was for the chest area, and the lower one for the pelvis, then those other straps could be used to bind a person’s hands and ankles.
They’d be completely restrained . . . helpless, Francesca realized. She looked at Ian as he held the swing. The light from the chandelier gleamed in his blue eyes. Her incredulous expression faded as a heavy pressure fell on her chest.
Oh no.
She already was completely helpless when it came to Ian Noble . . . and it had nothing to do with the restraining swing.
He put out his hand, beckoning her.
Her ass muscles clenched tight; liquid heat rushed at her sex.
She raised her hand and he grasped it, drawing her toward him.
“It’s time you learned that when you play with fire, you’re going to end up at its mercy,” he said.
Ian’s hand were gentle, his hold firm when he lifted her off the floor and slid her body, belly downward, through the loops of the swing. He arranged the padded straps below her hips, beneath her breasts, and under her forehead. She gave a shaky yelp when the harnesses dipped once he gave them her weight.
“Shhhh,” he soothed from above her, stroking her back. “The swing is hooked through a steel beam in the ceiling. It’s extremely secure. Relax.”
She exhaled after a moment, realizing that now that she’d settled, she did, indeed, feel steady. Strange and aroused and a little scared, but secure in the knowledge that Ian would keep her safe. His hand left her back. He touched her calves, and then her ankles. She peered sideways but couldn’t see through the thick fall of her hair. She felt him slip first one foot through a nylon loop, then the other, and tightened them on her ankle. He’d bound her feet at a lower angle from her body, making her legs drop below her hips, as if she was in a bent-over position, but in midair. Once he’d secured her feet, he came around to the front of her and restrained her wrists in a similar fashion, letting her arms fall in a semi-straightened position beneath her chest.
His brisk, knowledgeable manipulation of the swing and her body let her know Ian had a lot of experience with it.
“Let me get you something for your hair.”
For an anxious moment, she couldn’t see him. Then his deft hands were sweeping her long hair away from her face, lifting the gathered mass. She turned her chin slightly and was able to see him in the mirror as he twirled his hand, twisting her hair and finally binding it on her head with a huge clip. She couldn’t take her eyes off his powerful form in the mirror; couldn’t take her eyes off herself, naked and suspended there in midair, vulnerable to anything and everything Ian wanted to do to her.
Perhaps he noticed her anxious studying of them in the mirror, because he brushed his long fingers beneath her chin and met her stare in the mirror.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said.
She blinked, seeing something in his eyes that gave her courage. Passion. Tenderness. A clear intent to possess, but not in a way she should fear or abhor. She nodded once, feeling breathless.
He walked over to the table, and when he returned, he carried the paddle. Her clit pinched in arousal at the sight of it gripped surely in his large hand. It suddenly struck her how vulnerable her bottom was, suspended there at hip height in midair. She held her breath when he came to a halt and raised the paddle, brushing the exquisitely soft fur over her still-tingling spanked ass.
He gripped the straps above the harness that held her hips, securing her in place. She watched wide-eyed in the mirror as he tossed the paddle in the air a few inches and flipped it expertly. When it landed, the leather side faced her ass.
“I will give you ten strokes,” he said gruffly, placing the paddle against her ass. Her cheeks heated at the sensation . . . at the vision of the black leather pressing into the flesh of her pink buttocks.
He lifted the paddle and swung. She gasped at the impact, her body swinging forward ever so slightly in Ian’s grip. “Ow,” popped out of her throat when he paddled her again, stinging her nerves. He kept the paddle pressed to her ass cheeks.
“I said you’d be safe, and you always will be.” In the mirror, she saw that he stared at her ass as he circled the paddle, massaging her. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be some discomfort. This is a punishment, after all.”
She whimpered when he landed another smack on her lower buttocks. He grunted, low and rough, and used the paddle to massage the smarting skin once again. “I love turning your ass red,” he muttered and landed another smack. This blow was forceful enough to send her jerking forward in Ian’s hold several inches. “You keep the count, Francesca,” he said. “I’m losing my concentration.”
She stared at his rigid features when he said that, her heart charging like a locomotive, the clit cream taunting her between her thighs. Ian lose concentration? He swung his arm back, and her eyes sprang wide in trepidation.
Smack.
“Five,” she squeaked. She couldn’t take her eyes off him in the mirror: the way his shirt stretched across his wide chest
when he swung his arm back, the rigid focus on her as he landed the paddle, the absolute strength of his grip on the swing as he kept her ass in place for her punishment.
He landed several more smacks, and then cursed under his breath. He released his death grip on the hip harness. Francesca swayed forward and back six inches in each direction. She hardly noticed, she was too busy watching him in the mirror. He rapidly slipped a loop of leather at the end of the paddle around his wrist and began to unfasten his pants. The garments remained around his hips, but he drew his erection over the waistband of his white boxer briefs. He stroked the long, thick, naked shaft.
“Ian,” she moaned, heat rushing between her thighs at the vision of his stark, virile power. He slipped the paddle off his wrist and gripped it tight again.
“Yes?” he asked, his voice rough with arousal.
“You’re killing me,” she said uncontrollably, not sure what she meant. There was just so much pressure pent up inside her. It felt like she was about to combust and burn. Why did this suspended, helpless position arouse her so much?
“It’s no more than what you do to me,” he said grimly as he firmed his hold on the hip harness and swung the paddle.
“Eight,” she yelped. Her ass was burning now, but still most of her attention was on the sensation of Ian’s cock leaping up in the air as he landed the blow, the velvety soft, firm crown batting her hip.
By the time “ten” popped out of her throat, things were soaked between her thighs, she was panting raggedly, and her ass was on fire. Ian ran the fur over her stinging ass cheeks and released his hold on the harness. She bit off a whimper when he grabbed one of her flaming buttocks and massaged it greedily with his palm.
“You’re ass is going to be so good, lovely. So hot. You’re going to melt my cock,” he said, a wry smile tilting his hard mouth.
“Will it hurt?” she asked shakily.
He paused in his lascivious caress, still gripping her ass, and met her eyes in the mirror.