She could let go and give herself to Will.
Her movements were somewhere between methodical and delaying as she folded and hung and added items to the laundry basket. She craved what was about to happen in equal measures with wanting to run from it.
Knowing what was good for you didn’t necessarily make it any easier, be it foul-tasting medicine, a muscle-draining workout, or a blissfully painful scene.
The longer she delayed, though, the worse it would be for her. Her body betrayed her with a fresh wave of arousal at the thought.
Once she’d stepped out of the closet and presented herself, he bound her to the foot of the bed, the sturdy mahogany posts a perfect substitute for an X-frame. They’d never seen the need for dungeonlike trappings; that just struck them as silly and overwrought. By the same token, Will was now barefoot, wearing only light cotton drawstring pants. Leather had its benefits, but he preferred to be comfortable—unrestricted.
It was almost ironic, considering her spread-eagled predicament.
Will rubbed her shoulders again, then her arms and legs, making sure she wasn’t so tense that she’d get hurt. Every caress made her shiver, made her skin more sensitized and yearning… largely because she knew the gentleness wouldn’t last.
The best—and worst—was yet to come.
“Are you ready, Tabby?”
He called her that only in the bedroom; another trigger, another cue. She was aware, strangely, of her mind starting the process of letting go of everything else—lists of people to call, donors to thank, appearances to book. The question of whether her platform was solid, whether the voters would come.
This progression would leave her in the moment, here, with Will, and whatever he’d devised for her this night.
She had no doubt he’d been thinking about it for weeks, planning and plotting while she’d been focused on the campaign; guessing she’d need this to come down from the high.
“Yes, Sir.”
He stood close behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his body, feel the brush of cotton against her ass. She wanted to push back, wriggle against the aroused hardness she knew she’d find. But Will was in charge, and she knew better.
The waiting was hard. She trembled, aroused, her nipples beading, her lips growing slick even though her legs were spread. Her clit began to ache.
Finally he moved, but not to touch her anywhere she craved it. Instead, he slipped a velvet blindfold over her head, adjusting the elastic so she was swathed in darkness.
It was harder, in some ways, to let go when she couldn’t see, left alone with her thoughts. But he didn’t leave her there for long.
Now he did press against her, snuggling his erection in the crack of her ass as he reached around her to pluck at her hard nipples.
“Stay still, Tabby,” he warned when she flinched. His breath fluttered against her ear before he bit her lightly where her neck curved into her shoulder, not hard; just enough to remind her. She didn’t need the prompt, although it was so difficult to resist pressing forward into his hands.
He rolled the hard buds between his fingers, the pressure just over the line into pain, but in a way she craved. In sympathy, her clit throbbed in time with his kneading and pinching.
She was so lost in the sensation that she never noticed when one of his hands moved away. Just for a moment—just long enough to pick something up, something that made her let out her breath in a long keen when the edges fastened around her pouting nipple, when the metal caught her flesh and held it.
Which ones was he using? she wondered as he fastened on the second one, his soft chuckles almost lost beneath the sound of her whimpering cries.
No, don’t wonder. Don’t think. Already the reflection was fading. It didn’t matter which ones they were. What mattered was the sensation, how it made her grit her teeth, not with pain but with knife-edge arousal, especially when Will flicked his fingers across the tips that she knew bulged, reddened, out of the clamps.
She wasn’t in control, had no hope of being in control. That had been hard to handle at first. If she wasn’t in control, what was she supposed to do? How could she not make decisions?
Then she’d learned that her body would make decisions for her, no matter what her conscious mind thought about things.
He kept toying with her nipples, but dipped between her legs with one hand, barely touching her, gently outlining her lips. He brought his fingers up. Her nostrils flared at the scent. He traced her mouth with his wet fingers, and she barely remembered to wait to lick until he said, “Taste yourself.”
Awash in sensation, she drifted in the darkness, surrounded by the hot smell of sex and the pulsing pain of her breasts and the answering ache between her legs. When he slipped a bullet vibe into her, she mewled, knowing the vibrations would only bring her higher, not over the edge.
She heard the whisper of the paddle through the air and then the sharp smack against her ass before she even felt the sting. Her hips jerked forward at the impact, and she could only imagine how she looked, spread out and clamped and buzzing and thrusting.
She forgot everything but the moment, the here and now, the feel of Will touching her, the feel of her body responding, achingly, drippingly.
He unfastened her wrists, only to bind them together over her head. There was a moment of fleeting disorientation, the thrill of falling before she remembered the bed before her. She winced as her breasts rubbed against the spread, the silk not nearly cool enough to douse the burning.
With gentle fingers, Will stroked her ass, lubing her up. Her inner walls clenched around the humming bullet vibe in anticipation and trepidation. If she’d been able to think about how her constituents would react, she might have been embarrassed, but her body begged for this, and she’d forgotten about the rest of the evening, distant as a dream.
“Touch yourself, Tabby,” Will said, and she squirmed her arms beneath her until her fingers could reach her clit.
He slid into her, inch by excruciating inch, as she stroked herself, and the bullet inside of her shivered up a few notches to full speed.
She heard herself say, “Please,” and then “Yes,” and Will answered, “Yes, Tabby,” and then all she knew was that she’d won.
TEASE FOR TWO
Maddy Stuart
I can’t remember if it was me or George who first suggested that we spank him together. I can only remember a giddy, wine-fueled night at her apartment, a night when we had both decided to forget the time we would have to get up the next day. Both of us were lying on my bed, in a room where the air conditioner was never quite powerful enough, caressing each other’s arms and playing with each other’s hair the way we would have done if we had been friends as young girls. George is a woman, you see—whenever I talked about her to others I needed to establish this right away. My friend George, a girl named George, I’d say, whose mother admired George Eliot. We’re good friends, I’d tell them in a tone that carried no innuendo, no suggestion of anything more, because I believed there was really nothing between us except brief, confusing moments.
She was braiding my hair, and I was telling her how much my boyfriend Tom enjoys a good spanking.
”He’s into the theatrics of it,” I said. “He loves to wriggle and yell in a very exaggerated way.”
“Sounds perfect,” says George. “Do you think he’d like it with a hairbrush, or with a shoe? Do you think he’d like it if you dug your fingernails hard into his ass?”
“He’d want to look at the marks afterward,” I said. “He’d run his finger over them for hours while looking in the mirror.”
George laughed and grabbed my ass playfully, making sure to dig her fingernails in, hard. I cried out with a bit more force than the pain warranted. We laughed and laughed, and George was full of ideas. Fifteen minutes later the matter was settled—we would blindfold him and spank him with whatever we had available, until he didn’t know who was doing the hitting or with what.
We set a
date while talking on the phone a couple of days later. We agreed to blindfold him before the spanking started. “Do you want to do anything more with him?” I asked, not sure what answer I wanted to hear.
“No,” she said. “I think spanking will be enough for me.”
When the scheduled day came, both Tom and I were jumpy with anticipation. At dinner he ate less than usual and I ate more, and his conversation, which was usually sprinkled with playful expletives, had turned serious and dry. My gut was twisting and my pussy twitched, and I found myself aware of the smallest sounds as I stared out the window, looking for George’s green coat on the street below. I imagined the path she would take from the street corner to the door of our apartment building, and wondered how many seconds would pass between the time she passed into the vestibule and the time she pressed the buzzer.
I went to the bathroom to put on makeup. I knew that Tom would be blindfolded and only George would see it, but I wanted to wear some anyway. Red for the lips and bronze for the eyes, more daring than I usually put on for a date.
I was applying a black pencil to the rims of my eyelids when I heard the sound of the buzzer. George was downstairs. With one eye done, I calculated quickly whether I should take the time to do the other eye and risk missing the sight of George standing in the doorway, or to wipe the half-finished eyeliner away.
Reasoning that she had three flights of stairs to climb before she would appear at the door, I set to work on the other eye, smudging the pencil a little more than usual and letting the eyeliner go on a little thicker. There was no longer time for precision.
I was just finishing up the second eye and running out of the bathroom when I heard the click of the doorknob and the creak of the hinge, and saw George extending her hand to greet Tom. She was also wearing more makeup than usual. When she removed her green coat, I could see that she was wearing her tightest pair of jeans and a black blouse that buttoned up the back. She carried a plastic shopping bag that I knew was filled with our equipment for the night.
Tom hung up her coat and nervously took the shopping bag from her hand, flustered and sweaty. But George was flashing us her brightest grin, and when she produced a bottle of gin from the shopping bag, both Tom and I were quickly put at ease.
She rummaged through our fridge looking for something to mix with the gin, but eventually we decided to drink it from the bottle. Tom, who seldom drank, complained that it burned his throat, and George winked and reminded him that even more parts of him were going to be burning before long.
With Tom and I too awkward to make a move, it fell to George to raise her eyebrows, stand up from the table, and dangle the shopping bag from her wrist in a fashion-model pose.
“Shall we?” she asked, and I sighed with relief that once again, she was the braver of the two of us. I stood up and walked over to where she stood and peered into the mysterious bag.
Amongst the mess of kitchen tools and various pieces of leather, the most immediately relevant item presented itself—the blindfold. It was actually a sleeping mask, with the words BEAUTY SLEEP embroidered across it. “Sorry, Tom, that’s all I’ve got,” said George, and then she walked over to where Tom was still seated and fastened it around his head.
Tom was unsure of what to do next, but George acted as though she’d played this part a thousand times before. She gently took his hand, and when he stood up, she led him over to the sofa. I followed the two of them, reeling with excitement, and when she directed him to bend over the armrest, I felt as though my pussy might burst. George then turned to me.
“Want to do the honors?” she asked, and with a nod I reached around to unbutton and unzip his pants. Tom pushed away from the armrest and stood on tiptoe to help me as I pulled them down around his ankles, letting my hand brush over his fast-growing cock as I did so. George winked at me, bent down and rummaged again in her shopping bag, and produced a black marker from its depths.
With a raise of her eyebrows she uncapped the marker and drew a smiley face on his left asscheek. “It’s lots of fun this way,” she said. In big block letters she framed the drawing with the words SPANK ME, doing her best to keep the lines straight as Tom shuddered beneath the unexpected coolness of the ink. “Let’s wait a few seconds for this to dry,” she said, and pulled a kitchen spatula out of her bag.
She handed the spatula to me, handle first, without saying a word, and I was at once thrilled and terrified to begin. I’d spanked Tom before, even with a spatula, but never in front of someone else. I ran my hand over Tom’s exposed skin, partly to reassure him and partly to see whether the ink had dried. When it didn’t smear, I pulled back my arm with the spatula clutched tightly between my fingers, wondering if he was prepared for the first blow.
I snapped my wrist and brought it down on him with a satisfying crack. Tom flinched and grunted while George applauded. I brought it down again, a little harder this time, hoping to get more noise out of him. When Tom gave me the same muted grunt, I stepped up the pace, delivering two blows in quick succession. I wondered how long it would take to make him cry out.
George stood behind me and held on to my hips. “I’ll hold on to you,” she said. “Try it this way.” With George steadying me I found I could put my entire body into it, and with the next blow I saw Tom extend his arms and clench his fists, a sure sign that I was getting somewhere.
A few more blows and it was time for George to take a turn. She took the spatula from me, tossed her hair over her shoulders and, with an effortless motion, brought it down directly onto the smiley face. Tom started cursing, and for a few seconds I wondered if we’d gone too far, but then he pushed his ass up into the air and in a ragged voice, asked for another smack just like that one.
George’s technique was that of someone who had spanked a thousand exposed asses, but the overflowing smile and the sparkle in her eyes belonged to someone who was discovering it for the first time. The swing of her arm and the way her blouse pulled against her breasts as she brought her arm up again and again all made me wonder what it would be like to be underneath her hands and her whiplike wrist, under the touch of her black marker.
“It’s your turn again,” she said and stepped behind me again to hold on to my hips. I looked at Tom bent over the armrest, his beautiful cheeks splotchy and his legs taut and elongated, and tried to do what she had done. She pulled me back as I swung forward, and though the crack was satisfying, it didn’t quite match the expert work of my friend.
Suddenly there was an unfamiliar sensation behind me, the feeling of pliable flesh, and it took a few moments to realize that it was the feeling of George’s breasts pressed up against my clothed back. She must have unzipped her top in the moments between spanks, quickly and quietly. I felt the pinpricks of her hard nipples, and suddenly my spanks became weaker and more hesitant. I saw Tom relax a little and wondered if he was glad for the reprieve. George, still pressing against me, ran her hands down my hips.
“Would you like to take a turn?” she whispered in my ear.
My breathing quickened and for a moment I was frozen, not knowing what to do. I didn’t move as George slowly unzipped my dress and pushed it down around my ankles. I realized that she wanted me to join Tom on the sofa for a spanking, and I trembled, wanting it desperately but fearing the vulnerability, fearing that showing my ass to George would make our play something more potentially wounding than a game played by two good friends.
Tom, sensing that he was no longer the focal point of the action, began to squirm with restlessness. “Get up, Tom,” said George, and when he pushed himself up from the armrest she took his hand and led him to face the front of the sofa. She directed him to get on his knees and lean his torso on the cushions, then took my hand and positioned me beside him, pulling my blue panties down around my thighs. I wondered what the view looked like from her perspective—one red male bottom with a smiley face drawn on, one white female bottom with no marks whatsoever. I ran my hand along Tom’s back to signal my presence, w
ondering if he could tell what was going on. He did the same to me.
Soon I sensed the distinctive smell of the uncapped black marker, and felt George drawing something on my skin. I tried to reconstruct the drawing in my mind from the movements I felt across my skin but I was in too much of a dizzy haze to figure it out.
I heard her smack Tom again while the ink dried on my ass. He cursed and dug his fingers into my back. I wasn’t prepared when I felt the spatula come down on me, and my yelp was full of surprise and indignation. But the second time, I was grateful, my response more pornographic. I wriggled the way I loved to see Tom wriggle, I breathed heavily.
Then her hand came down again in quick succession—him, then me, then him, then me. My thoughts blurred and I took Tom’s hand just as he reached for mine, and as the blows came down we squeezed our knuckles white.
Because Tom had already taken a beating, George began to focus on me. She was hitting me with one hand and intimately stroking me with the other, letting her fingers trail up and down the sensitive skin between my two cheeks, giving me a gentle squeeze now and then. The tenderness before the blow made my blood rush and my pussy swell, and after a time all my limbs went slack and my eyes grew wet with an emotion I couldn’t identify.
I turned my head so I could see Tom, with the mask that said BEAUTY SLEEP still hiding his eyes from me. There was a perfectly contented smile on his face, one I’d seen after giving him a perfect blow job, and when George switched back to him again, I had no doubt that I was wearing the same kind of smile.
I wonder if it was the smile that made George decide it was time to end. She stood back and patted us both on our asses to signal that she was finished, and both of us turned over at once. When Tom pulled off his blindfold, he was a bit startled to see the two of us bare-breasted, and seemed unsure if he should reach out and touch us.
George smiled at him and played a little with my hair, before pulling me to her and kissing me deeply on the mouth. Overwhelmed by the soft feeling of skin on skin, I nearly tried to pull her onto the sofa with me. But she pushed back, smiled, looked at Tom and then questioningly at me, and when I nodded, she kissed him in the same way. Tom raised his arms as if to wrap them around her but let them hang midair and then dropped them again.
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