by Jade Taylor
CUSTOMER SERVICE
A collection of five erotic spanking stories
Edited by Miranda Forbes
ISBN 9781908006431
Copyright © Accent Press Ltd 2010
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY
These stories were originally published in Spank Me
published by Accent Press Ltd – 2009
ISBN 9781905170937
Contents
Customer Service Jade Taylor
Grip Sommer Marsden
Master, Come For Me Again Kitti Bernetti
Schooling James Bryn Allen
My Initiation Eva Hore
Customer Service
by Jade Taylor
She couldn’t believe Sam’s audacity.
She was supposed to be the manager, and fair enough he was the owner of the hotel and she was accountable to him, but still.
She wasn’t some flunkey low down the chain, she hadn’t been the one to fuck up, so why she was the one he sent grovelling?
She’d snapped at Sam, asked if he hadn’t somebody who wasn’t quite as busy, someone who wasn’t quite so important to send instead.
He’d got irritable then, reminded her that customer service was still part of her job, no matter how high up her position.
It didn’t help that Gemma had thought there was something more than a working relationship between them. Twice Sam had asked her out for dinner and they hadn’t talked work once, swapping personal details, flirting and getting tipsy instead. Both times she’d been disappointed when the evening ended at her front door, there was no doubt that Sam was a sexy man It was getting way too long since she’d got laid, but she was trying to be understanding, trying to accept that if something happened between them it could make life very complicated.
Well he’d fucked any chance of seeing her naked now. They had enough staff at the hotel specifically employed to deal with customer complaints so that he didn’t have to send Gemma with cap in hand. She knew Toshikoe Enterprises was a big corporate client, but so what? Why couldn’t they get a letter of apology and a gift basket like every other person did?
Gemma frowned as she took the corner too quickly, her sports car was definitely fast enough to help soothe her temper, but her rage was only going to get worse if she crashed the damn thing.
She had to calm down.
The offices were easy to find, and as Gemma walked in a smart secretary stood immediately to greet her, offering her a drink. Gemma declined, wanting to get this over and done with, and the secretary showed her into the head of Toshikoe Enterprises’ office.
The office was large and spacious, with a large dark mahogany desk dominating the room. Gemma had expected some elderly Japanese man, but the man who stood up from behind the desk as she entered definitely wasn’t what she was expecting. He was tall and broad shouldered with dark hair and dark eyes, with the haughty arrogance of English aristocracy, and the kind of smile that could be sexy if it wasn’t so damn intimidating, so chilling.
He was very sexy.
‘Ms Madison, I’m Lord Chatterton, how good of you to come.’
Like she’d had any choice, Gemma thought as she listened to his complaints. They were valid, and as she assured him that they wouldn’t happen again, as she offered him discounts and various other incentives to keep his business, she realised that he wasn’t actually listening to what she said; he was looking at her legs. They looked good, she knew, in her tight pencil skirt and silk stockings. She’d dressed this morning thinking of Sam, but it looked like it wasn’t to be wasted now, as Lord Chatterton blatantly looked her up and down appreciatively.
She caught his gaze, and he licked his lips, smiling.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ he asked, walking over to the drinks cabinet, opening it to display an impressive array of expensive looking bottles. ‘Red, I think, a merlot perhaps?’
Red wine made Gemma sleepy and slow, but she still nodded; there was something about this man that made it difficult to disagree with him, a presence that commanded compliance.
As he turned away she quickly she undid another two buttons on her blouse, low enough to show a hint of her red bra; if she needed to flirt her way out of this mess it could be an enjoyable way to spend the afternoon.
As he passed her a glass and sat back down Gemma realised that she could see an erection stirring.
Lust flooded through her.
Bad idea, thought Gemma, Sam was mad enough with her already and starting something with a disgruntled customer was hardly going to improve things.
Despite that, as he started flirting with her, talk about the hotel suddenly becoming laden with innuendo, she flirted back, slowly stroking her neck and playing with her hair.
But she could still hardly believe it when he started stroking his hardness through his trousers, his conversation not even faltering.
She was flustered as she drained her drink, trying to summon the courage to say something.
This couldn’t be right, could it, even if it were turning her on?
‘Lord Chatterton, I don’t think this is appropriate,’ she told him, but even as she said the words she was watching his cock grow, wondering what it would be like to have him stroke her that way, to feel his thick cock herself.
‘I think it’s entirely appropriate Ms Madison. Now why don’t you make me and your boss a little happier by undoing that blouse a little further.’
She knew she should go, should leave right now, but there was something about him that had her enthralled.
She undid another button.
‘Now stand up and bend over my desk,’ he commanded, and she blushed immediately.
Protests crowded her mind, she was a thirty-four year old successful woman, a manager of one of the top hotels in the country, he couldn’t talk to her like that! There might have been a problem with his booking, but all he was due was an apology, nothing more.
And the look on his face told her exactly what else he was expecting.
She’d never had anybody else look at her like that, so unashamedly lustful, eyes filled with nothing but sex, looking so damn horny.
Despite herself she shivered.
‘I said bend over,’ he repeated, and this time she did, swallowing the words she’d meant to speak and meekly moving over to his desk.
She bent over.
A moment later he was behind her, caressing her arse through the thin material of her skirt. He moved his hands lower, stroking the back of her thighs, and she heard the catch in his breath as he realised she was wearing stockings and suspenders.
Gemma felt herself flooding with desire, and moved her legs wider apart.
She felt him tug at her skirt, and without saying a word she moved his hips so that he could pull it up more easily. The silence only made the sensations more erotic, as if speaking too were forbidden.
The whole thing felt so deliciously forbidden.
Beneath her skirt she was wearing flimsy French knickers and suspenders, and as he saw them she felt him move closer to her, felt his cock twitch as it grew harder yet.
He had her so confused she didn’t know whether she felt more scared or more turned on, but the ache between her legs was so strong she knew she couldn’t walk away, so strong that she knew she’d do whatever he demanded.
Then he spanked her.
It was only once, not hard but enough to make her bum tingle, to make her wriggle away slightly. She stopped as he placed his hand on the back o
f her neck to hold her down; it wasn’t hard enough to stop her moving away but still she complied with his unspoken demand.
I should say something, Gemma thought, there could be anyone outside his office, anyone could walk in on us like this, I’m letting this man I don’t even know spank me.
He waited for her to say something, for her to burst into outraged tears or worse, outraged swearing, for some complaint, but she said nothing. Her passivity was as much of a turn on as the situation, and he felt his cock pulsing with heat.
He spanked her again, his cock feeling twice the size of normal, hard and heavy.
Gemma said nothing, her panties getting damper, her cunt getting slick and swollen as if ready already to accommodate him, ready for him to easily slide inside her.
She wondered if he would fuck her.
‘Take off your panties,’ he told her, releasing her. She should say no she thought, should tell him about the two hundred member of staff working beneath her, about the important decisions she made daily, about how she was in control of her life and wouldn’t relinquish her power so easily to him.
But submission was suddenly so much more appealing, so much sexier.
Instead she stood upright to shimmy out of her panties, pulling her skirt down to cover her modesty even as she stepped out of the material gathered around her ankles to resume her position meekly at his desk.
He could smell her arousal now, the scent of her sexuality, and knew that this was turning her on as much as it was him. He licked his lips, wishing he could taste her musky scent, but enjoying himself too much to stop what he was doing.
Maybe some other time.
He slapped her arse again, thinking of her the bare skin beneath, of her wetness, of the slick scent of her.
He couldn’t stop himself now, pulling up her skirt even as she murmured her protests but didn’t actually try to stop him, wanting to see her bare arse, so deliciously presented in the frame of stockings and suspenders. Such an old fashioned touch, but so utterly exciting.
He stroked her arse softly, taking in the redness, the way she wriggled beneath his touch, watching as her legs instinctively moved apart so her heady perfume filled the air once more.
The chill air meeting her arse only served to make it feel more sensitive, and as he began stroking her Gemma felt the flaming sensation on her arse spread further around her cunt, making her wish he would stroke her clit.
Instead he slapped her hard, and she cried out with a mixture of shock and desire.
He’d left a handprint this time, and he traced the outline of it with his finger, stroking her sensitive skin, before letting his fingers slide further down.
Again he spanked her, feeling the heat rising from her arse now as he caressed it, then slid a finger lower down into her wetness, hearing her breathing quicken as he stroked her clit.
Now Gemma sighed, she felt like her arse was on fire as well as her cunt, the ache of the slaps mingling with the ache of desire, each intensifying the other. She knew this wasn’t right, to be lying like this with her bare arse up in the air in his office where anybody could be outside as she let him spank her, but she couldn’t stop him now; not because of Sam telling her to fix the problem but because she knew that this ache in her must be satisfied.
She couldn’t believe how wet she felt, that her breasts felt so sensitive, her nipples so hard, her whole body tingling.
He slapped her again, feeling like his cock would burst if it wasn’t released soon, thinking of how he would love to slide it in her as his fingers slid inside her, as he rubbed her clit so that she gasped and writhed against him, so close to release.
He moved slightly, reaching in his drawer for his hand cream. Slowly he squirted it across her reddened cheeks, and then rubbed it into her sensitive arse, alternating the soothing touch with a slap and then a stroke of her clit.
He wanted her so badly.
As Gemma writhed against his touch she felt that she would let him do anything to her now that he wanted, she was so horny her juices were dribbling down her thighs, she wanted to come so much. If he asked to fuck her up the arse now she knew she’d have no choice to say yes, she was completely under his control. Instead he continued to tease, to stroke, to soothe, to spank.
Gemma could feel her orgasm approaching, and though she was almost ashamed of the way she’d reached it, of having subjugated herself to this stranger in his office, of having him slap her arse before touching her so intimately, she knew she couldn’t stop it. The feeling was too intense and she couldn’t stop it as desire shook her body, waves of heat throbbing inside her until she had to bite her lip to stop herself crying out madly.
He smiled as she came, glad she’d been satisfied. He moved away as at last he undid his trousers to release his swollen cock, the muskiness of his scent filling the room. It was already wet around the tip and he used the wetness to lubricate his cock, grabbing it hard as he stroked up and down, reaching for a condom and fumbling as he put it on, so desperate to be inside her at last.
Quickly he plunged inside her, her wetness meaning he slid inside easily, smiling as she started touching herself, as her breathing started getting as quick as his was, as he felt her muscles clenching hard around his cock as she came once more, seeming to milk him as he moaned loudly, his orgasm consuming him in heat.
For a moment neither said anything, then he moved away to dispose of the condom, to allow her to pull back on her panties, to straighten her clothes.
Still breathless and flushed she asked, ‘I assume that concludes our business Lord Chatterton?’
He laughed, a deep boom of a laugh that surely would have people outside wondering what was happening inside, if they weren’t already.
‘I’d say that business had been concluded most satisfactorily. And maybe you would call me Edward?’
He held out his hand.
‘Gemma,’ she replied, shaking his hand.
Sam phoned her as she was soaking in the bath, her skin still sensitive and her arse still sore.
‘I wondered if you’d like to go out later? The client was very pleased with you.’
So he fucking should be, Gemma thought, but she’d known that by the flowers that had just arrived, by the invite out to dinner.
By the invite to explore her darker side further.
‘I have plans,’ she told him; now she’d been with Edward she knew Sam would prove too boring.
‘Okay, well, well done,’ Sam told her, obviously miffed.
‘All part of the service,’ she told him, sinking back into the bath and her fantasies of what might happen next.
Grip
by Sommer Marsden
‘Jesus, Annalee, what have you done?’
Jacob stared at my hair and I tried not to shift. It was my hair. I could cut it any way I wanted. I would not feel bad. The only reason he was pissed was a small reason. Ninety-five percent of the time he didn’t give a shit about my hair. Not the colour, not the style, not any of it. It was that five percent of the time that my hair was cherished.
‘I like it,’ I sighed. ‘Look, don’t get pissy. I needed something new and I went ahead and did it. You’ll get used to it.’ I set about making dinner, intent on ending the turmoil right then and there.
‘But you know how much I love your hair. Loved,’ he corrected himself. There was venom in both the statement and the tone.
‘You love it when you fuck me,’ I sniped. ‘More specifically, you love it when you fuck me from behind. You like to twist it up around your fist and yank me back with it. Yes, Jacob, I love that, too. However,’ I banged the stock pot down and cringed at the loud noise, ‘during the times when you are not playing caveman and using my hair as a rein, it’s a pain in the ass!’
We stood there, eyeing each other in the kitchen, both of us angry, both of us thinking we were right. He could think he was right. That was fine. But it was my damn hair and I was sick of the work and the struggle of keeping a waist length mane clea
n, detangled and neat. I liked the new hair; just below chin level, layered to be shaggy but not messy. I threw my shoulders back. No guilt.
‘I’m sorry if you don’t like it but you’d better adjust. I am not growing it back out and I will not apologise for doing it.’ Then I turned my back on him and started the water to boil.
Jacob barely spoke to me for three days. Every time I said or did the slightest thing he didn’t approve of he would pause for several beats and stare at my hair. As if to say; look what you have done.
While he was busy frowning upon my new ‘do, I was falling more and more in love with it. No more long mornings steaming myself in front of the mirror with a blazing hot hair dryer. No more combing out knots so big and stubborn I ended up in tears holding a fist full of my own hair. No more torture, muss, fuss and annoyance. It was freedom, this wonderful short flirty hair. I loved it enough for both of us.
Needless to say, it was a while before I got laid. Without my crowning glory of long chocolate coloured hair, I seemed to have lost my appeal. Or so it seemed.
The first time Jacob stooped to touching my new hair was the night of his boss’s dinner party. Stewart J. Beckett was a prick and a blow hard and he loved my husband. We were expected to attend dinner. We were expected to be amusing and classy. We were expected to dress the part.
I straightened my taupe and black wrap dress. I fidgeted with the black satin collar for the millionth time. I flipped the cuffs up to show the black satin. I flipped them down to create bell sleeves. Designers who make dresses that can be worn several different ways should be shot. Do they not realise that the woman wearing their dress will most likely be a nervous wreck, which will result in her having absolutely no decision making skills? Black cuffs, bell sleeves, black cuffs…
Jacob took pity on me. ‘Leave them flipped up. Let the cuffs match the collar.’ Then he put his arms around my waist, temporarily it seemed forgetting my traitorous behaviour. ‘You look stunning, by the way. It’ll be fine. We’ll eat, we’ll be fake, we’ll leave. Plead a headache the moment dessert arrives,’ he chuckled, then kissed my ear.