by Loki Renard
She stretches out on the couch, her long legs bare as that little skirt rides up. The smile on her face is sinful.
I shake my head at her, but that only makes her grin more broadly.
“Careful, little girl.”
She’s putting on the siren act, but it’s not real. It’s something she does to try to get control - and I don’t intend to let her have any. I’m in charge here.
“Are you hungry, Ricky? Do you want to eat?” Her voice rises in a lilting question.
I walk over to her, stand over her, look down and see that lithe, pretty body of hers spread out for me. God. The money men would pay for this view.
What do I do with her? I could snap at her, tell her to behave herself, make her sit up straight. But I know her, and I know that will only make her think she’s getting under my skin. It’s time to call this bluff.
“Take your clothes off.”
My voice is gruff with command.
She hesitates.
“Take your clothes off, or I’m going to spank your little ass for teasing me.”
The smile is back on her face now. Oh, she likes this. So do I. But I have to keep myself in check.
That mark on her cheek is a reminder of all she has been through and what she so desperately needs.
Her eyes are full of defiance as she starts to remove her clothes. I watch as she slips the straps of her top off her shoulders, then shimmies it down over her breasts. They’re beautiful, two ripe globes, tipped with pink little nipples.
“You like this, Ricky? You don’t see things like this do you? Except online…” she smirks and taunts me as she strips herself down fully, discarding her clothing on the floor.
I let her run her mouth as I run my eyes over that stunning body. She has a little golden down triangle at the apex of her thighs, crowning the most stunning curves, hips and tits. She has a centerfold body. And then those eyes, looking at me, that crimson mouth in a sassy little smirk.
My cock is straining at my pants. My instinct is to free it, part her thighs, and plunge myself inside her, just fuck her like she’s begging to be fucked. This is a bad girl who wants to be treated like one.
Jasmine has the power all beautiful women have. Men usually fall at her feet - the ones who dare get past her father and brother, anyway.
“What are you waiting for, Ricky? Don’t you know what to do with me?”
I know exactly what to do with her.
I’m going to make her work for this. Every. Single. Bit. Of. It.
I point to the carpet at my feet.
“Kneel.”
Another hesitation, and then she does as she’s told, putting herself into position. This is superficial obedience. She’s doing it because she thinks she’s going to get leverage. But she doesn’t know who she’s playing with this time.
“Open your mouth.”
She starts to say something. I don’t let her. I reach down, slide my hand under her chin, and press my fingers lightly at the back of her jaw.
“Open your mouth and be quiet,” I say. “No talking.”
My grip isn’t painful, but it is firm.
I hold her there, in place, on her knees, at my feet. I hold her naked, not giving in to the lust charging between us. Not letting her run this situation with her body. I keep her in the place she belongs, and I watch as the realization dawns on her that this isn’t going to be like the other times.
“Ric…”
“Quiet,” I say. “You’ve said enough, Jasmine. From now on, you’ll speak when you’re spoken to. And you’ll call me sir. Understand?”
She makes a muffled noise that isn’t a word.
“Say it, Jasmine. Say yes, sir.”
I loosen my grip on her chin but keep my hand there.
“Ricky you…”
My hand closes again, just firmly enough to stop her from speaking.
“Oh no,” I chide. “I want to hear two words. Two words only.”
Suddenly, her nudity isn’t power. It’s shameful vulnerability. She’s not a siren seducing me, she’s a little girl, learning the lessons she should have learned long ago.
I loosen the grip again.
“Rick…”
That was her last chance. I reach up to my neck, loosen my tie and pull it off. With my hand slipping down to her graceful neck, I wrap the tie around her head, pushing it into her mouth, between her teeth like a bit.
Jasmine squirms, but she doesn’t fight me. She could reach up to try to stop me, but she doesn’t. Her eyes are wide with curiosity, arousal, and maybe some fear. The good kind of fear. The kind of fear a naughty girl should feel when she crosses her daddy.
“Speech is a privilege,” I tell her, tying a knot behind her head. “Now lay back.”
She does as she is told. I help guide her down until she rests against the carpet.
“Good girl.”
I start tracing my fingers up and down her body lightly, soft exploratory caresses which make goosebumps rise in their wake. I touch her breasts, find her nipples, run my fingers down her belly to the soft gold curls, then slip them away again.
I want to make her as desperate as she usually makes men. I want her begging for my touch. She can’t speak, but every other part of her is going to cry out for me.
There’s no rush now. I want her to think I might never go between her thighs. I want her to think I might never fuck her. I want her to realize that what she’s been looking for is right in front of her, but she’s going to have to behave herself to get it.
Her legs spread as my hand drifts lower.
“What are you doing that for, girl?”
She can’t reply, of course, which just makes asking the question all the hotter.
“Do you want something from me?”
I get a little reluctant nod.
My fingers play through her lower curls. “What is that, I wonder, hmmm?”
Jasmine makes a muffled sound through the tie gag.
“If you’d just said yes, sir when I asked you to, you’d be able to ask me to play with your pussy now, wouldn’t you?”
Her sound turns to something like a groan.
I look down between her thighs. Her lips are shaved, already swelling with feminine need.
“I can smell you, little girl,” I tell her, enjoying the blush which rises to her cheeks.
I slide my hand down between her thighs. I let my fingers find those soft lips. And I hear her moan, a sound which turns to a pretty little squeal when I let my fingers rise and then return in a little slap. It’s not nearly hard enough to hurt. But it is more than enough to let her know I will make her mine.
Chapter Six
Jasmine
The heat of the room settles on me like tropical nightfall, murky and oppressive. It steals my vision and breath, the moment pregnant with anticipation. Waiting. Hoping. And If I’m honest, I’m a little bit afraid.
He’s only gagged me, but he chose his tie. I run my tongue along the silky fabric, bite it between my teeth, my core clenching as his scent saturates my senses.
I’ve lived through real fear. My brother’s rage. My father’s wrath. The threat of molestation at the hands of his vicious, brutal friend.
I’ve lived through real pain. My mother’s abandonment. Fists, bloodied lips, bruises hidden under shirtsleeves and make-up.
What Rico does to me now—holding me on the brink of anticipation in fear and hoping for pain—is measured. Controlled. Somehow, inexplicably, so erotic it’s almost an act of kindness.
My belly tenses and swirls when he circles me, taking in my body with the utter control only a dominant possesses. When he touches my body, an electric zing of need and want skirts over my skin like a live wire. I need him. I want him. And that’s how he’s turned the tables.
I use my body as the most potent weapon I have to bring men to their knees. Leave it to Agent Rico to wield my own weapon against me. And isn’t that the appeal of Rico? He’s the one man I can’t ensnare.
When he kneels in front of me, fully clothed but for his open collar where he removed his tie, he’s a full head taller than I am. And when he kneels, he’s no less majestic than when he towers over me. I catch my breath as he lets his gaze wander lazily down my body and up again, lingering at my peaked nipples. When he bends his mouth to my navel, my body begins to quake. I try to still it, but his power over me is magnetic, a force beyond my control.
He kisses my thigh, soft, warm lips caressing bare skin, then he moves his mouth along the underside of my belly, sending a tremor through me. He licks and nips my skin across to my other thigh, his hands anchored on my hips. My pussy swells with need and want. His fingers dig into my hips, marking me, but I crave more. Harder. Painful.
As if he read my mind, he pinches my inner thigh, making me yelp and squirm but a lazy swipe of his tongue along my abused flesh begs forgiveness for the pain. I throw my head back when he suckles the tender skin so hard I can feel his teeth. He’ll leave a mark. Christ, I hope he does.
He moves his grip to my ass, huge hands gripping each of my ass cheeks, while he continues to lick and suck and nibble on my tender flesh speckled with goosebumps. When his teeth sink in, the pain hits me so suddenly I scream against the gag and beg him to stop, but my cries are only a jumble of confusion. This is wrong. I can’t stop him. But deep down inside, where my darkest fantasies lurk, I know I don’t really want to stop him. I need him to take me so far beyond what’s comfortable and right.
Minutes tick on as he worships and teases my body. Every swipe of his tongue and pinch of his fingers pushes me deeper into the mindless chasm of need and want.
Please, my mind begs, but I can’t articulate the words. Stop, I plead, but I’m helpless and mute.
And I don’t need him to tell me he knows this anyway. Agent Rico is a brilliant man but not a god. While he continues his assault on my body with his tongue and fingers, just skirting the edge of where I need him, his pants tent with an erection that makes me grin. He’s turned the fuck on and hell if that doesn’t make my body pulse with want.
Cupping my breasts in his rough hands, he squeezes so hard I arch my back. “You think this is funny, little girl?” he whispers against the shell of my ear. I shiver. “Are you a naughty thing who likes to tease the boys?” he asks. “If you weren’t hurt tonight, I’d take my belt to your ass. I’d punish you for being a cock tease.”
I close my eyes and whimper. Why the fuck would he abstain from giving me what I need because of what I went through? I need to feel him, my self-possessed captor, give me the pain that will set me free.
“Why do you whimper, Jasmine?” he whispers in my ear, but I hear the sincerity in his question. How can I answer him with my mouth gagged? “Do you need me to release you?”
I shake my head.
“Unfasten your gag?” Again, a shake of my head. But this is only the illusion of control. A game of sorts. I don’t really have the power here, and I fucking love that I don’t.
Bending down so his lips brush my ear, he whispers, “My belt, Jasmine?”
I nod my head vigorously, mentally pleading with him. Hurt me. Please, Ricky.
To my surprise, he releases me entirely and in one swift motion, unfastens the tie. “Beg.”
“Please,” I say, my voice hoarse and unrecognizable. “Punish me.”
He circles round me, no longer touching, his gaze the only stroke along my skin. Footsteps behind me fade. Where’s he going? What’s he doing?
Minutes pass and the only sound in the room is my rapid heartbeat and labored breathing.
“Ricky?” Nothing. “Agent Rico?”
The clink of ice in glass. The swish of liquid. Glass along a tabletop and footsteps approaching. He has a few fingers of whiskey in a stout glass in one hand, his other hand tucked into his pocket. Prowling toward me like a predator, he sips his drink then releases a sigh of contentment.
“I like to unwind in the evening,” he says. “A good drink with the strains of music playing. Sometimes I watch a movie.” He draws closer, bringing his heat with him. I stifle a sigh. God, he’s beautiful, so rugged and handsome and deliciously dangerous.
“No movie tonight?” I ask.
Shaking his head, he folds himself into an armchair a few feet away from me. “No need,” he says. “Instead, I’m taking in an art show. The visual is outstanding,” he says with a quirked brow before he takes another sip of his glass. “This particular exhibit is rather avant-garde,” he muses contemplatively. A corner of his mouth quirks up, a flirt of a smile that makes my heart race. “Minimalistic, yet aesthetically appealing on every. damn. level.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and to my surprise, my cheeks heat.
“You’re thanking me?” he says, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I haven’t even made you climax yet.”
I buck with sudden need, surprising even me and this time he grins. I don’t trust my voice, so I don’t say anything, but I let the warm caress of his smile wash over me like moonlight. I’m so at his mercy.
His gaze grows molten. “Touch yourself.”
“Sir?” I whisper.
“Stroke your clit,” he orders, before he takes another swig from the glass. Eyes on him, I obey, gliding a finger through my slick folds with a whimper. I’m so damn turned on I could cry.
“One hand at your nipples,” he commands. “The other on your clit.” I do what he says, squeezing my breast and stroking myself harder, faster, getting closer and closer to climaxing until a sharp, “stop,” freezes me in place. My hand trembles, just on the verge of bringing myself to completion.
“Tell me, Jasmine,” he says, sobering before he takes a long sip from his glass. “Why do you deserve my belt?”
“Because I’m a bad girl,” I whisper. “I do terrible things.” His stark blue gaze narrows on me and for one brief, terrible minute, I worry that he’s setting me up. That he’s trying to get a confession out of me, and I close my mouth out of habit.
He tips his head to the side. “Why the sudden silence?” he asks, his eyes genuinely curious. “Do you not trust me?”
“I do,” I tell him, with brutal honesty. “That’s what terrifies me.” Christ, I need him to gag me again.
I don’t trust anyone but myself, ever, and I’ve just told him how vulnerable he makes me. It’s terrible and wonderful and scares me senseless. He nods and rises. My pulse quickens. I have no idea what he’ll do next, which is exactly the way he planned it. Kneeling before me again, he takes a sip of whiskey, places the glass down, then leans in for a kiss. My breath catches, my hands tremble, then I still when his lips meet mine. I close my eyes and inhale his strong, masculine scent mixed with my own arousal, taste his bourbon-stained lips, and let myself lean into the strength of his embrace when I nearly topple over. He pulls away too soon and mouths into my ear, “What now, little girl? How will you earn that strapping you’re begging me for?”
“I already have,” I respond, swallowing hard. “Haven’t I? Don’t you like to punish naughty girls?”
Standing, he reaches for the clasp of his belt. “No, Jasmine. Only you.”
I don’t breathe when he whisks his belt off. Tense when he wraps it around his huge, powerful fist. Brace for the first smack.
“Over the couch,” he rasps out, flicking a finger at an old-fashioned denim blue sofa that stands across from the armchair. “I don’t want to strike your lower back.”
Somehow, I get to my feet and obey, and drape myself over the side. I close my eyes. I must be crazy to want this, but I do. I want it so damn bad I could cry. My naked, vulnerable ass bared to him, cool air brushes across my skin just a second before the whizz and snap of leather ignites my skin. I hiss and come up on my toes, but quickly go back down, kneading my fingers into the plush fabric in front of me. A second strike follows the first, then a third. My fingernails claw at the couch, and it hurts so fucking bad I can’t breathe when a fourth and fifth lash stripe me. I’m whimpering but ho
lding my position when I hear him come up behind me. He trails a finger along the welts on my skin before he parts my thighs.
“Wider, baby,” he says, killing me with the sweet dominance laced in his words. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Remember to breathe,” he says, the only warning before he continues the assault on my ass. Over and over the belt pounds my flesh, wicked stings fading to warmth but a deep, abiding feeling of satisfaction anchoring me in position. God, it feels good to let him hurt me. Something in my chest loosens when he continues the controlled but wicked strapping.
I could stand here and let him do this all fucking day.
When he approaches me and drops the belt, I’m almost disappointed. “That’s enough for now,” he says. “You’ll feel that every time you sit down. You’ll sleep on your belly tonight. You could maybe take more, but you’ll have to earn it.”
I look over my shoulder at him and watch as he slides the belt back through the loops on his pants and fastens the clasp. My pussy clenches and throbs along with my ass, my breasts so sensitive just brushing up against the cushions almost hurts. Then his whole body is flush up against mine, smooth fabric gliding along my sore ass, his scent and strength and warmth enveloping me like a warm bath.
“Touch yourself,” he grows in my ear, pressing his cock against my ass. “Stroke that pussy until you’re ready to come.”
I don’t need him to tell me twice. I spread my legs and slide my hand along the couch, my fingers finding my needy, swollen folds. I stroke and fondle until my hips buck while he thrusts his fully-clothed flank into me from behind.
“I’m going to come,” I whisper.
“Ask me permission.”
Stroking, fondling. Lights dimming, breath hitching.
“May I?” I beg.
“Say it the right way.”
“May I, sir?”
He brushes my hair off my shoulder and puts his mouth to my ear. “Come, Jasmine. Come for me. Let yourself go.” He sinks his teeth into my bare shoulder, and I lose my mind.
I groan as the climax shudders through me so hard and fast I’m momentarily blinded. I can’t think, I can’t see, I can’t even breathe. My hips buck so hard he has to hold me down, his mouth never leaving my neck as if to brand me, reminding me that he commands even this. I stroke and milk every bit of bliss from my release, a second climax building on the first until my muscles ache and my legs can’t hold me anymore.