by Flora Dain
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
How busy does he want me? One answer is already lying hot and needy across the back of my hand, batting for attention. His sturdy erection looks almost forbidding as it glows, reddish and purple, glossy as satin. Above it Darnley’s tired face is pale, the strain of the last hours painfully clear and terrible to see.
But the thought that he needs me so badly, that my least touch renders him so helpless, melts something deep inside. Heat rages between my legs as I curve over him to make a start on some much-needed therapy.
As I take him in my mouth and caress him with my tongue he strokes my back, running his finger slowly along my spine and making me writhe. At first I lick him slowly, savouring his eager heat and using my curved posture to yawn open and please him deep. He reaches down to my spread thighs, his touch sending ripples of excitement all through me as my steady rhythm jerks me hard against his fingers.
‘You coming too? Wicked girl.’ His low murmur sends sparks all over my soft, swelling places where his fingers are busy and deeply disturbing. I moan in answer, my throat too full to speak. His erection is already so large and so urgent I’m close to choking on each thrust. To my shame, this somehow makes things even more exciting. I writhe at his fingers, shifting to meet them even as he thrusts gently, swelling into my mouth and straining towards me.
But it seems he’s got other plans. I’m so sure he’s close I’m poised for the final lunge when all at once he gently withdraws, leaving me hollow and empty, still burning for release. His cock twitches before me, hot and dark and wet – and still unsatisfied. How can he do this?
‘Enough. Time for some discipline. You’ve had it too easy these last few days.’
‘You’re recovering fast,’ I say, eyeing him from under my lashes. ‘Therapy working?’
‘Always,’ he whispers. ‘It always works. You know that. But right now I need something more, Ella. You OK with that?’
His voice has lowered a fraction, his eyes dark and unreadable. I can guess what he craves after such an ordeal, but I’m scared too. How far will he go? How do I decide when it’s too far?
How much will it hurt?
Praying we won’t go too far too fast I quiver as his hand slips between my thighs and he pinches one of my eager, swollen lips. As he does it he watches me closely. I gasp and instantly his eyes flicker. He fingers me a few moments more, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth and then hauls himself up on the cushions. In the dim light of the fading afternoon his grin’s almost menacing, but the excitement in his eyes is plain.
‘Now get over my knees, ass in the air, legs either side, head right down near the floor. Lean on your elbows to steady yourself. I want you motionless while I do this.’
As I get into position he fondles me with warm, firm hands and I will myself to relax, to prepare myself for what’s coming. And sure enough, it’s never enough to spare me the shock of that first, terrifying slap, the crash of his hand that starts the steady drumroll of blows that shatter all my preconceptions about nice and nasty and make me crave both, and fast.
As ever, his fierce, determined attention to my backside sends flames scorching through me.
As ever, those flames lick and tingle in all my secret places, sparking pounding arousal at every blow.
And as ever, the blows quickly blend into a white-hot glow that makes me needy and emotional both at once. Under his skilful, punishing hands everything jolts to the surface – yells, lust and even tears. For once these hardly count.
I try to clench to avoid the blows but instantly his hand speeds up. Underneath me he spreads his thighs, jerking my legs further apart, making clenching impossible and the ache of arousal even worse. As the first sting cools I slowly settle into his rhythm but now tears are closer still. At last he’s done and I hang off his lap, panting, limp and horny.
‘This is so embarrassing. What do I look like?’ Everything’s on fire – my scorching skin, my eager, pulsing places, even my fevered imagination as I picture what I must look like down here with my ass high in the air, scarlet and quivering, my head bowed in submission.
‘Beautiful.’ His low whisper startles me back to attention. ‘Since you ask.’
He caresses me, his low, appreciative murmurs as reverent as prayer. His breath stirs on my stinging skin and then I feel the touch of his lips, cool and soft, as he leans over and kisses first one and then the other side of my stinging ass, following through with smooth sweeps of his hands, his palms cool, his fingers lingering and inquisitive, finding places I’d never dare seek.
‘Now me.’ He swivels me round to sit across his knees and splays his thighs wider, so I’m facing him now but suspended, thighs splayed. I clutch at him for safety and then let go in a sudden panic as I see him wince.
With a grin he catches me before I fall. ‘It’s OK. I’m fine. Arch your toes to the floor to balance,’ he murmurs. ‘I want you to work at this. Head back so I can feel your breasts.’
Down below I’m throbbing, close to numb. The hard muscles of his thighs support me as I strain to obey, arching my back and my neck so my breasts thrust upwards.
‘Hold them up a little. Make them swell.’
I do it, entranced by the steady intensity of his look and desperate to keep in position. It becomes a kind of ballet, each pose hard to reach, every touch even harder to maintain as he folds his hands around my breasts and pulls on them repeatedly, stopping every now and then to examine them, tweak them and bury his face between them.
Deep down I’m on fire, longing for his touch, any touch, to grant me release from my desperate, aching arousal, but cruelly it never comes. Instead he makes me hold the position, my muscles tense and straining. It sends even more fire straight to my groin but I do it, getting hornier by the minute as I aim for grace, keen to please but scared I’ll fall.
My breasts send urgent signals all through me at every touch of his lips, every clasp of his mouth. I thread my fingers into his hair and drink in his delicious Darnley smell as his stern caresses fuel my fires. When he finally leans back I fasten on his mouth and kiss him deep, hungry for any part of him he cares to give me, anywhere he cares to put it.
‘Kneel again. Just for a while. I’ll trap your wrists first.’
I shiver at this. What now? He scoops his tie off the floor and secures it round my wrists, tying them at the small of my back in a humiliating knot.
Now my efforts to balance get even harder. Gently he pushes me down between his knees like we have all the time in the world. His erection looms before me, red and glossy, the skin taut and thrilling. I can almost feel its heat. Nervously I lick around the tip and then swallow deep, getting to about halfway down when I see his eyes flash.
‘Hey. All the way. Each time. I’ll count the times you miss.’
Whoa. Startled, I pull back. ‘Why?’
He smiles, running his finger along my lower lip and then pinching it dead centre, bringing tears to my eyes. His eyelids lower. ‘Because I may have to administer a small punishment. And that might require a number to get us started, like, say, the number of times you missed the root of my dick, or the number of times you forgot to say “sir”. Which, by the way, is already an awful lot. You follow?’
I feel a surge of heat as I lower my eyelashes. ‘I follow. Sir,’ I add respectfully, as my mind races with thrilling possibilities.
Hands securely tied behind me, I work him thoroughly with my tongue and then start to suck, taking him as deep as I dare and pulling away again to get up to a rhythm, and then I go for broke. But to my fury he catches my head, or jerks out of reach, or seizes my hair just as I reach his root. Soon my mishaps mount up.
At last he hauls me off him and laughs as he rises to his feet and spins me round. ‘That’s plenty to be going on with. Kneel and bend forward, pronto. And hold very still while I fetch something.’
I keep my head down, eyes tight shut, dreading what’s to come. I know he’s playing, I know it’s only a ga
me.
But I know other things too. He’s under a lot of stress. He’s highly aroused. And every time we play like this, I know I’m getting deeper and deeper into it.
We spark off each other.
The thought is new and so startling I don’t realise he’s back. His touch on my glowing rear end makes me jump.
‘Hey, easy. Scared?’
‘A little,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘What’s happening?’
Now he’s smoothing me, soothing me, fondling both cheeks of my butt like I’m a nervous animal. Or prey. Which, in a sense, I am.
‘I’m going to paddle you. Just a few times, then I’ll finish with a belt. OK?’
I swallow. He sounds so matter-of-fact he could be offering me cookies. But I know this is way more intense than cookies, and my consent is way more important to him than passing a plate.
And what’s more, it’ll be a whole lot harder to take.
‘Yes, sir,’ I murmur, a little shaky.
I hear him give a deep sigh and feel his hand linger for one last, delicious fondle, and then he straightens up. I screw up my eyes and wait, poised on the brink …
Next moment his phone signals.
‘Shit.’ He swoops down to reach for it, somewhere in his trouser pocket. It takes a while because our clothes are jumbled together in a rumpled heap. At last he snatches it up, reads the display and then snaps back at the caller, ‘You cannot be serious. Check again.’
The voice at the other end is indistinct but resolute.
‘You’re sure?’
At last he ends the call and drops the phone onto the pile of fabric. Above me there’s a long silence as he stands very still.
I’m just making up my mind to risk further punishment and get to my feet when he touches my rump, still quivering near his thighs, and still aglow from my thorough spanking.
‘Now then, where were we?’
I wait for him to resume, but a new edge in his voice tells me I’m required to join in.
‘Well?’
‘Paddle. Sir,’ I add. ‘And then –’ I break off to gulp ‘– and then the belt?’
He breathes out in a long, deep sigh of satisfaction. ‘Good. You remembered. Here goes.’
He knew all along. Hearing me saying that is part of the fun?
I’ve barely time to process this thought when the first blow lands, almost catching me off-balance. The thing lands with a hard, flat slap, sending a shock wave through me as my head jerks against the edge of the sofa and I wedge it there, scared of falling over with my hands tied back too far to balance.
The thing lands again and again, the sound of it almost worse than the blows, the harsh rhythm as it lands on each side, time after time, almost worse than the sting.
At last he throws it down with a clatter and I lean into the sofa, panting for breath and throbbing where hot arousal has flared deep between my thighs and each blow has fanned some tiny, unexpected flame into full-on white heat.
I feel his erection, still wet, still hot, still bulging and still, to my amazement, unsatisfied, prodding at my rear.
‘You took that well. More?’ His voice is thick with emotion, like the mere sight of me down here on view like this stirs him deeply.
I breathe deep, almost euphoric from the effect of so much rear-end action. The pauses in between have settled me down while the intensity of the blows has grown. Now, as my arousal steadily burns, I’m becoming almost content. I could do this for hours, poised over this lake of heat, part sting, part glow, part hunger. I hear myself take a deep breath and give a long, shuddering sigh. ‘Yes, sir. More. Please.’
Yikes. Did I just say that?
And now the sting is hot as flame and the blows are harsh, but I’m already afloat on this strange new sea, where everything flashes from hot to cold and back. Now his burning rigid erection prods at me once more. This time, at long last and to my infinite joy, he surges right inside in a single, slick thrust that brings me to the verge of tears. And as he pulls slowly out and reaches round to feel me, I convulse in an eruption of release that fills my soul while he thrusts again, over and over, and finally rides me to his fill.
* * *
‘You sure about this? I said to check again, dammit.’
I wake in the early hours. The room is still dim, the New York traffic quieter than in daylight but still noisy down in the streets that never sleep. I thought I’d dreamed Darnley was speaking. But I can see him outlined against the window, his shadow tall and menacing.
As he cuts the call he looks down at me for a moment before slipping back into bed. His limbs are cold.
‘Was that work?’
‘No,’ he says quietly. ‘Problem at the beach house. Go back to sleep.’
‘Want to talk about – that tape?’
I feel him stiffen. ‘Why? Do you?’
His tone is cold. My eyes snap open. I stare at him in the dim dawn light as an awful thought occurs to me. ‘You don’t seriously think I had anything to do with that, do you?’
His eyes flicker and all at once I feel him surge up inside me. He finds my mouth, hungry now as we lie facing each other, him leaning on one of my thighs and pinned down by my other as I clasp my legs eagerly and contentedly around his waist.
When he finishes he stays inside, his hips still moving gently but deliberately against my splayed valley, his breath hot on my neck. His rippling muscles reach my spot again and again, teasing me, arousing me, until I shudder to completion in his arms and we cling together, fused in passion still warm from last night’s embers.
Slowly we drift off again into sleep, clinging like possums, easy and content.
But he’s still not answered my question.
* * *
The next day we fly back to LA. We leave by the rear exit of the building and take an early flight. In California we manage to get clear of the plane but a string of reporters tags along. The journey becomes a nightmare as we dodge the press and duck news reports. Now he’s a real celeb – but for all the wrong reasons. He remains tense and stiff-lipped. I’m getting more and more scared for him.
He dreads publicity. He dreads exposure, especially about this. His family’s furious and now they’re at risk. And he still won’t talk.
This is far worse than I ever feared. He’ll need all his strength to get through this …
But as we draw up outside his beach house I feel my stomach give a lurch.
We have a reception committee. People line the drive, along with what looks like the whole fleet of motorcycles. Among them I recognise some of his men, a squad of new recruits from the complex, and even the house staff.
As we get out of the car there’s a deafening roar as the motorcycles start revving up.
Oh, no. My heart plummets. I resist the urge to clap a hand to my mouth. They’ve seen it too. They’ve all heard him on that tape, talking about his childhood torment. And now they’re reliving his childhood horror …
Now the nightmare begins, the daily horror of facing his past in the full glare of the public eye. And the worst of it is, most people think it’s funny. It just sounds like some dumb kid lost his sense of humour, couldn’t take a joke …
At my side I feel him stiffen. He raises his chin a little. All at once the engines stop. There’s a second’s hush and the crowd suddenly breaks out into a round of wild applause. There are even some cheers.
Syra steps forward. She clears her throat as the noise quietens down. ‘Mr Wolfe, sir? We all saw that clip. Tough call, sayin’ that kinda stuff in our line of work. But tain’t easy bein’ tough all of the time. No harm folks knowin’. Maybe now they’ll git that what we do is a lot harder’n it looks. We’re all right behind you, sir, one hunnert per cent. Took a lot of courage to say all that. Yes, sir.’
The applause breaks out again and now Freda walks over, her expression warm. ‘Hi. Glad to have you back.’ She glances at me and her eyes soften. ‘Both of you.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
>
I’ve no idea what Darnley’s feeling right now, but I look round at these people with a surge of emotion. At that evening bash in Santa Rosa when I first met them they seemed merely friendly. Now all of them – the house staff, teachers, caterers and security guys, even Freda – have turned out in support.
Whatever the public thinks, people here are all behind him.
My heart swells.
I see a muscle move in his cheek as he takes a step forward. He holds up a hand for silence. ‘It seems a poor way to say it, but it’s the only way I can – thanks, everybody.’ He glances down at me and clasps my hand. ‘We really appreciate it.’ He looks up with a wry grin. ‘And if you pull a stunt like this again you’ll all get the sack. Now get back to work.’
They cheer again. With a wave he turns away and strides into the house, dragging me after him. Behind us we hear the group splitting up, the bikes setting off back to the complex and the house staff heading for their service entrances on the lower floors.
Freda follows us in. ‘Does this mean we have to make any changes here?’
‘Nope.’ He pauses. ‘Stay for supper, Freda? We’ve not seen you in a while.’
She glances at me and then away. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. I’m busy. You know how it is.’ She leans on the arm of a sofa, her long legs crossed at the ankle.
‘Eldon called me. So your parents freaked?’
He eyes her steadily. ‘Yep.’
She holds his gaze. ‘So – how did it happen?’
‘No idea. We think one of the discs was faulty.’ He seems to be avoiding my eye.
‘What? Impossible.’ She frowns, like this doesn’t add up. ‘I gave you those discs. You want me to investigate?’
‘No. Drop it.’
‘But – you’re saying I supplied you with a faulty disc? I’d never do that. You know my work, right? You know I’d never –’
‘I said, “Drop it.”’ His tone is so fierce Freda’s mouth snaps shut. Now she looks genuinely scared.
I feel almost sorry for her – or would, if a growing suspicion hadn’t suddenly taken root. Could she have done this?