by Litte, Jane
“No ‘buts,’” Ashley insisted.
Haven snorted. “So you accomplished everything on your list, then? Color me impressed.”
Ashley felt her face heat bright red. “I cannot believe you are bringing up that list now, of all times.”
Haven only grinned.
The two of them had been friends since rooming together in college—an unlikely pair as Haven was the wild and carefree art student, and Ashley was the buttoned-up science major. But after Haven had been ditched by her boyfriend, the two of them had bonded over bottles of vodka and girlfriend solidarity. That night, both of them made a list of things to experience before settling down. Once the lists were complete, they’d exchanged papers and each girl kept tabs for the other. It had cemented their friendship.
For the rest of college and a few years after, they’d continued to get together and mark things off their lists. They’d seen the Louvre together, gone kayaking, climbed a mountain, and Haven had even run with the bulls in Spain one year. Over time, the lists had whittled down to almost nothing, and the two women had moved to different cities to pursue their careers.
Ash had almost forgotten about her list, and what insane, glaring item was left on it. How tacky of Haven to bring it up now, on the eve of such an occasion.
“It’s the perfect time to discuss these things,” Haven drawled. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a worn, many-times-folded piece of paper. “What a coincidence. I have the list right here!”
Ash gasped and reached over to snatch it, but Haven slid away, scooting down her seat.
“Not so fast,” Haven said, pulling away. She held the list out of Ashley’s reach. “We made a deal a long time ago that we’d complete our lists before settling down, remember?”
“We’ve completed everything reasonable,” Ash protested, her face flushing with embarrassment. She resisted the urge to cross her arms protectively over her chest.
“Really? Because I think there’s one thing that I don’t have crossed off here. It’s under the ‘sex’ category.” Haven waved the list in Ashley’s direction. “Do you remember? Because I still haven’t marked it off for you.”
Oh, Ash remembered all right. She remembered that between slinging back their vodka shots, they’d scribbled out their list and divided everything into categories. When it came to “sex,” Haven had immediately put down “threesome.” Under her own list, Ashley had to be coaxed to answer, but when she finally did, she’d shyly written down “whipping.” The thought of a man bending her over his knee, exposing her ass, and then whipping her bottom was intensely arousing for her. At the time, she and Haven had giggled about it, but it certainly didn’t seem so funny now.
“It’s taken care of,” Ash bit out, blushing with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Josh was a good man, and she loved having sex with him, but she had never—and would never—ask him to whip her. That would just make things weird between them. Hey, baby, remember me? Your buttoned-up little wife? I’d really like it if you’d take a riding crop to my ass until I’m squirming under you.
No, she couldn’t see having that conversation with her fiancé. Even though wild Haven teased her about how boring and responsible she was, Ash liked who she was, and she wouldn’t change anything about her solid relationship with Josh.
“It’s not taken care of, because it’s not crossed off. You would have told me. And it’s too late to pull a stunt like that anyhow.”
“Those lists don’t matter, Haven,” Ashley said in an irritated voice. “I love Josh. I would never do anything to mess up our relationship. Who cares if I haven’t killed the final item on my list? I can live with it, so let it go.”
To Ashley’s surprise, Haven nodded and folded the list, tucking it in to her bra. “You’re right. And hey, anyhow, the limo’s almost here. Let’s get your blindfold on for the party.”
Haven had set up the elaborate bachelorette party for her, and the blindfold was part of the surprise. Ash pulled her hair into a ponytail and obediently leaned in as Haven put the party blindfold over her face. She could hear her best friend’s giggles as they got out of the limo, and Haven led her by the hand out of the street and into a building. A large building, judging by the echoes and murmurs of conversation around them.
“Did you rent a hotel room for the party?”
“Nothing but the best,” Haven agreed, and Ash smiled.
Haven continued to lead her up the elevator and through the hotel, and when things seemed to get quieter, Ash knew they had turned down a hallway. She waited as she heard Haven fiddling with the room key card, then heard the click of the door opening. Ash braced herself, waiting for the outpouring of cheers from partygoers.
Silence. That was odd. Ash frowned and tilted her head, trying to see out from underneath the blindfold as Haven tugged her forward, grabbing both of her hands. “Are we here yet?”
“We’re here,” Haven said in an almost gleeful voice.
“I can’t hear anyone,” Ash admitted, still smiling. “Are they hiding?”
“Not exactly,” Haven said, and then clicked something cool around Ash’s wrist. Before Ash could react, Haven gently twisted her other arm behind her back, and linked the other cool object around her free wrist.
Handcuffs. Her hands were now tied behind her back.
Ash jerked at the cuffs, twisting her arms slightly. “Haven? What the hell?”
Someone reached over and lightly kissed her cheek. “You’ll thank me for this later,” Haven said in a cheerful voice, and then stepped away, a rush of cool air brushing against Ashley’s skin. Moments passed, then the door to the room opened.
She’s not leaving, Ash thought with panicked irritation, jerking at the cuffs again. “You are so dead, Haven. So. Very. Dead.”
“She’s all yours,” Haven said to someone, and then laughed. “And remember what I told you. Miss Prim and Proper here wants to be spanked.”
“HAVEN!”
The door shut with a soft click.
Ash froze, then swung her head around. The blindfold was still on and she couldn’t see anything. The room was silent, but who had Haven been speaking to?
She licked her dry lips. “Hello? Who’s there?”
Footsteps moved across the room from her.
Ash turned toward the sound, forcing a small, nervous smile to her mouth. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding here. A big one. I’m supposed to—”
A finger touched her mouth. “Shhhh.”
The words dried in Ashley’s throat. She could scent the man now, a familiar mixture of sandalwood and bergamot. It didn’t stop the thrill rising through her body—the nervous mixture of excitement and fear that made her skin prickle.
“Who are you?” she demanded again, straining to see through the blindfold.
Her question was ignored. His finger slid from her lips and moved down her chin, down her throat, drawing a light, tickling line and stopping between her breasts.
Ash’s breath caught in her throat when the finger paused. Would it move to the side? Touch her breasts? Or continue downward? She jerked away slightly, a reflexive action. She was embarrassed by her own thoughts—to think that she wanted this man to touch her! And that she wanted him to keep going, of all things.
Haven was so very dead when she got free of her handcuffs.
“Relax,” the voice whispered, husky and close to her ear. “You’ve been quite a naughty girl, haven’t you?”
She shivered and jerked again at the handcuffs. “I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding here—” Ash said.
Her words were cut off when he laid his finger across her lips again, silencing her.
She spoke around his finger, determined to be heard. “I’d be happy to shut up if you’d just let me go so I can get out of here and back to my party.”
There was a deep, rumbling laugh. “You’re staying with me.”
She felt a hand brush across her collarbone, to where her pale, lacy top expo
sed a small amount of skin. Again, Ash shivered. His hand skimmed along her collar and moved over her shoulder, then down her back. The touch was exceedingly personal, light but possessive at the same time, and she wanted to protest.
Except a deep, dark part of her secretly liked it.
The man’s hand slowly wandered down to where her hands were cuffed behind her back and she stilled, breathless with anticipation, waiting to hear the click of the latch come undone.
But she didn’t hear it. Instead, his hands went to the waistband of her swingy black skirt and wrenched it down. The charming side-button popped off the skirt and she heard it crack against the wall.
Ash gasped in shock, staggering slightly as the skirt slithered down her legs. It exposed her panties—modest, demure, and just a little bit lacy. Nothing racy. Not for her. No panty hose, either—Vegas was too hot for that sort of thing. Prickles moved up and down her skin. “Um, what are you doing?”
The fabric was caught around her legs, and she wobbled forward, trying to get away, only to have the man’s arm lock around her waist. Next, he ripped at the collar of her pretty lace top, and it fell open, exposing her bra. His hand expertly went to the front of her bra and undid the clasp, and her breasts slid free of their confinement. She could smell his cologne again, could smell it even as he stood behind her, pressing his body against her own. The breath died in her throat when she felt the thick, prodding length of his erection against the small of her back. When he pulled her forward a step, she dazedly followed.
His hand pressed down on her shoulders, at the base of her neck—a suggestion that she should lean forward. She did so, feeling unsure until her knees hit the edge of what felt like a bed.
“You’ve been a very bad girl, Ashley,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Sneaking away from your fiancé and playing around with other men.”
“No, I’m not! I didn’t—”
When he continued to press her forward, she tumbled onto the mattress, her cheek planting into the covers. Awkwardly, she sprawled there, waiting.
He was right behind her. His hand sprawled possessively across the naked small of her back, and then moved. She felt him pull the skirt tight around her feet, then yanking it off her legs. With rough hands, he grabbed her hips and positioned her just the way he wanted—the side of her face pressed against the bedcovers, her knees locked together as he moved her. Her ass rose into the air, covered by nothing but a scrap of lacy white panties.
“Naughty,” he said, giving her a warning slap directly on the seam of her sex.
Her body clenched. She felt the slickness between her legs, and her breathing became deep and slow with desire.
Ash realized what this was, now. Her fear gave way to need. Haven had Ashley’s list, and had known that she would never ask Josh for rough, kinky sex. She’d never ask him for a long, hot session of spanking. It just wasn’t in Ash to request that sort of thing from her sweet, caring fiancé. But Haven knew her dirtiest secret, and like a true friend, she was going to make it happen for Ashley, on her last night of freedom.
The thought was a heady one, and turned her on like nothing imaginable. He was going to spank her. Hard.
So when he ran a hand over her upraised rump, Ash sighed, even as her hips gave a slight roll. The anticipation was building inside her, making her nearly tremble with want.
His hands moved over her raised buttocks, skimming the flesh and trailing down her thighs, as if deciding what to do with her. Ash went absolutely still, not wanting to influence the decision. For some reason, it had to be his choice, and not through any persuasion of her own. She tensed slightly, even more when his hand rested on the curve of her buttock.
He gave it a light, stinging slap through the fabric of her panties.
Her sex clenched again, and she made a small noise of surprise, her body jerking. It wasn’t a hard tap, just enough to make the skin sting with the impact. Her nipples tightened against the blankets and she gave a slight quiver, waiting for the next blow. It landed on her other buttock, as if he had to make sure both got the same amount of attention.
“Very naughty,” he breathed over her. “Do you want to be punished?”
She squirmed slightly in response, the anticipation making her jumpy with need.
Warm hands rested on her upraised buttocks, and she gave a slight wiggle, waiting for the next slap against her flesh. To her surprise—and delight—the hands grasped her modest panties and tugged them slowly down her thighs, exposing her pale flesh to the air.
“We need a safe word,” he said in a low, musing voice. “Any time you want me to stop, or if I’m hurting you, just say the word ‘bachelorette.’ Understand?”
Wordless, she nodded.
Again, the warm hand came down on the full of her buttock, this time a bit harder, the sting lasting a bit longer. A second hard swat on the same cheek caused her breath to intake sharply, the crisp pain that much sharper this time. Her hips gave a slight roll of encouragement and she bit her lip to keep from moaning aloud. Harder, she wanted to say. Go harder. Push me past the edge.
But she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
The hands caressed her ass, dancing lightly over the stinging flesh, before coming down in another hard smack. And another. She was totally wet now, her breath no longer soft and slow but quick and gasping. Each of the smacks seemed to be a little harder than the last, the sting with a bit more edge to it. He was careful to hit the full curve of her bottom, never too high. Just the right spot that would cause her flesh to jiggle in response, and that she’d feel the impact the most. It was incredibly erotic, made even more so by the fact that the other participant seemed to be taking his time—as if exploring her body and trying to determine what she liked the most. This went on for dozens of spanking slaps—some hard, some more gentle, some that stung for long minutes after the hit. Each one built her desire even more than the last.
“Are you enjoying this?” he would ask her.
She would give a small wiggle of distress as a response.
It would never satisfy him. He’d give her a slap on the behind, hard and stinging, until she answered. And each time, she’d have to answer with a small, breathless, “Yes!”
After a particularly bruising smack against the now-sensitive curve of her ass, she could bite her lip no longer. A long, moaning gasp escaped her and she rolled her hips, hard, desperately needing something more.
The man paused over her, his fingers rubbing at the sore spot on her skin. There was a long pause as his fingers continued to play with the curve of her ass, then he growled, “Did you like that?”
“Yes,” she bit out after a moment, learning to respond to his commands. A blush suffused her cheeks. “I like it. I . . . like it harder, too.” She bit her lip after that confession, suddenly shy for demanding more. But if this was her night—her one last night of having her fantasy come to life, then shouldn’t she ask? So she spoke again. “Harder . . . please.”
The soft chuckle of his voice seemed to rasp all the way through her body, and her sex grew even more liquid with heat. If she could touch herself, she knew that her sex would be slick with need, but he hadn’t touched her there. Not yet. He’d only spanked her. Odd how that was so thrilling and yet not enough at the same time.
The bed shifted suddenly, and he got up and walked away. Ashley frowned, turning her head toward the movement on the far side of the room. Was something wrong? Her throat went dry and the delightful throbbing centered around her hips seemed to ebb away.
Had she messed up? Because she wanted more? It didn’t seem fair.
“If you want more, you’ll have to tell me.”
Ash swallowed hard. It went against everything in her, to ask him to give her more. Her cheeks burned with shame at the thought. What would Josh think if he knew her thoughts?
But . . . he wasn’t touching her enough. The delicious spankings had stopped. His hand skimmed her flesh, but she needed more. She needed it hard, and rough—r
ougher than what he’d given her. And she was only going to get it if she asked.
So she wet her lips. Thought. Gave a little sigh, and then said, “I’ve dreamed about being spanked. For forever. I’ve always wanted it a little hard and rough, and just a little bit . . .” she hesitated. “A little bit rough.”
“A little?” he asked in a husky voice.
She hesitated, then . . . What did it matter? So she added, “A lot. So rough that it . . . hurts . . . just a little.”
He said nothing.
Her body tensed, waiting for his response with a mental cringe. Would he find her weird because she was demanding that he hurt her? Or would he find it a turn-on? She froze in place, waiting.
But he gave a soft chuckle of acknowledgement, and she felt his hand glide over her ass again. “I think we can do that, since you asked so nicely.”
Relieved and boneless once more, she relaxed as his open palm caressed the still-pleasant stinging curve of her ass.
A strange sound cut through the air—almost like a zipping noise—before she felt the impact of a small, thin, flexible whip crack across her buttocks. It wasn’t hard, but the sudden jolting sting made her moan in surprise. Her words died in her throat.
He’d just . . . whipped her.
Oh, fuck yes. This time, she wasn’t able to stop the moan rising in her throat.
He chuckled low in his throat at that. “You like that, don’t you? Hard and just a little rough?”
She bit her lip, wriggling on the bed. The impact of the whip against her skin was much, much sharper than the crack of his hand against her flesh. And it was a total, complete turn-on. Her sex gave a deep throb and her entire body tensed in delighted anticipation.
“No answer?” he murmured low, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s very naughty of you. You know how we play.” And he tapped it against her ass, waiting.
She shook her head against the covers.
“Tell me what you want. Now.”
Her breath exploded out of her throat, and it took everything she had not to arch her back in a silent request for more. “I . . . Do it again. Please.”