His Indecent Proposition

by Aphrodite Hunt

  This is no different from a date, she tells herself.

  She raps the door twice, and then enters.

  He is standing by the windows and looking at the glorious sunset outside. The red ball of sun has sunk between two skyscrapers and has touched the surrounding sky with a hazy crimson tint. He is silhouetted against this amazing view, and he turns as she approaches him.

  “Very punctual,” he remarks. “I like what I see of you so far, Susan Chalmers.”

  She is aware of the implications of that statement. “Thank you, sir.”

  So far, he has not asked her to stop calling him ‘sir’. It must be his military upbringing, she decides.

  “Are you naked beneath your skirt, Susan?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh, but he is so beautiful. Prior to today, she has only seen him from a distance – the closest being from across a boardroom table.

  “Show me,” he says. “Lift up your skirt.”

  It is an unusual request – one that she has never had before, not even at a doctor’s office. She bends down and tugs the hem of her skirt up. She raises it high – to above the level of her hips. His eyes rove down to her revealed pussy.

  She’s embarrassed to find herself wet again. Very wet. In fact, she’s running all over with a sudden deluge of juices at the thought of him scrutinizing her.

  “Very good,” he says. “Did you caress yourself in your office?”

  Caress herself? No. She shakes her head.

  “You should. I would like to see you caress yourself before our week is up. Now take off your clothes.”

  With his heated eyes inspecting her every move, she removes her clothes and lays them neatly on the back of the chair once again. She wonders what he has done with her previously discarded panties.

  “Nice,” he says once she is completely naked but for her shoes. She makes to toe them off, but he says, “No, leave them on. I like you with them.”

  He starts to shrug off his dark jacket. It’s made out of the finest homespun wool, she can see. He loosens his grey tie until its noose becomes a wide oval, and slips it off his neck. Her heart skips a beat as he unbuttons his white shirt – one button at a time. His hairless chest peeks between the lapels. It’s well-formed, as she suspects, with pectorals that are bulging, but not too much. Just like her before him, he pulls the hem of his shirt out of his belt.

  She can’t take her eyes off him. His abs are washboard hard and the muscle delineation of his arms suggests a man who works out in the gym at least three times a week. He is not bodybuilder bulky and he is lean, with no ounce of spare fat anywhere on his torso.

  Is it wrong for her to desire him?

  He appears to desire her as well, as evidenced by the mild flaring of his nostrils. He unbuckles his belt – brown leather with a gold ‘G’ Gucci insignia upon it. He is wearing boxers underneath, and the bulge at his crotch is obvious.

  Oh so obvious.

  A tendril of desire and expectation runs between her legs.

  She expects him to take the belt off and drop his pants, but he doesn’t.

  “Come here, Susan.”

  Like a shivering filly, she goes to him. Her red heels spear the carpet and leave peg-like imprints. When she gets close enough, he grabs her breasts again.

  “I like these,” he says, roaming his hands over her rich curves and nipples. He pinches her nipples – not painfully – and watches as they swell and perk up. Her stomach does a flip flop.

  “May I kiss you?” she whispers.

  This takes him aback.

  “You want to kiss me?”

  “Yes. I would like that . . . very much.”

  “Why?”

  Now it’s her turn to be unsettled. She falters. “I-I thought we’re going to make love.”

  He smiles benignly. “I don’t make love, Susan Chalmers. I fuck. Hard. Many times a day. And I don’t kiss either. Now turn around.”

  She’s trembling. The word ‘fuck’ reverberates in her head. She turns and proffers him the view of her back. She holds her breath as his hands slide down her back and waist, lingering upon the hourglass curve of her hips. She is not a thin or small woman. She trends towards the voluptuous, and she has to really watch what she eats lest she puts on weight.

  His hands dip down to the swell of her buttocks. He cups them.

  “Have you ever been spanked, Susan?”

  A sliver of fear blossoms within her spine and traverses all the way down to her legs.

  “No, sir.”

  He continues to caress the firm flesh of her buttocks as her anticipation – and terror – escalates. No, she has never been spanked. Never contemplated it. She has never been physically hit in her entire life. She has heard of such sexually-orientated practices, of course, but has always chalked their practitioners to be rock star and celebrity types; not normal everyday people.

  But Channing Crawford is far from being your normal everyday person.

  He takes huge chunks of her buttock flesh in his palms and squeezes. “You have wonderfully unblemished skin.”

  Her heart skips several beats. She’s frightened, and at the same time, she wants him to slide his hand between her legs from the back and finger her pussy, which is once again extremely wet. She wants him to delve into the recesses between her clit and pussy lips again.

  Disappointingly, he withdraws his hands. He walks to her front and gestures to a low glass table in the middle of the sofa and armchair arrangement.

  “Get on top of that,” he commands. “Get on your hands and knees on all fours.”

  Her pulse is hammering at her throat as she climbs onto the table. But it’s glass. Won’t it break? The table seems sturdy enough, and it doesn’t even shift as she concentrates her weight on one part of it.

  He’s done this before, she thinks.

  She crouches on her palms and knees, her buttocks up in the air. Her shoes jut beyond the table’s edge.

  “Spread your legs wider,” he says from behind her. “I want to see that pussy.”

  She complies; shifting her knees on the glass surface as far as the edges of the table would allow her. He remains standing behind her as the sun sinks beneath the tops of the buildings and twilight encroaches upon them.

  Oh, but she so badly wants to be touched down there. Surely he can see the glistening dewdrops of desire on the mouth of her sex, which is opening and closing like a hungry anemone?

  She hears the soft swish of his belt being taken off. She cringes. A little moan escapes her throat.

  He senses her terror.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’re not ready for the belt. At least, not today.”

  He strides to his desk. He has removed his pants and he is now in his boxers. She watches his buttocks roll in the silky material. Oh, but he has such a marvelous back – with streamlined lats and fantastically sculpted scapulae. He opens the drawer and takes something out, then he returns to her. The front of his boxers is tented with his obvious erection.

  A hot flush spreads from her cheeks down to her breasts.

  He shows the object to her. It is a flat paddle – made of some sort of flexible wood. It has designs and cravings upon it of an ethnic variety that she does not recognize.

  “I bought this from Bali,” he says.

  She licks her lips in trepidation. Her eyes begin to fill with tears.

  “Please, sir . . . ”

  “Yes?” He pauses.

  “I-I . . . don’t think I can take the pain.” This comes out in a rush. She has always been afraid of pain, she who has never been spanked or beaten in her entire life. She’s also afraid of needles and doctor appointments and anything associated with bodily pain. Yes, she knows she’s a wuss, but she can’t help it.

  He smiles, and there’s a glint of something tender in his eyes.

  There’s a lyrical wistfulness to his voice as he says, “When I was a child, I didn’t think I could take the pain either. But then he made me take it, and he m
ade me what I am today. You will be much improved for it.”

  Tears come to her eyes. If her palms weren’t involved in balancing her current state, she would have clenched them.

  He walks to her left side.

  “Are you ready, Susan?”

  The air is electrified with charged particles. She can almost smell the burnt iron crust of the atoms between them.

  No, she wants to say, I will never be ready.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” he cautions her.

  The first blow takes her unawares.

  Twack!

  Oh my God. Her buttocks are running all over with fire and tears of pain squeeze out of her eyes. It hurts. It really hurts! She didn’t think that a slender paddle like that could cause so much pain, but it does.

  Twack!

  She gushes out a cry this time. The tears spill over to her cheeks. There will be no one to hear her in the office now – not on this floor. It occurs to her that she can stop this anytime. Concede a walkover to Leonard Drake. Please, sir, I yield my contention to Leonard. Make him VP instead, not me!

  But why should she? Just because she can’t stand a little pain on her well-fed buttocks?

  Get a hold of yourself, Susan. You’re made of sterner stuff than this.

  She finds herself clenching her buttocks to lessen the impact of the blows. He continues to spank her thoroughly, as though she is a child that must be chastised. The sharp sounds of the paddle in contact with her rapidly reddening flesh echo in the otherwise still atmosphere.

  Thuck!

  A sob worms out of her throat.

  Twack!

  Twack!

  She can hear his breathing grow harsher – not with effort, she’s sure, but desire.

  The hot tears run and run down her cheeks and drip off her chin onto the glass table. She lets out a piteous cry with each strike of the paddle, each a little louder than before. Her helplessness seems to spur him on further. Now she can hear the paddle whistling through the air before the inevitable smack on her rump, which she has no doubt is very red by now.

  There’s something debasing about this whole scene . . . and yet gratifying.

  She hardly realizes he has stopped. Her butt is a fiery explosion of pain and heat, and her eyes are so blurred she can scarcely register what’s before her. He is a vague vision in front of her. She blinks.

  He has taken off his boxers, and his cock is a rigid magnificent beast before her. Its uncircumcised head poises in front of her mouth, and she can see every curved vein upon its shaft. His entire organ glistens, full to almost bursting with whatever sap it has accumulated.

  A lump forms in her throat.

  “Suck me,” he says hoarsely.

  Without warning, he shoves his cock towards her mouth. She opens it hungrily. In it slides. She tastes his silken skin upon her tongue, which is immediately flattened by its enormous girth.

  He crams his cock down her throat as far as it would go. She gags.

  “Good girl,” he says in a soothing voice, his hand on her hair. He strokes her head almost lovingly. “Now suck me . . . hard.”

  She tries to, but his cock is so large than she can barely maintain her cheek muscle traction around it. She tries to flick her tongue around his shaft, but even that is difficult. She wants to tell him to take it out – to let her caress it with butterfly licks first outside her mouth – but she cannot speak. So she keeps her mouth open and her cheeks as closed in as possible while he pumps into her in a semblance of fucking.

  Her teeth graze upon his foreskin.

  “Suck me harder.”

  She increases her suction pressure. Her cheeks bulge with the effort.

  “Harder.” His voice grows harsher.

  A thrill runs down her spine and between her legs as she redoubles her effort.

  “Not good enough,” he says, withdrawing his cock from her mouth.

  There’s a sudden hollowness in her throat and green zigzags appear before her eyes. He moves to her side and picks up the paddle. Before she can plead with him, a sharp twack comes down on her buttocks again. The pain is hot, exquisite.

  She cries out.

  He paddles her several times more until she’s weeping and tears are raining down her face.

  “Please, sir, no more. Please . . . let me suck you again. I’ll be better.”

  He stops the spanking and moves to her front.

  In goes his hard cock – and she swallows it with vigor.

  She’s somewhat enjoying this, she realizes. The pain, not so much, but his complete domination of her is a role reversal she has never experienced before, and she finds it deeply sexual and thrilling.

  She sucks and sucks at him until she’s seeing stars in her eyes, and she’s gratified to hear his breathing grow harsher and feel his fingers digging into and clawing her hair.

  “Ohhh,” he moans, and the sound is music to her ears. The thought of pleasuring this powerful, dangerous man and bringing him to the cusp of orgasm is heady – intoxicating.

  He thrusts his cock into her mouth repeatedly. She suppresses her gag reflex and lets him go as deep as he can go – right against the back of her throat. He does it again and again, and his breathing grows so ragged that she is sure he will come this way.

  And then he stops.

  He withdraws his still rock hard cock from her mouth.

  She pants with the effort, and sweat beads her brow. Her tears have dried on her cheeks somewhat, and she is glad she wears no mascara because it would have run, smudging her face.

  “Are you on the pill?” he rasps.

  “Yes.”

  Since she has started having sex with Brad Thornbird, she has been on the pill because he likes to do it without a condom.

  “I’m going to fuck you. Keep still.”

  He’s not asking for permission, she understands. Her palms and knees are already aching with the prolonged maintenance of her current position. She closes her eyes as his shadow passes over her as he moves to her side. So he’s going to take her on all fours, like an animal. There’s something intensely erotic about the idea.

  “I want you to feel me and only me,” he says.

  He picks up his tie – the very one he has so callously dropped onto the floor – and wraps it around her eyes.

  “Oh,” she cries as he tightens it and ties it behind her head. Darkness immediately closes in on her. She can feel the two arms of the tie draping down her neck, the silk a whispery touch against her flushed skin.

  She hears his footsteps with her heightened sense of sound. She can feel his hands on her hips. He caresses her buttocks – those very buttocks he has inflamed with his merciless spanking of it – and his hands are cool and soft and gentle.

  The head of his cock nudges the hole of her wet pussy. She moans as her womb actually contracts with need. She wants him inside her – needs him desperately.

  He thrusts into her without warning. She lets out a little scream at the sudden pain. It soon abates, and her moist, dripping passage is filled with his thick, warm flesh, and her walls are pushed apart to its maximal circumference, and he feels oh so good and large and omnipresent. He is right. In her darkness, all her senses are attenuated to that one region where he is joined to her, and she can feel every nuance, every curve of his molded flesh inside her.

  He begins to fuck her . . . hard. It is as he promised. His hips slam against her buttocks, and his cock pistons in and out of her well-juiced vagina easily and lavishly. She can hear the moist, slick noises of their union, and it is all she can do to maintain her balance on the glass table.

  He grunts with each stroke, and she responds in kind. Her palms and knees are sliding forward, pushed with each roughshod pummel of his thrusts. He grabs her hips to steady her.

  Her moans become louder as his pumping intensifies. Oh, but he feels so good. She’s filled in every way she imagines possible – her erotic folds all expanded. His member goes in as deep as he can possibly go, right up to the hung
ry mouth of her roiling womb. It’s good, hard sex – the kind she is not used to getting often. Her lovers are mostly gentle, a little clumsy and trigger happy.

  One of his hands creeps down to the front of her sex.

  As he continues to impale her, his fingers grope for her clit. She moans as he begins an oscillatory massage, once again delving into her clefts and igniting her most intimate recesses. His cock strikes a special spot in her passage – one that sends her into a frenzy of enhanced stimulation.

  She whimpers, and he takes it as a signal to drive himself into her harder. And all the while, his fingers worry her tender nub of a clit. Harder and faster, and faster and harder, until she’s panting, and whimpering, and moaning, and crying out loud, and babbling “please please please please” over and over in some sort of senseless evocation.

  In her simulated darkness, there comes an explosion of color and non-color, of sight and sightlessness, of sound and no sound. She feels herself rising and falling and expanding and falling off the edge as her climax takes her. A hard surface slams against her breasts, and she understands that she has fallen on her belly, and his hands are buoying her hips up. The crest continues to float her up. And she feels a hot spurt flood her pussy, and it’s deep and oh so satisfying. It fills and fills her until she’s brimming, and spilling it over her rim, and she feels it trickling down her inner thighs and down, down, down to her knees.

  Oh, oh, oh, oh!

  He’s panting hard too. He squeezes her buttocks as his orgasm abates. His breathing slows, and he finally pulls his cock out of her wet, wet pussy.

  He slides his hands over her back and breasts. With a sharp tug, he whips her makeshift blindfold off.

  The ceiling light floods her eyes, and she squints in the sudden brightness.

  “You can go now,” he says. “Come see me first thing in the morning.”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  She’s trembling, and so he helps her off the table. Her ass is smarting and his semen is still trickling out of her pussy. She can scarcely maintain her balance as she gets down on her feet. She almost topples over in her heels, but he grabs her waist in time.

  She’s face to face with him. Breasts to naked chest. She gazes into his shimmering blue eyes. His face is flushed and his lips are parted, and his brow is just as sweat-dripped as hers. A look of clear and sudden confusion graces his handsome features.