So, I hastily said, "Thank you, Dan," in a much cheekier fashion than someone who was anticipating a spanking should have.
And he didn't let loose of my chin. "Try it again, missy, without the sarcasm." Gone was the jovial fellow with the ready smile, although I could still see him there, buried deep in those black eyes of his. In his place was what I had obviously intuited had been there all along—a no-nonsense Dom.
I shivered once at his tone, then repeated, "Thank you, Dan," in a much more believable manner—and I meant it.
"You're welcome, baby."
I was down to my bra and panties by now and feeling quite exposed and defenseless, especially without the added four inches of my pumps. He wasn't overwhelmingly larger than I was, but he was certainly much taller, and he was still in most of a gorgeous suit—including his tie, which looked a little out of place.
And I'd had more than enough demonstrations of his strength, which outstripped mine by miles.
Dan walked around me once, then looped his arms around me from behind, pulling me back against him as he nibbled on my shoulder. "Parts of me wish that your first disciplinary session with me was more of a planned event—you deserve more ritual than you're going to get this time. But other parts of me are very happy." He rubbed his hard on blatantly against my lower back. "Happy not to have to wait any longer to make you my own in several different ways."
As I practically hyperventilated at his words, he undid my bra and came around front to hook a finger between my breasts and relieve me of it while staring directly into my eyes. Then he ran his hands down my sides, deliberately catching my panties and pulling them down to my ankles, where he paused a moment, and I could see him thinking before he held my hand to help me step out of them.
Wonderful manners, even in the bedroom. I felt as if I had struck gold with him.
But not so much when, seconds later, I ended up over his lap. He was so blasted tall that I wasn't really on the end of the bed at all, as I had been before whenever I'd been spanked like this—by shorter men, apparently. Nope—I was most definitely in that classic position over his knees and feeling just that much more vulnerable because of it—I had nothing else supporting me at all.
"Now, let me tell you how this is going to work. Your safe word is 'exit', but I don't expect to hear it unless you're sick or you've got a cramp or something. If you reach a hand back, you're going to lose the use of it for the rest of the spanking. If you kick up, I'm just going to put my leg over yours and continue. If I end with both of your hands at your back, I'll bind your wrists behind you with my tie."
Ah. I knew there had to be a reason he was still wearing it.
"Do not try to get off my lap. You won't like how I'll respond to that at all."
And with that, he began to spank. No further lecture—and what was a thousand times worse—no pauses and no rubbing.
He simply spanked, open palmed, with that huge hand of his distributing the swats pretty evenly—not that that helped much after the first stinging layer.
The man knew how to do it. He hadn't been joking when he said that he didn't play spank.
And he was absolutely right that, even very early on into it, I was already regretting that I'd agreed to let him do it.
With relatively little effort on his part, Dan didn't just have me yelling—and he didn't really have me screaming. To my great mortification, he had me positively howling—wailing, really—long before he was through. Luckily, I was in a new building, and few of the other apartments had been rented, so it wasn't likely that the police were going to end up at my door because of the racket I was making, but still. I had never been spanked like that before—I was bawling like a baby from the get go—almost from the first swat. He put everyone else I'd allowed to touch me like this to shame.
It was probably the closest I'd ever come to using a safe word when I didn't really have a valid reason to. And this was my first spanking by him. It more than kind of made me want to reconsider having given him my permission to do so.
Just when I was at the point of considering saying the magic word that would end my suffering, it stopped. Well, the spanking stopped, anyway, the searing of my flesh continued on unabated and even worsened, just as it would if he'd actually burned my flesh instead of approximating it just by spanking it.
He held me firmly in place, but I could tell he was doing something by his jerky movements, but I was so involved in my own misery that I couldn't even begin to fathom what it was—nor did I care.
It wasn't until I felt him lift me a bit so that he could move me around and pull me upwards with him to the millions of pillows I always had at the head of my bed, stretching himself out and arranging me on top of him that I realized his movements had been because he was undressing himself.
He was totally naked beneath me, and although he might not have been the muscle-bound type I usually went for, he was still damned gorgeous, lightly tanned—all over—well defined muscles, veins everywhere, obviously both strong and fast. I could feel the steely column of his erection poking into my too soft belly as his hands brushed aside my hair to rub slowly, luxuriously up and down my back, massaging my shoulders and all the way down my arms to my fingertips, then back up again and down my sides, studiously avoiding my still sizzling behind as I continued to weep softly on his chest.
At first, my legs were between his, but then, suddenly, I lost that safe, comforting position and I found my lower body spread wide over him, in yet another terribly open position, but he was holding his own legs so far apart that I couldn't close mine around them.
"Dan," I whimpered. "Stop."
I could hear his chuckle beneath my chest. "No, honey. I want you. I've wanted you since even before that delightfully revealing 'D/s thing' text. Since I saw you very carefully—but covertly, I'm sure you thought—trying to avoid meeting me that night at Sharon's."
I wanted to mull over what he'd just said—it seemed important—but I'd never been so smoothly flipped in my life—all of a sudden I wasn't lying on his chest, but instead, found myself lying on my back—on my burning behind—still unable to bring my legs together, but this time because his torso was between them.
"Tell me, my little sub, do you usually come while you're being fucked?" he asked as he dragged himself down my body, deliberately rubbing himself against the delicacies that my open legs usually protected from such rough handling.
Not expecting the question and horribly distracted as I was by the coarse chest hairs and firm muscles that were being deliberately dragged over my very sensitive bits, I panted, "S-some t-times, yes, sometimes, n- no."
"Hmm. Do you come easily, or does it take a while?"
He'd arrived where he wanted to be, right between my well- spread legs, burrowing both hands under my sore bottom and lifting me callously, so that I was less than an inch from his mouth, my hands itching to pull him the rest of the way into me, but luckily I had sense enough to realize that would not be the thing to do. And then, knowing I was watching him avidly, he licked his lips slowly, sensually, in anticipation.
My mind was completely gone by now. I wanted his mouth on me so badly I would have sworn that I could feel it already. "No m-more questions—p-please!"
Dan tsked loudly. "I'm sorry, honey, but you don't get to decide that. Answer me, or I'll flip you over and singe your behind again—worse this time."
Oh, God, I knew I'd never live through that! Think! Think! Think, quickly! "S-sorry, but it d-depends."
"That's all right. I should have guessed as much. Women are much more individualistic about these things than men are. Stroke most of us long enough and we're going to come, whether we want to or not. Women require much more finesse than us cavemen. I would bet you're multi-orgasmic, too, right?"
I was reduced to nodding.
He was quiet for a moment, and I wasn't looking down at him, until he exclaimed, "Good Lord, woman, you're positively leaking all over me—it's running down my forearm!"
That had never happened to me before, either. I had certainly gotten wet enough that my partner commented appreciatively, but I'd never been accused of actually leaking my juices before.
"S-sorry," I mumbled, embarrassed to be me yet again with him.
"Don't you dare be," he scolded, tone deep and foreboding. "It's an incredible turn on—I'm wet all down my front, too, and you're still dripping your lovely cream onto me and the sheets."
I was glad that he wasn't mad at it, since I couldn't control it, but I was still a little mortified at the thought.
I had wondered why he had asked how easily I came, but it became evident once his lips found me, lapping and licking slowly, front to back, side to side—it was clear that he was trying out different techniques on me. And every one of them was driving me out of my mind—I arched my hips out of his hands, trying to grind my face against him, but he easily hauled me back down and held me there, firmly reminding me that I was not in charge.
"P-please!"
I began begging ridiculously early, having no idea just how long he was going to draw this out, as he tested pressures and speeds and remembered just what drove me out of my mind with pleasure, never repeating something that hadn't made me moan or, in some cases, outright growl.
"Isabella?" he murmured, resting his slightly stubbly chin on my mons as his fingers began to explore my sopping, greedy entrance.
"Yes, Daniel?"
"You do not have permission to come. Remember that. If you come, I will flay your behind, then fuck you for my own ends, making sure you get nothing out of it besides a well-used pussy."
Oh, God. I knew I should have been alarmed at his words, but I couldn't summon anything beyond even more unbearable excitement. "Yes, Daniel."
By the time he moved up to lie atop me, I had beseeched the gods of several different religions—none of which I believed in—to help me, to bring me some sort of release or relief that he refused to, but to no avail. I was made utterly mindless by the ferocity of my unfulfilled pleasure, able to think of nothing else. When I felt him cover me, adoring how big he was as he hovered over me, I felt his cock against my belly and my hips rose to try to rub myself against him and take my pleasure for myself.
But he raised himself far enough away from me that no more friction was available, and I wept out loud, at least as hard as I had when he was setting fire to my butt.
Dan seemed at least a little sympathetic. "Aw, poor baby. Would you like me to soothe you a bit? Would you like to be filled, stuffed to overflowing with my cock?"
"P-please?" I whimpered.
And in one swift movement that left me arching and gasping and trying to clench around him—spasming, really, was more of what I was doing—my body—despite its liquid tribute to him—unprepared to receive anything of quite that size, not that I had a choice. He was already balls deep in me, rocking his hips forward to claim even more of me as I writhed beneath him, pinned, as I was, and helpless. Taken. Fully and completely possessed by him as he gazed down at me as if I wasn't struggling to try to accommodate him within me. But his words let me know that he was very aware of just how hard this was for me—mentally and physically.
"That's it, Isabella. Relax and surrender. It's all over, you're mine now, and I'm going to have you like this every time the mood strikes me. I love filling you like this. I can feel every inch of you; I can feel all of the involuntary micro-contractions of your cunt trying to come to grips with me, and I can see—and I love—the shock of it on your face. You'll never quite get used to my size, though. I can promise you that, especially not someone who is virginal as you are." Then he bent down to my ear, and whispered, "Just wait until I start to fuck you. At least I don't have to worry about you coming for a little while, anyway, do I? You couldn't come now, no matter how badly you want to. I think I probably just knocked you back to square one in that regard."
But his eager mouth on my nipples helped me, surprisingly quickly, back down the path to an even more heightened pleasure—my nipples were extremely sensitive, and I could be made to orgasm solely from them.
He seemed to have some sort of inner sense about this, and when he saw just how much I was enjoying it, he began to bite more often than suckle. And then he began to move.
It didn't hurt, exactly—but it definitely focused my attention. It was more a very stark reminder of my submission to him—proof of his strength as he held me still for it, of his masculinity as he forced me more widely open around him than any other man I've ever had.
To my shame, it didn't take very long before I was groaning beneath him every time he rammed into me.
"Oh, you are going to be a challenge, aren't you? To keep all of this very exciting, very rampant sexuality of yours contained and under my strict control," he breathed as he labored over me, prying hands that had been gathering bedclothes into their fierce grasp to affect some kind of ability to move—or even just still—my own body, which was gleefully adding to my misery in pursuit of a climax, but he wouldn't have it. "Put your hands out at your sides."
But there was nothing to grab onto there, my mind screamed. I would be even more at his mercy than I already was if I did that!
When I did that, and I did, because I knew I did not want him to punish me a second time so soon after the first. Or a second time, at all, perhaps was more accurate.
I couldn't really know anything anymore, my brain in a sensual fog, except that I would kill to find some relief for the horrible, throbbing ache between my legs.
But when I obeyed him, he lost his own control, pounding into me, holding my hips in his big hands as his cock burrowed deep within me with every forceful stroke.
It wasn't long after that that he stiffened and groaned, arching even further into me, shaking me bodily with the might of his orgasm and flooding my insides with his cum.
I wanted to hold him, but he had told me how he wanted my arms, and I didn't dare move them. It only took him a few seconds to realize that he had collapsed on top of me, and he moved off with a mumbled, "Sorry," that he needn't have said.
"May I move my arms?" I asked.
"Yes, you may. Good girl for asking, but make yourself comfortable."
Since I was still experiencing the tremendous ache of unfulfilled need, I muttered, "I don't think that's possible."
"Poor bottom," he said with surprising sympathy.
"Yeah, that hurts, too, but that's not what's bothering me."
He sat up and put his head on his hand. "It's not?"
"No—I never got to come."
"Ahh. Yes, I know. I deliberately tried to keep from letting you do that."
"What?" I asked, horrified at his confession, as if I'd never heard of such a thing. I had, of course, but not in reference to myself.
"I told you that I might or might not let you. Did you think I was lying?"
"No, I didn't think about it much at all. I was horny at the time, and I don't think best when I'm horny—and, in case you don't get the point, I'm still horny," I whined rather loudly.
When I met his eyes, though, his expression made me wish I had just kept my fat mouth shut. "Watch your tone of voice, Isabella." Each word was a crisp, sharp warning. "I will not tolerate disrespect from you in any form, even the mildest."
"Yes, Dan." I kept my eyes down.
His hand found the area between my legs, which was more than a bit sore, but still craving his attentions, so I readily open my legs and he cupped me firmly there, cruelly raising my hopes.
"I told you that you are not allowed to come, and that still goes. You can touch yourself any time you like, but you are not allowed to bring yourself off."
I was confused. "Why would I touch myself if I wasn't going to give myself an orgasm?"
His grin was totally evil and made me seriously wonder just what I'd gotten myself into. "Because I told you to. It's called edging."
"I know what it's called," I almost spat out.
And learned to regret it a second later,
when I was unceremoniously hauled onto my tummy and given about fifty more unrelenting smacks that felt a thousand times worse than the first on my already abused behind.
"I would suggest that you work very hard on losing the attitude, Isa, or you're never going to be able to sit down comfortably again."
"Yes, Daniel," I sniffed.
"If I want you to edge, then that's what you're going to do."
My, "Yes, Daniel," was very soft and even a bit forlorn.
I think he must've caught that note in my voice, because he got up and bodily moved me under the covers, then joined me in my bed, spooning me into him.
I was amazed to feel him hard against me again and even more so when he lifted my leg a bit and pressed himself into me, hissing as he did so.
"No, Daniel, please," I begged.
He stopped, and I thought I had won a reprieve. "Are you sick or injured?" he asked. "Do you need to use your safe word?"
"N-no, I'm not," I answered honestly. I wasn't, either—I was just sore. Still more than slick enough to ease his way into me, but sore from previous disuse.
I didn't think I'd be experiencing much of that kind of soreness any longer.
"Then you don't get to say no, Isabella. You get to submit." His arm wrapped around me and found my clit, worrying it incessantly until he thought I was close to orgasming, then backing off for a while before finding it again, repeating the agonizing process over and over as he pushed himself into me, lasting much longer this time, holding me open so that he could have me, ignoring the shameful way I begged him to allow me the full measure of my pleasure until he spent himself within me again, loudly and with plenty of very primitive groans. Then he kissed my temple, hugged me tightly to him, and fell asleep behind me.
Morpheus's arms were much more elusive for me, despite how exhausted I was, but I did eventually fall in to a fitful sleep.
CHAPTER 6
T he next morning, when I finally awoke, he was gone—which kind of surprised me since it was a Sunday morning and I knew he didn't have to go to work. But there was a single rose on the pillow next to me. I had no idea how he'd gotten it there, but it was a very nice, elegant touch to what had been a distinctly inelegant, downright rough night—for me, at least.
On the Razor's Edge of Paradise Page 6