After stepping through the doorway I float across the room in a dreamlike manner, a giddiness to my movement, a haze on my mind. I was in this room only hours ago and even though it bore the mark of Mason’s domain, it had still been empty. Right now, Mason is present and this very fact leads a notion of fantasy to the whole affair. Over my shoulder I can see Mason stepping into the penthouse, the door closing behind him, momentarily back-lit by the anteroom lights and my mind is flooded with memories and images from a thousand books and movies as Mason emerges from fantasy into reality.
Just as the door is about to close, the light almost gone, Mason slides a hanging sign on the doorknob outside. Do not disturb. I pretend not to notice and sit down on the chair by the desk in the corner and watch as Mason moves across the room and into the bathroom, sliding effortlessly out of his suit jacket and draping it across the bed as he does so.
“Are you enjoying the job so far?” he asks.
I crane my head to look into the bathroom but the angle is not right and I decide to remain seated. The bathroom doorway is dark, he didn’t bother turning the light on it seems. “Oh, well. It’s a job. Not the best, but I’ve had worse, you know.”
The sound of running water from the bathroom for a few seconds then Mason appears at the doorway, dabbing his face with a hand towel, shrouded in darkness. “Well, it’s only temporary, right? Until you get back on your feet?”
I nod. “That’s the plan.”
“That’s interesting,” he says quietly as he takes his jacket from the bed and hangs it in the closet.
“It’s all on my roadmap to becoming a billionaire,” I say and laugh a little too loudly at my own joke.
“No,” he says as he turns to look at me. He slides his hands into his pockets and stands a little taller. “It’s interesting that you claimed to make up my room just the way I wanted when you so clearly haven’t. You might want to think about doing your job a little better before I report you for misconduct.”
I pause, feeling his words charge down into the depths of my gut. “What?” I manage to croak out. I stare him in the eyes, waiting for the acknowledgment of some sort of joke, but nothing comes. What had I failed to do? I had made damn sure to put the room in order.
“Stand up and come over here,” he says, not even flinching.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
He flexes his jaw. “You know I don’t like to repeat myself, Stace.”
I take a deep breath and my bones become rattled, by fear or anticipation or what I’m not sure, but I do as he says and step across the room to him. Once I’m close enough, he reaches out and grabs my elbow to lead me with him into the bathroom. He flicks the switch on the wall and the bathroom is flooded with bright light, then he releases his grip on me. We both stand in front of the mirror, his large frame towering over mine, imposing, dominating.
“What do you see?” he asks.
I look around. The place hasn’t been changed since I cleaned it earlier. “Nothing—”
“What do you see?”
“I see clean towels,” I spit, pointing to the rack above the toilet. “And tiny bottles of shampoo. And soap. All the things I laid out.”
He grabs the back of my neck with one hand and takes my left wrist with the other. “Do you remember what I told you before?” he asks, guiding me to lean forward against the counter and I can feel my pumping heart against the hard surface.
“Yes,” I say, shaking with fear or adrenaline, or both.
“What did I tell you?”
I look forward into the mirror, finding his dark eyes staring back at me through the reflection as he looms behind me. “You told me not one item out of place,” I recall.
“Then, why is my cologne not here?”
Fuck.
“You left it in the room I slept in last night, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I—”
“It’s probably gone now, isn’t it? How did you forget?”
“I put it on my cart but then it was stolen,” I lie. “That’s all.”
His grip tightens. “Stacy, there are two types of people in this world that I despise. Those two pathetic wastes of an orgasm I booted out downstairs are good examples of the first type, but the second…” he leans down to whisper in my ear, “are liars.”
I meet his eyes again in the mirror as fear twists in my gut. How could I have been so forgetful? I was too wrapped up in thinking about Mason Lockwood I forgot to even do the one thing he asked of me. My mind had been elsewhere, in fantasy land. I feel and see his fingers slide up my wrist, trailing all the way up to my shoulder before falling to my waist. My core heats up as I suddenly become aware of his erection pressing against my rear.
“I…” I bite my lip. “I wanted to smell it.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I like it,” I admit. “I like the way you smell.”
He nods, knowing that I am telling the truth. “Thank you, for your honesty, Stace…” he says as his hand slides around my waist to rest on my ass. “Now, I have to make sure you never do it again.”
Mason raises his hand to his ear and before I can even blink, he slams it down with a firm, open-palmed spank. A flare of red pain fires through my cheek and I yelp in surprise. He stares at my red face in the mirror and hits me again, showing no compassion or regret for his actions. His hold on me tightens as he pins me against the counter before slapping me one final time, this slap the most painful but I’m not even sure I’m feeling it at all because of the adrenaline or the realization that I can feel Mason’s bulge twitching against my body.
I inhale a quivering breath, choking down the tears as they begin to swell. That flashed-red pain and sting of embarrassment radiates throughout my body, but I like it. Waves of sensation begin to overwhelm me but I manage to bite my tongue, forcing the moan to go away before it gets me into even deeper trouble.
Mason takes a step back and releases me from his firm grip. I suck down a deep breath but it does so little to cool me down — I miss his rough touch already. My thoughts begin to run wild. I’ve known this man almost my entire life, ever since he started doing business with my father. He used to bring me toys on my birthday whenever he was in town on business, or just passing through. I guess I could say he is the closest thing I have to an uncle and yet…
I want him to touch me again.
“Stace.” He stares at me from the mirror. “I don’t want you to lie to me ever again. Do I make myself clear?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“And I won’t lie to you,” he says. “Ask me anything you’d like.”
I turn around to look at him; to look directly into his eyes without the filter of a mirror. That deep blue color has returned to his irises and it melts me all the way down to my knees. Ask him anything? Where do I even start? How about why did he just bend me over a bathroom counter? Why does he have a giant erection right now? And what does he really want from me? And how long has he wanted it?
I stand up a little taller and compose myself. “I’ll see you at eight, for dinner?”
Mason smirks.
The ride down in the elevator from the penthouse suite seemed to last an eternity. Eventually, I found myself drifting through the open doors into the basement floor. With more than a little disdain, I wheel my cart into the utility room and abandon it there for the day.
I wind my way back through the corridor toward the elevator again, feeling like I’m going deeper into the belly of the building instead, still deep in my thoughts and giving a quick smile and nod to acknowledge others that pass me by.
The entire experience is still echoing in my mind and my flesh goosebumps, almost as if I can still feel Mason’s bulge pressing against me. And my god, was it a huge bulge. I still can barely understand what happened and my emotions are wrought with uncertainty, and perhaps a little pinch of shame.
I had simply messed up my job and Mason had punished me — spanked me, even — for the mishap. If
it had been anyone else there would have been hell to pay and I would have fought my way out of that situation tooth and nail. But this was Mason Lockwood. That handsome billionaire friend of the family. The same man I had a crush on for many years. I hadn’t even considered how deep that crush had run, and I had not experienced any evidence of it until now, when I was completely willing to have Mason bend me over a bathroom countertop and spank me for being a bad girl.
My face flares with heat and I try to hide my blushing as I walk. I’m just what I consider an average woman but I’m no prude and I wasn’t unaware of my submissive tenancies in the bedroom. But what few romps I’ve had in the sack from college and beyond — a virgin until nineteen, go me — never had the intensity and raw sexual power I had just experienced.
It must be because it somehow feels wrong, I realize.
With these thoughts in mind, I ride the elevator car back up to the third floor and head toward my room. One of the perks of working at my father’s hotel, I get to live in one of the rooms for free. It’s not the biggest room, and in fact, I think it’s actually the smallest the hotel has to offer, but it’s free, clean, and all I need. I’m not a hoarder type at all, most of my possessions are the books I usually disappear into during my off time.
Once inside I switch on the television to a random channel just for the background noise and plop down face first on the bed. The covers make a muffled flapping sound as I expel a lungful of air into them before rolling over on my back to stare up at the ceiling. I can barely remember my journey down to the basement and back to my room I’m so lost in my own mind.
Like a wandering ghost, I tell myself.
A dirty submissive ghost.
Was this day even real? What had happened? I half expect to realize that I’m actually in a coma, like some bad horror movie storyline and it will end with me screaming into the night in sheer terror at my predicament.
But no, I’m just plain old — young — Stacy Bradley. More clouded emotions flood my mind. Was Mason even interested in me, or was he just simply punishing me for the mistake and no more? If he is into me then why the hell is he so interested in the queen of Frump? Mason is a billionaire and I’m sure he’s had more women than I’ve spoken too in my lifetime. Not just women, models. Probably a few supermodels too, I’m sure.
It all felt so wrong but at the same time I enjoyed it — loved it, even. The feeling of Mason asserting his control had sent pulses throughout my body that made me feel alive. Maybe it was the fact I had been turned on by his expert handling of those two jerks in the elevator. But I just can’t shake the guilt that I shouldn’t be turned on by an old friend of the family. I don’t even want to imagine what my father would think if he knew Mason had just bent his daughter over and spanked her ass red for disobedience.
Just thinking about the spanking makes my ass cheek twitch. Each slap had been so expertly timed, so pointed. I’ve been spanked before but nothing comes close to what Mason just doled out, nothing close to the way it made my body feel… that tight grip on the back of my neck and the way he clamped down on my wrist to keep me in place. The way shivers exploded down my spine when he whispered in my ear, and that throbbing need I felt when his erection pressed against my body.
So what if he wasn’t into me? The queen of frump has the right to dream right? And I feel like he has unlocked something inside of me, so why can’t I act on my desires even if only in fantasy. I feel my body begin to quiver as I rationale it out, the image of Mason in my mind, the thought of our dinner tonight at eight — in just four short hours.
Closing my eyes, I recall that moment in the bathroom. Every sensation comes flooding back. I reach down and move my hand between my thighs and feel the heat on my skin even before I begin to touch myself. I haven’t been able to shake this heat since he touched me, the image of him standing over me in the mirror ingrained in my mind’s eye. That deep and dark look in his eyes that I wanted to believe is his burning desire for me. Had he held himself back from taking what he really wanted? I couldn’t tell what he wanted in reality — or why me — but in my head, in the fantasy, he wanted me bad.
My hand slips under my clothing and I cradle my clit between my fingers and the sensitive bud spurs with life, instantly firing pleasure up my spine as I trace circles around it. My mind goes wild as I try to release my inhibitions. Me, bent over the sink. Mason, with his cock inside of me. I think of what it would be like; how big that bulge was, where his hands would be. I grind against my fingers, syncing up with the image of his deep thrusts. I stuff the edge of the pillow between my teeth and I bite down to keep from moaning too loudly.
The pain of his slap and the way it trembled through me like a naughty lightening bolt. My fantasy runs crazy. I imagine Mason fucking me harder and faster while he spanks me for disobedience again. I feel his fingers wrapping around my hair and he gives me a hard tug. I moan into the pillow, rubbing myself even faster, smelling him near me.
Mason thrusts in deep and leaves it there, letting himself come inside of me. It’s dangerous and exciting and I replay it over and over again. He leans down and whispers in my ear with that deep, harsh voice.
“You’re mine now, Stace.”
The orgasm is explosive as I come hard against my hand and the hot deluge stains my already ruined panties. His voice echoes in my head, teasing me as my body stars buzzing with satisfaction.
I lie on the bed for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling as I wait for my pulse to return to normal, the guilt of my fantasy creeping in further. I try to push it back, burying it deeper, but it’s tough because I can smell him all around me, that dab of his cologne behind my ear, marking his presence on my linens.
Finally, I pull myself to my feet and I glance around the room. I slide my panties to the floor and bend down to pick them up. They’re wet and fragrant, bursting with my scent and I bite my lip as devious thoughts fill my mind.
Chapter 4
Mason
The kid waiting at the door smiles so largely that I’m almost concerned his face is going to fall onto the floor. He looks down at his hand as if he can’t comprehend the hundred dollar bill I’ve shoved into it.
“Have a good one,” I say as I slowly close the door. A few seconds pass before I hear him roll the trolley away. I make my way back into the suite proper and give everything a quick look over. Stacy will be here in just a few minutes and I want to make sure everything is perfect.
The table has been set for two, eagerly and efficiently by the busboy that just left, and its usual smooth wood surface has been covered with a delicate cotton tablecloth. Its a simple but elegant setup with some daisies in a clear vase to one side, and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket of ice on the other. Even though our food sits steaming hot under the plate covers the aroma of those juicy steaks is wafting into the air and my stomach responds in kind.
I take one final moment to adjust myself in the bathroom mirror, making sure my tie is straight and my shirt buttons are all done up. I’m wearing my favorite suit, not the most expensive I own, but its one of my favorites all the same. A dark midnight blue with a sheen that appears almost black to the casual observer. Perhaps its subtleness is what has helped me during negotiations, so I usually wear it during anything I consider a big deal, but that probably speaks more of my superstitious nature than anything else. Besides, a smart man knows that it’s all about the fit, not the suit.
Stacy… maybe it was the fact that she was in my room, or how she filled out that tight maid uniform she was wearing, but the entire day I had found myself almost uncontrollably wanting to dominate her. And she had gone along with it hadn’t she? She didn’t fight me once when I bent her over and spanked her for a badly done job.
A knock on the door and I open it to find Stacy standing there. She is wearing a jet black dress that is hugging her so tightly I realize at once that its probably something she’s held onto for a long time — but she looks so stunning.
“Hi,” sh
e says as she looks up at me with those big bright eyes.
“Come on in, Stace,” I tell her and hold the door as she does so. I watch as she crosses the room toward the dinner table and shoots me a look over her shoulder.
“Goodness, this is all really great,” she coos. “And look at you, you look great.”
I give her a sly smile as I move toward her and pull out her seat, motioning her to sit. “I always look good, Stace,” I play.
“And look at me,” she says motioning her body with a hop in her step and her arms slapping the side of her thighs in an almost defeated shrug. “I haven’t gone to anything that needed a nice dress in a long time,” she says as she sits down.
I take my seat across from her and watch as she squirms in her chair, getting comfortable. A morbid part of my mind instantly wonders if her ass still stings from the spanking and I imagine just how red her cheeks might still be; the mere thought of this makes my penis twitch in my pants.
“Let me,” I tell her and reach forward to remove the cover from her plate. A prime cut of steak, a serving of broccoli and a baked potato. I watch Stacy’s expression through the cloud of hot steam that rises before her.
“This can’t be from the kitchen here,” she exclaims. “I mean, look at it,” she says and motions the steak.
I laugh. “It’s not, I had this especially delivered from one of my favorite restaurants downtown. Not that I have any issue with the food served at your father’s hotel, of course.”
Stacy laughs, bringing a hand to her mouth. “Well I love my father, but I have to say this food looks so much better.”
We begin to eat, in silence at first, watching each other with furtive glances. I ask her if she would like some wine and she agrees so I pour us both some, and then we clink glasses and sip. It is obvious from her demeanor that she is being completely spoiled, that she hasn’t had a meal like this in a long time.
My Father's Dirty Friend Page 3