‘Try this.’ She held out the glass to him, watching the quirk of his sandy brows as he took it from her. Clearly, he was doubtful, but still, he took a sip, even before he reached for a towel.
He pursed his lips. He rolled his eyes. He pulled a face that made her giggle.
‘It’s … divine.’ He took another tentative sip as if she’d handed him hemlock.
‘You think it’s terrible, don’t you?’ she accused as he sat down on the lounger beside hers, abandoning the glass in favour of the towel.
‘In a word … yes.’ He rubbed his hair furiously then emerged from beneath the terrycloth with tousled angel curls. ‘But I’ll drink it because you made it for me, my sweet.’ In a gesture of bravado, he snatched up the glass and took another healthy swig.
Lizzie laughed. ‘You don’t have to.’
John gave her an arch look over the rim of the glass. ‘Are you telling me what I can or can’t do?’
A shiver of something familiar rippled through Lizzie’s middle. The thrill. The harbinger of the game.
‘I … I wouldn’t presume to,’ she said, lowering her gaze.
‘Good,’ he said. She watched through her lashes as he finished the horrid drink and set aside the glass. ‘Now, drink your cocktail and tell me about your day.’
The alcohol in the rum was like tap water compared to the surging excitement that flowed through her veins. She barely noticed its taste as she tossed it back and put down the glass. John arched his brows at her, marking her out as a naughty, intemperate girl.
She summed up her chat with Marie and her lunch with Shelley, yet prevaricated over what had passed between her and Brent.
‘What are you keeping from me?’ John leant forward, and when Lizzie stole a glance in a southerly direction, she saw that his cock was well on the rise again.
‘It’s a secret.’ She gave him a little smirk, teasing him, licking her lips. Brent and Tom was a very juicy titbit. She could use it to goad John into action. Not that he really needed that. From the way he scanned her, assessing, enjoying with his eyes, promising much … in fact, promising everything, she knew he needed no excuse whatsoever.
‘You’ll have to beat it out of me.’ She lifted her head, defiant, then almost swooned at the fierce metal flash in his eyes.
‘Is that a fact?’ He reached out, cradled her chin, fingers holding her firmly.
‘Y … yes …’ Raw lust surged like honey in the pit of her belly, stirred by that odd, irrational longing that ran counter to all her confidence and self-sufficiency. Her feminism. She wanted to bare herself, to bow herself to him. Be exposed and vulnerable. Feel the harsh slap of his hand upon her … upon her bottom.
And yet she still couldn’t look away from his eyes. From beautiful pools of blue, midnight now, electric with lust. To be the perfect submissive, she should look away, but he was the potent delicious drug that energised and strengthened her rather than making her pliant.
‘Are you sure?’ He let his thumb drift across her chin, her lower lip, pressing it down. Instinctively, she drew his thumb into her mouth and sucked on it, letting her glance dart quickly down, towards the immense bulge in his trunks.
‘Ignore that,’ he said crisply, pressing with his thumb. ‘That’s not for you. Not just yet, anyway. And especially if you persist in keeping things from me.’
Boldly, she stole another look, and then reached for him. He denied her, though, sliding cleverly along his lounger, putting his magnificent cock out of her reach.
‘Do you deny me?’ He freed her mouth.
She didn’t answer, but stared back at him: do your worst.
‘A spanking it is, then,’ he pronounced, letting his hand slide down to her breast and giving it a rough squeeze through the dark red nylon. Then, lunging forward from the lounger and coming up onto his knees on the deck, he kissed her hard, plunging in his tongue, subduing the tongue he’d already teased with his thumb. While he handled her breast, he held her head with his other hand, compelling her to accept the conquering kiss. He was kneeling, but his dominance and his power loomed over her.
Oh love … Oh my love …
She melted. Ached. She was ready. Ready for anything. Even if it was just more of this rough he-man kiss.
But just as she really thought she was about to melt into a puddle, he drew back, resuming his position on the lounger.
‘Stand up and peel down your suit,’ he commanded, lying back, resting on one elbow, ‘pull it right down … not off … just down to the top of your thighs so I can get at your bum and your cunt.’
‘Oh, you’re such an aesthete,’ she countered, rising to her feet and loving how he was deliciously crude sometimes. The contrast between this coarse talk and his general gentlemanliness made her quiver.
‘Uh oh … Naughty, naughty.’ He gave her a narrow-eyed trick of a smile and wagged an admonishing finger. ‘Now come on, do as you’re told.’
Lizzie was trembling so hard, and was so hyped up, that she fumbled with her costume, wriggling and squirming to peel it down her body and into a bunch at the top of her thighs, as he’d specified. Hot blood hurtled around her veins and she blushed in places she wasn’t sure were even supposed to blush. With her costume at half-mast she was infinitely exposed, much more so than if he’d told her to strip altogether.
‘Touch your nipples,’ he commanded. ‘Both at the same time. Fondle yourself.’
Lizzie closed her eyes. It was like she was floating. In a different world. Warm silky arousal pooled between her legs, before she’d barely even touched herself, and when she did, she gasped aloud at the sweet-sharp jolt.
It was a battle royal not to circle her hips, jerk herself about, and ignoring her boobs altogether, just rub herself furiously between her legs.
Why hadn’t he ticked her off, and told her she was a naughty girl again? It was what she’d been expecting, and heaven alone knew she deserved it. When she’d touched her nipples, she’d moaned out aloud.
To open her eyes, or not to open her eyes? She decided on open, and when she did it was to see John, reclining back and stroking himself through his trunks as he watched her.
Oh, let me do that, she wanted to cry, the sight was so gorgeous, so decadent. But she kept silent. She needed permission to speak, permission to touch, permission to do anything other than that which he’d instructed her to do.
‘I’m not seeing much fondling, Lizzie,’ he said, voice low as he continued to touch himself. She’d been thrilled to immobility by the sight of his display. ‘Pinch your nipples. You know I like to see that. Why aren’t you doing it?’
Lizzie bit her lip, agonised by the pain-in-pleasure of the sensation, at war with herself again to keep from pointing out to him that she wasn’t a mind-reader. Maybe he sometimes seemed to have that ability, but she had no mental powers and that was a fact.
She had others, though.
Rolling her nipple between her fingers, she put on a show, swaying, getting into it, riding the little hurt and the bigger arousal. Glorying in her own disobedience, she slid her fingers between her sex lips and stroked herself, slicking her clitoris in time to the way she tweaked and tugged at her nipple, making a provocative, syncopated dance of it. Undulating, she was Bettie Page, Queen of Cheesecake, turning on a hundred thousand men in one of her primitive black and white porno flicks. Her sex rippled, almost at the tipping point, as she performed for her audience, the one man who both ruled and adored her.
‘God, you’re a luscious trollop! You know that, don’t you?’ His voice was ragged, broken. He was still smoothing his fingers over his bulge and his eyes were as bright as a plasma flash.
‘I do, master,’ she purred, continuing, and yet at the same time backing off just a little. It was too soon. She wanted this to last.
John made a sound of impatience, and snatched his hand away from his groin. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do, you wicked girl.’ He laughed. ‘You almost had me out of control there, madam. You almost m
ade me forget that I’m supposed to be tanning that gorgeous arse of yours for you, for keeping secrets from me.’
He sat up, reached out, knocked her hand away from her crotch, and replaced it with his own. His fingers slid between her labia and he rubbed her, edge on, back and forth. The action was rough, casual, and he watched her eyes as he worked her. Don’t you dare, don’t you dare, his blue gaze challenged her, and though she fought him, making a fist and digging her nails into her palm, she couldn’t best him and her pussy clenched hard in a sudden, shocking climax.
Swaying, she grabbed at his strong shoulders, digging her nails into him now as she crested another wave, her belly molten with pleasure.
‘Oh John,’ she moaned, roles forgotten for the moment. And as if he’d forgotten too, he snaked his arm around her waist, to hold her steady.
For a few moments, she just breathed, out of herself, recovering, and then she braced up, widening her stance and standing straight. Snatching her hands away from his beloved body she let her arms hang loose at her sides.
I should think so, said his laughing eyes, though his face was stern.
‘You’re a wicked slave,’ he said in a low voice. She could tell he was fighting not to laugh out loud and perhaps to grab her and hug her and kiss her and bring her off again. They were playing the game, yet not playing the game, although he might still hit hard even if they were only having fun.
She looked at his hand, glistening as he withdrew it from her flesh, and remembered how ferocious it could be, despite its elegance.
‘And somehow, madam, you’ve distracted me from my purpose.’ Pausing, he lifted his fingers to his face, and breathed in her aroma. ‘Delicious,’ he said, then slowly and lasciviously, licked at her silk.
The sight of his flicking tongue made her catch her breath, it was so suggestive. How could she need to come again, when she’d only climaxed barely a moment ago?
‘Again?’ he said softly. He’d read the lust in her face, her reaction to him. ‘Aren’t we forgetting something?’
‘No, master.’
‘I should think not. Now, why don’t you lie on your lounger, face down, so we can do the deed?’ His tongue peeked out again, sweeping over the firm, velvety curve of his lower lip. Oh, the devil, he was so enjoying this.
Ungainly with her swimsuit around her thighs, Lizzie got down onto the lounger and spread herself upon it like a sacrifice on a slab. She curved her fingers round the top edge, holding on tight, anticipating what was to come. Her toes curled of their own accord against the thickly upholstered cushion beneath her, and she turned her face boldly towards her master.
John sat there, watching her, taking his time, as yet not inclined to move. Again, he cupped his crotch, gently fondling himself. Lizzie was hypnotised by the tiny movements in the tendons in the back of his hand. He seemed intent on stretching out the tension, making her wait, ramping up her reborn desire, and the strange amalgam of fear and longing that preceded a spanking.
After what seemed like an age, he reached for his towel and solemnly proceeded to fold it into a towelling pad, which he set beside her lounger. ‘Got to protect the old trick knee,’ he said conversationally as he slid onto the towel, on said knee and the non-trick one, next to where she lay.
‘There’s nothing wrong with your knee, you old malingerer,’ she said pertly. ‘It’s as fit and fabulous as the rest of you.’
John sighed, segueing into his old weary mentor with wayward pupil act. ‘Lizzie … Lizzie … Lizzie … When will you learn respect for your elders … and your fucking master! You really are the most useless sub on the planet. It’s a good job you’re the most beautiful, desirable, adorable woman that ever lived, because as an obedient slave, you leave a lot to be desired.’
She loved the laughter in his voice. She loved the lightness and the playfulness of him. Oh, he’d spank her hard, yes he would. And she might even shed a tear or two. But it’d be fun too. With John, it always was.
His hands settled on her, on her back, on her bottom, fingers spread. Slowly, he caressed her, assessed her, savoured her. Stroking. Teasing. Visiting each inch. Telling her how he cared for her as he sampled her skin and the musculature beneath it.
‘Perfect,’ he breathed. ‘Absolutely perfect.’
Would he use his hand? He most often did. They did use toys and devices, but time and again they returned to the intimacy of skin on skin. Simple. Classic. Uncontrived.
But the way he seemed to hesitate seemed to suggest he might mix it up a bit today. She sensed him casting around, devising something. It didn’t surprise her when he reached for one of the rubber flip-flops that she’d been wearing on the poolside.
Ooh, that might hurt. Indeed it would hurt. The flip-flops were quite chunky and substantial. She could feel the weight of the one he’d chosen as he laid it against her buttock, introducing her to it. He let it rest there a moment, then …
‘Yowch!’
Before she’d even had a chance to realise he’d started, he’d laid the damn thing on with quite a wallop. It felt twice as solid and substantial as she’d expected it to be, like a length of wood rather than moulded rubber, knocking the breath out of her and instantly filling her bum with heat.
Oh, it hurt! It hurt! Only one spank, and her left bottom cheek was roaring. And at the same time she was already grinding her pussy against the lounger.
‘Hush, be still,’ he commanded, soft of voice and hard of intent. The flip-flop crashed down on her other cheek and she yowled again, mashing her crotch against the upholstery beneath her as her fingers gouged it too, above her head.
It was either that or push her hand between her body and the cushion, and masturbate as he spanked her. She was tempted to do it. After all, he’d reminded her what a wilful sub she was, so she might as well fulfil his expectations.
‘Oh no you don’t, madam,’ he warned, as if he’d read the thought.
She squirmed again, and yelped too, as he brought the flip-flop down in two fast strokes like thunderclaps, one on each cheek. Oh, the delicious agony!
‘How the fuck do you do that?’ she demanded.
‘What? Spank you? It’s like this …’ Wallop! ‘And this …’ Slap, on the other cheek!
‘Not that,’ she croaked, her voice distorted by the burning heat that seemed to be in all her body, not just her buttocks. Her nipples were aching stones against the cushioned surface beneath her. ‘The thing … the way you seem to know what I’m thinking all the time. It’s just weird, and a bit scary. Especially if I happened to be thinking something rude about you.’
‘How rude?’ He slapped again, inciting inferno, and again. ‘How rude?’ he demanded, pausing, then inclining forward over her, pressing his crotch against her bottom, rubbing himself on her heat. His empty hand curved around her hip, holding her steady as he massaged her with his cock. That hurt too, but she lifted herself, pressing back against him.
‘Oh … just stuff. About what a horny pervert you are, and how colossal that thing is that you’re jamming against me.’
But it was more than that, and more scary. He could see her heart, when sometimes his was opaque to her.
‘Sweetheart,’ he whispered, as if he’d read that thought too.
For a few moments he just rested against her, enjoying the stimulus of the warmth of her punished bottom cheeks on his aroused flesh. Then he swirled his hips again, rubbing, rubbing. Was he going to come?
But then, he straightened up. ‘I’m going to spank you for just a little longer, my darling, because the way you wiggle and moan, and the gorgeous cherry glow in your bottom, is so divine. And then you’re going to tell me what this secret thing is you’re keeping from me.’ He laid the flip-flip against her right buttock, as if retrieving his ‘sighting’ of it. ‘Because despite your claims that I read your mind all the time, missy, I have absolutely no idea what the devil it is.’
Between gritting her teeth, and groaning, Lizzie smiled. She’d completely forgotte
n about Brent and Tom for the moment, but it was nice to know something John didn’t know, for a change.
9
The Secret Thing
What was it, this secret? John had no clue, and he didn’t care. His whole focus was Lizzie. Her peerless body. The way she moved. The skin of her bottom so pink. Her bold, sweet, happy spirit, playing the game with him, easing all his anxieties.
Even as he watched, she undulated against the thickly upholstered lounger, massaging her crotch as if she was so full of erotic energy that she couldn’t contain it within herself. The thick mass of her coal-black hair slid on her shoulders, still damp, and the muscles of her back flexed. Her buttocks were tense and hot, marked a little by the rubber sole of the flip-flop.
He wanted to kiss them. He wanted to mark them more. He wanted to come all over them, pearls spattered across rose.
Enough prevaricating, man!
He brought the flip-flop down and she yelped, squirming hard. Magnificently, though, she gripped on to the top edge of the lounger, fingers digging in. A lesser woman would have grabbed her own flesh to ease the ache, but Lizzie held fast. He brought the sandal down again and she only gasped this time, controlling herself, controlling him.
‘God, woman … I can’t fight it any more …’ Grabbing at her hips, he lifted her up. She hissed as his fingers caught the edge of her redness, but she didn’t resist and allowed herself to be draped, sideways, half across the lounger. ‘I don’t have a condom handy … we’ll have to extemporise. A bit of rubbing … a bit of wriggling … Do you think you’d like that? Don’t worry, though. I’ll get you off.’
‘I have every confidence in you, boss man,’ she purred, looking over her shoulder, her eyes wild.
With a growl, he flung himself across her, pushing down his trunks and pressing his aching cock against the heat in her bottom. The sensation was piquant, fabulous, feverish, and her gasps, and the way she hissed through clenched teeth, were like strands of super-pleasure winding themselves around his flesh. His body clamoured at him to go for it, take what he wanted, to rub and frott himself against her in blind, greedy lust.
The Accidental Bride (Black Lace) Page 12