The Naughty Corner
Page 4
“You’re smooth like the soft skin of a peach and the color of cream.” He cupped one cheek in his palm. “No naked sunbathing, I assume.”
Who had time for sunbathing? Especially with the fear of skin cancer. Besides, her deck was too small and not at all private, and she never made it down to the condo’s pool. But with the note of reverence in his voice, she was glad she covered up in the sun.
“I like the red thong. I want to make your ass match that exact shade,” he whispered, and the soft caress of his breath bathed her flesh with warmth.
She was hot and turned on, yet her pulse raced with a lick of fear as well. Would it hurt? She’d never been spanked. Her parents hadn’t believed in it. She didn’t like needles. Or having her teeth drilled. Or pain in general.
He slapped her so unexpectedly that she squeaked, a little-girl sound that escaped her without warning.
“Don’t tell me that hurt.”
It hadn’t. Despite a slight stinging, it actually felt . . . well . . . good, especially when his hand remained, caressing her butt cheek. But he hadn’t asked a question, so she didn’t say a thing.
“The imprint of my hand is so pretty on your flesh.”
This time she was prepared for the sharp swat. It reverberated up through her cheeks to her back. What she wasn’t prepared for was the stroke of his fingers right down the crotch of her thong. Her muscles tightened in reaction, intensifying the rush of pleasure. Yes, pleasure. Erotic, sensual, sweet pleasure. She gripped the back of the chair harder.
“Hot,” he murmured. “Sexy.”
His hand connected again, then slid once more down the smooth crotch of her panty, his fingers probing gently.
Oh God. She closed her eyes, the sensations luscious and overwhelming. Her body throbbed, not with pain but with pure pleasure.
He slapped her again, then again, another time, over and over. Her knuckles turned white on the chair. Her breath puffed from her mouth. Her ears started to ring. And always, there was the incessant stroke of his fingers, back and forth, up and down, pushing in.
“Spread your legs wider,” he demanded, his voice harsh, far off, as if from somewhere deep in one of her fantasies.
Slap, stroke, caress. Lord. She’d never felt anything like it. The sting, the pain, the pleasure, they all became one single sensation. Incredible. Out of this world. Certainly out of her experience. She couldn’t breathe. She could only feel and want and need.
She was on the edge of orgasm when he stopped. Lola groaned. She wanted to beg. Please, please, please, don’t stop.
“Do you like it?”
She gasped, then the truth simply fell from her lips. “God, yes. Yes, please. More.”
* * *
THEY WERE THE WORDS GRAY NEEDED TO HEAR. HE’D WANTED TO make her beg. He’d used a cupped hand to spank her, causing the least amount of pain, yet her ass was a succulent shade of red. He’d done all he’d intended for her initiation. Short and sweet and delicious, enough to ensure she’d come back for more, a taste of what he could offer her.
But she drove him to need more. Her soft moans and sighs had wormed their way beneath his skin.
“I’m going to give you what you crave.” What he craved. He’d spanked other women. He’d spanked his wife, but that was long ago, before his son was born. None of them had taken to it like Lola.
“We need to remove your panties.” If she had any objections, she could most certainly voice them now.
She sighed her permission.
Slowly, lingering on each separate action, he hooked his index fingers in the elastic at her hips and drew the material over her sweet, burning ass. The crotch clung to her pussy a moment before pulling free.
Christ, the sight was enough to make him come. She was moist, her cream dampening the panties, the fragrance of her arousal filling his head, mesmerizing him.
Without prompting, she shifted so he could slip the silky material down her legs. As he bent, he pressed a kiss to the juncture of her thighs. She moaned, a wisp of sound.
Her taste, sweet and salty, enflamed him. His cock throbbed in his pants, and a wild urge rose in him. The need to take her was almost irresistible.
Yet he had so many plans for her, things he’d been dreaming of. He wouldn’t spoil it all by rushing. She was too perfect not to savor slowly.
But he would take more than he’d planned. That sweet kiss. And her climax.
Rising, he put his hand to her pussy, steeped himself in the feel of her. “You’re wet, you dirty girl. You loved what I did.” She made no reply. “Didn’t you?” His voice rose on the question, giving her permission to speak.
“Yes,” she said with that same breathy sigh that tightened his balls.
“Does your bottom sting?”
“Yes. In a good way.” Her long hair fell down over her shoulders, obscuring her face.
“Do you want to come?”
“God, yes.” Need laced her voice.
“I’m going to make you climax like you never have before.” Stepping aside, he opened the side table drawer and withdrew a string of three brass balls. He’d never used them. They’d been sitting in his bedroom cabinet, but they’d come into play in a particularly graphic and very satisfying fantasy about her, and tonight he’d retrieved them even as he’d told himself it was too soon.
Rounding to the front of the chair, he leaned back into the corner. Holding the end, he let the balls fall down on their chain. “Ever used Ben Wa balls?”
She shook her head, her hair swaying across her face. Reaching out, he tucked the locks behind her ears.
“I’m going to put them inside you where they’ll stroke your G-spot.”
Something flickered in her eyes. “They won’t get stuck?”
He allowed her the question, even though he hadn’t expressly permitted it. Wiggling the chain, he said, “This will be outside.”
She eyed them a moment longer, then nodded.
“Shall I warm them or do you want them cold?”
“Which is better?”
Hell, the woman was perfect. “They’re two intensely different sensations.” He cocked his head. “We’ll do them cold. Stay right where you are. Don’t move.”
In the kitchen, he grabbed a few pieces of ice. With the balls and the ice in his hand, he held them over the sink until water dripped through his fingers and his palms were slightly numb.
Back in the living room, he put his hand on her ass. She squealed and jerked away.
“Oh yeah,” he drawled, “perfect.”
Then he slid the balls inside her. She gasped, throwing her head back, and he lingered, testing, playing. Jesus, she was wet. And hot.
“This is going to be good, baby.” The length of chain dangling from the pink lushness of her pussy was truly one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen.
He pulled her hair together in his hand, wrapped it once around his palm, the silky length like a rope to hold her in place. Then he swatted her ass, his fingers landing squarely on the crease between her thighs.
Lola moaned, and her body began to tremble.
He had no clue how he would stop himself from coming right along with her when she reached her climax.
* * *
INTENSE SENSATION ROCKETED THROUGH HER JUST THE WAY HE’D said it would. Lola gasped for breath, her entire body tensing, tightening, shuddering.
It was the slap on the outside, the heat of his fingers on her, and the rock and roll of those deliciously cold, dirty little balls inside her. It was like a cock hitting her G-spot except that the balls moved separately, eliciting completely different and totally incredible sensations.
“Oh God, Coach.” She wasn’t supposed to speak, but there was no way she could stop.
He smacked her butt and caressed her pussy simply with the angle of his hand. Over and over. He never entered her, never stroked her clitoris. But he drove her mad. Until she honestly couldn’t remember her own name. Until she could no longer cry out his. Until sh
e was panting and moaning, pushing back against him, increasing the pressure inside, forcing his slaps to be harder, more potent, mind-altering.
When he pulled on the chain, setting the balls into greater motion, she thought she’d faint. Then he swatted her again, and they went deeper, slip sliding over her G-spot.
Her climax was like a wave crashing over her head, dragging her down, tumbling her around, over, under. Her eyes leaked tears, her pulse pounded in her ears.
Then she found herself on the hardwood floor, her body slumped against his, her face smashed to his chest. The balls lay on the floor beside them, still wet with her orgasm.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
“That was punishment,” he answered.
If it was, she knew she had to make sure the twins were very, very bad.
4
PROPPED AGAINST THE SIDE OF THE SOFA, HE BASKED IN THE HEAT of her body and the afterglow of her climax.
“Can I speak now?”
He should probably say no. “Yes.” She didn’t move, simply lay boneless against his chest. He liked her there.
“Why do you enjoy doing that?”
Women always wanted to know why. Sometimes there was no answer, at least not one he could explain properly. “Did you like it?”
She’d already admitted it verbally and physically. Why try to deny now? “Yes.”
“That’s why I enjoy it. Because it’s pleasurable.”
“But there are plenty of other things that are pleasurable.”
True. “I like the power in it. It’s like when a woman sucks a man’s cock, she holds all the power, and it’s sexy as hell.”
She snorted and leaned back against the support of his arm to look up at him. “Women don’t have power when they give a man a blow job.”
He enjoyed the pucker of her lips when she said the word. “Like hell they don’t. When a woman has a man’s cock in her mouth, she owns him. He’ll do anything she wants.” He’d proposed to his ex-wife while she was sucking him. Not that it was a bad thing, but she’d gotten what she wanted with her skills as a cocksucker.
At the advanced age of forty-five, however, he’d learned to control a woman even when his cock was in her mouth.
Lola tried to follow his logic. “So when a man’s spanking a woman, he owns her.”
“It’s the one doing the spanking who holds the power. The hand can hurt or it can bring pleasure. And a little of both can be immeasurably satisfying.”
She digested that for a time. “I still don’t see how spanking is the only way for a man to get power. If that’s what you’re really after.”
He shifted slightly, easing the pressure on his tailbone. “It’s not the only way, just one of them. But more than power, I simply enjoy things on the kinky side. Tying up. Blindfolding. Having my wicked way.”
“What about whipping and caning and”—she stopped, blinked—“and all that other nasty stuff.”
“I don’t use whips or paddles or floggers. I want to feel your skin heat beneath my hand. I want my fingers to sink into your wetness.”
He’d started this by telling her he wanted to punish her for what her nephews did. Now he was admitting it was all about the punishment. It was time to let her go, before she figured out that tonight, with her perfect reaction and her magnificent orgasm, it had suddenly become all about her.
He rose, pulled her with him. She shimmied her skirt down, her eyes slightly bewildered with his abrupt move.
“Make sure they behave tomorrow,” he warned.
“Yes, Coach.”
He sensed there was more on the tip of her tongue, but she bent to retrieve her thong. He was there in a flash, grabbing it before she could.
“Mine,” he said, one brow raised. He wanted the lingerie wrapped around his cock when he came tonight.
And after the next time her nephews misbehaved, he wanted her lips wrapped around his cock when he climaxed.
* * *
HE’D THROWN HER OUT. SORT OF. LOLA WASN’T QUITE SURE what had happened. One moment she was probing his psyche, the next he’d withdrawn and was showing her the door.
Except that he’d kept her panties. It meant something when a man kept a woman’s panties, didn’t it? And all those compliments. His sweet words rang in her ears just the way the spanking still burned exquisitely on her skin.
She was surprised to find it was dark outside. She hadn’t realized how long the whole episode had taken. Her butt tingled as she drove, an incessant reminder. And her body still hummed with sexual satisfaction. Yum. That was the only word for it. She’d heard of bondage and submission and sadomasochism and all that stuff. Nipple clamps and other clamps. She shuddered at the thought. She’d been afraid to mention those devices just in case he decided to use them on her.
But then he’d tossed her out. If he hadn’t kept her panties, she’d have been worried that he might not demand she come back for another punishment.
And she wanted to go back. Badly.
It was crazy. But it had been so good. He’d talked about enjoying his power over her. She’d enjoyed being at his mercy. And those brass balls, good God. They’d made her lose her mind.
Oh yes, she wanted more. She wanted him to send her to the naughty corner over and over. Who would have thought she would adore being . . . well . . . abused? Especially after the way Mike, her ex-husband, had treated her. Though abuse wasn’t the right term for all the things he’d said to her. He’d just picked. And picked. And picked. Nothing she ever did was right.
The coach’s house wasn’t far from her condo, and all too soon she was pulling into her carport. With the door open, she checked her hair and face in the mirror. Her lip gloss was gone, her cheeks flushed. She fixed the gloss, smoothed her hair, and made sure there were no telltale signs. Except for the missing panties. Not that the twins would suspect anything about that.
Music, voices, and the sound of bodies crashing emanated from the condo’s living room as she entered. Charlotte and the twins were obviously watching some sort of action movie.
The front door opened onto a small tiled entry, the bedroom hallway straight ahead. A louvered sliding door slightly to the left hid the closet where she kept her coats, umbrellas, towels, and linens. The condo was compact but had room for everything if she utilized each square inch efficiently. She padded past the kitchen, into the living room. Ghost was nowhere to be seen, probably hiding under her bed. Harry—well, that could have been William—was sprawled on the carpet, a pillow beneath his head. Charlotte hugged one corner of the couch, and William—yes, that was William—slumped in the other, his feet propped up on a small hassock. Like good boys and girls, they’d all removed their shoes, but the pizza tray sat on the coffee table alongside paper plates soiled with sauce, bits of pineapple, and stringy cheese. One lone piece of pizza was left to congeal on the tray.
Lola’s stomach rumbled. She’d powered down a bowl of cereal, that was all, before she’d headed out. But though the pizza called to her, she wasn’t going to eat it. As objectifying as it sounded, when you met a new man, you had to start counting every calorie.
On the big screen, a girl dressed in a violet miniskirt tossed a spear through a bad guy.
She gasped. “Oh my God, you’re watching Kick-Ass.”
Charlotte glanced up, smiled. “I love this movie.”
But it was violent. And the girl doing all the damage—not to mention the bad language—was only twelve or so. Maybe she was even younger; Lola had never been sure.
“They can’t watch this.” Wasn’t it R-rated? “That kid kills people.”
“Only bad guys,” William said, his gaze glued to the TV screen.
“Yes, but—Charlotte,” she hissed. “Violence.”
“Everything has violence these days. Kids are used to it.”
“Yeah, Aunt Lola,” Harry chimed in. “And we know it’s just fake. It’s not like we’re suddenly going to put on superhero suits and start killing people.”
“At least there’s a message in Kick-Ass,” Charlotte said, siding with the boys. How could she, for God’s sake? She was a guidance counselor and a therapist.
“What message?” Lola demanded.
“That you have to stand up for weaker people who can’t stand up for themselves,” Harry said. “Even if you could get hurt yourself.”
Right. So that’s why they’d been picking on Stinky Stu.
Harry rolled onto his stomach and looked at her. “If the movie is so bad, why do you have it in your collection?”
Because, well, she loved the movie, too. But it wasn’t a kids’ movie. Or maybe she was just afraid that Andrea would hear about it and have another hissy fit. “Do not tell your mother when you talk to her tomorrow.” Andrea insisted on Skyping the boys every morning, and Lola usually managed to be absent. Though sometimes she was dragged in. Maybe tomorrow she’d have to listen just to make sure.
“Come on,” Charlotte murmured—like a devil on her shoulder—“have that last piece of pizza and enjoy the movie.”
Lola gave in, grabbing a paper plate and flopping down in the one vacant chair, her bottom tingling in a delicious reminder. Why not add pizza and a violent movie to all the other naughty things she’d done this evening?
Charlotte nudged her foot when the credits finally started rolling. “It’s time for a nice glass of wine out on the deck.”
Lola knew what that meant. Charlotte wanted her payback: details.
Harry rolled to look at her. “Thanks, but Mom’s totally against us drinking until we’re twenty-one.”
Charlotte kicked him lightly as she walked by. “You poor kids, you’re so deprived.”
In the kitchen, Lola pulled the bottle of wine from the fridge. “Don’t encourage them,” she said softly. They liked Charlotte, a hell of lot more than they liked Lola.