Sexy as Hell Box Set (32 page)

“Come here,” I said, tensing my hands on my thighs. God, I wanted her over my knee, head down, arse up. Completely surrendered to whatever I wanted to do to her. Impatience was a bitch that I also had to control.

“Yes, Sir.”

Oh, I loved the way she’d said ‘Sir’. She’d inflected a shot of respect but at the same time she’d stretched the ‘r’ out just enough to be indecent; it had held a breathy quality.

She walked over and as she did my heart shot out a couple of random beats. For a moment I panicked, thinking I hadn’t taken my tablet, but I had, I was sure of it, with my glass of water just then.

Zara smelled divine, like she was fresh from a spicy shower; cloves and black pepper, an alluring, hot-Moroccan-night scent.

She placed her massive handbag on the sofa and pulled out a paddle.

“I won’t be needing that,” I said sternly, “leave it in the bag and strip.”

A quizzical look crossed her face, but she didn’t ask me anything. Instead, she slipped off her coat revealing a tiny black dress that sat low on her breasts, only just covered her arse and stopped at the very top of her thighs.

“Did you do as instructed and go without knickers?” I asked, tipping my chin and surveying her head to foot. She was all long, toned limbs, slender waist and pale skin. Sometimes the delicate, fragile physicality of Zara surprised me; it was such a contrast to the sharp strength she exuded from every other angle of her being. I would have to remember that later, that she was fine boned, a little on the thin side.

“Yes, Sir. I did, Sir.”

“Show me.”

She tugged the dress, at the hem, showing me the plump lips of her bare pussy.

“And do you think it was wise to wear such a short dress when you had no knickers on?”

“I was doing as you told me to, Sir.”

“Without using sense.” I didn’t have to pretend to be narked by her being outdoors with so little on and her pussy being nearly on show. I was pissed off about it. It was one of the things she did regularly that annoyed me. Plus, she’d walked through my building like that, had no doubt given Reginald fodder for wet old-man dreams for the next six months.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Yes, you will be. Take the damn dress off, now.”

She stared at me, almost insolently, and I filed away the look for later, when she was begging for mercy over my knee. I wouldn’t give it, not if I recalled that glimmer of rebellion. She had to learn to submit to me properly, the way I had to her, none of this saying the words but not meaning them.

As she stripped I went to full hardness. Anticipation clawed at me but I reined it in, not wanting to rush the sweetness of control.

“Leave the boots on.” I liked them, she’d worn them before. Touching just above the knee, they were as shiny as liquid and had silver heels. They were one item of clothing that would work with my plans. “And come here, up close.”

Naked but for the boots and the still-in-place dog collar, she stepped up to me, the heat of her body adding to the gentle heat of the fire caressing my right cheek and side.

“You’re mine,” I said, dipping my index finger into the indent of her navel and watching the candlelight bounce off the silver buckle of her collar. “Tonight you’re all mine to do with as I wish, is that correct?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And if I see fit to punish you for wearing such a ridiculous dress with no knickers, will you learn your lesson with grace?”

I trailed my finger down her belly to the top of her slit. She had absolutely no pubic hair, her skin was like velvet. I slipped in, just a little, to feel the heat and moistness of her.

She clenched her fists at her sides. “Yes, Sir.”

“So there is no misunderstanding that you’re mine for tonight, Zara, I’m going to brand you.”

That had her. Lips parted, she shot her gaze to the table.

“Each blow,” I said, picking up the paddle, “will leave the impression VP. What does that stand for, Zara?”

She swallowed, her attention glued to the big paddle with the engraving I was now tracing with the same finger I’d just touched her with.

“Victor Partridge,” she said.

“Yes, Victor Partridge, me. Have you ever belonged to a man like me, Zara? Even just for one night?”

“No, never.”

“Good, because I’ve never owned a woman like you, not even for one night.” I followed her attention to the table. “Ah, yes, the dildo. Might come in useful, don’t you think?”

She licked her lips. I noticed her nipples were hard little buds, pointing straight at me.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Come and stand here.” I gestured to my right side, kept eye contact with her.

She did as I’d instructed.

“Now bend over my lap so I can punish your slutty behaviour when it came to choosing your wardrobe tonight.”

She hesitated and looked at my groin.

I made no effort to hide my erection, just let it tent my sweats. I wanted her. Why should I hide that? In fact, I more than wanted her, I wanted to own Zara completely in every sense of the word and tonight I would and could. I’d make her feel so damn good she’d wonder how she’d ever lived before me. What she’d done or why she’d ever wanted to dominate when submitting to me was so much easier. I’d show her a place that I could take her to that would leave no room for anyone in her life but me.

My fucking arse felt hot already standing as I was in front of the damn fire. And soon it would be blistering and emblazoned with Victor’s initials. Jesus, where the bloody hell had he got that idea from? Had he spent the afternoon trawling the internet for spanking forums? I wouldn’t put it past him. One thing I knew about Victor was that if he was going to do something he did it properly and he liked to do his research.

“I swear to God, Zara, if I have to ask you to get over my knee again I’ll spank you for a whole two hours before I even let you think about coming. Don’t believe I can’t or wouldn’t do that.”

Shit.

Hurriedly I dropped over his wide thighs. The thing about Victor was because he was tall and lean it was easy to mistake him as slender. He wasn’t, he was big-man size with muscles in all the right places. He just looked neat and proportioned in his thousand-pound suits and in his large, sprawling apartment.

I felt the solidness of his legs as my breasts settled on his left thigh, was aware of the denseness of his body and the jutting of his cock against my side.

“Not like that,” he all but growled, the sound going straight to my pussy.

Suddenly I was tipped, head down. I gasped and flailed my arms, reaching to the floor with one hand and gripping his ankle with the other. As my world upended my arse rose, so did one knee. But not for long. He shifted and trapped my legs with one of his, meaning I was squashed between his thighs and bent over just one leg, my buttocks the highest part of my body.

Blood rushed to my head, singing in my ears and flushing my cheeks. I screwed my eyes shut and beat down a wave of mortification as he pressed a hand on my back, keeping me pinned tight. In all my thoughts of being spanked I hadn’t expected this completely vulnerable, trapped pose. I’d imagined Victor to be much more gentlemanly about it, allowing me to elegantly drape rather than be folded over him. Maybe on the sofa so I could rest my cheek on a cushion, my legs supported rather than wedged.

“Keep still,” he said, smoothing his hand over my buttocks in big, sweeping movements.

I hadn’t realised I’d been wriggling, but I followed his instruction and forced myself still. Concentrated on his adoring touch.

“Oh, Zara. You have such a perfectly peachy bottom,” he said. “Small, yes, but with a delicious roundness of femininity that makes me so hard for you.” As if to prove it, he pulled me closer against his body so his stiff cock lodged between my waist and his abdomen. “Remember when I fucked your arsehole? How good it was, how hard you came?”

“Yes, Sir.” Oh I did, he’d done it just right. I hadn’t been sure he’d had it in him to give it to a girl good up the arse, but he had. It had been ten out of ten.

“I like this tight little rosebud.”

As he’d spoken he’d dipped his finger into my anus, just a fraction, just enough to make me gasp. I hadn’t been expecting attention there, which made the sensation all the sweeter.

“Oh, yes,” he said, “you want it there again tonight, don’t you.”

Damn, now that he’d mentioned it, I did. It was like that for me, anal sex, I didn’t ever just fancy it out of the blue, the suggestion had to be there.

A sudden hard whack beat down on my right buttock.

“Ow,” I cried, flinching.

“Answer me,” he barked, exerting harder pressure on my shoulders to keep me from jerking upwards.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes, Sir, what?”

“Yes, I want you to fuck my arse again, tonight.”

He laughed as he stroked away the pain he’d just inflicted. “Good girl, that was the right answer. And you will get fucked in the arse once you’ve been punished, and fucked in your pussy, maybe in your mouth too. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, to have every hole filled with my cock?”

“Yes, Sir, very much, Sir.” Oh, and I meant it. I just wished he’d damn well get on with it.

He chuckled and I shifted on him, pulled in a deep breath and thought how wonderfully expensive his fabric conditioner was. His plain old sweats that I adored smelt of black orchids and…

“Fuck!” I shouted as a wild burn seared my buttocks. It seemed to take a moment for the sound of the thwack to reach my ears, but when it did it competed with the blood rush.

“Oh, yes, this paddle is perfect,” Victor said, bracing me tighter, spreading his fingers over my back and shoving me downwards.

I was well and truly trapped and at his mercy.

“I’m going to give you ten strikes and then finger your pussy, Zara. You can count out loud or in your head. That was the first one.”

I clenched my fists, then opened my eyes and stared at the way his sweats had bunched around my fingers. Each crease and line was suddenly fascinating, and I stared, unblinking as I waited for the next slice of pain.

It came.

“Shit.” I hissed in a breath. Jesus, he wasn’t giving me any leeway. But I deserved that—I’d hit him as hard as I damn well could when I’d been paddling him in room four. As I’d yanked on his cock I’d put all my efforts into reddening his arse. But it had been damn well worth it, the way it had him fucking me against that wall was…

“Ah, Jesus.” I flinched and jerked, the next sting nothing short of boiling. I was sure I was brilliant scarlet already, just from a couple of slaps across my cheeks.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he said.

“Fuck, yes.”

“Pardon?” Another slap.

I twisted my head, pressed my cheek to his calf. The burn spread over my skin, settling in my pussy. I just needed a little bit more, a little bit less, just some…

Whack.

“Does it hurt?” he asked again.

Reaching for my hair and bunching it in his hand, he pulled and I was forced to raise my head.

“Yes, Sir, it hurts.”

“And you won’t wear such a short dress next time you decide to go without knickers?”

“No, Sir, I won’t, Sir.”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Tears welled in my eyes. Humiliation, pain and need a confusing whirlwind of emotions swirling through me. A sob erupted and added another layer of mortification to my turmoil.

“Shh.” The pain fizzed beneath the surface of my skin as he rubbed my buttocks. “You’re doing so well and you have VP printed all over your arse—no, make that
my
arse. Your arse is mine, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir.” And it was, I wanted him to do as he pleased with it, fuck it, finger it, whack it some more. A heady dose of adrenaline was floating me upwards, and combined with my dizzy upside down position I was beginning to drift.

“Oh, Zara, hot, wet Zara. What am I going to do with this greedy pussy?” He slipped his fingers between my legs, searched through my sopping folds and shoved two, maybe three fingers high inside me.

I groaned and squirmed for more.

“You need filling, don’t you, Zara? While I spank you, your cunt needs something to hold on to.”

“Yes, Sir, please, Sir.” Yes, that was what I needed. Desperately.

The stuffing disappeared, but only for a second because then I felt what must be the cool, round head of the vibrator.

“I think you’ll like this big cock,” Victor said, easing it into my pussy. “It’s going to make you come inside and out but not until I tell you to, okay?”

“Okay, Sir.” My breaths were huffing in and out in short, sharp pants.

He loosened the tightness of his legs so he could manoeuver into my entrance. I could only imagine what I must look like—red arse up near his face, wet cunt swallowing the black cock, the wrinkles of my anus there for him to see, to plunder.

The image made me wetter, so did the scent of my sex swirling around and laying over me.