Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories (6 page)

I turned and stretched, and looked up at him in invitation. “So...?” I said.

“So...?” he repeated with a half-smile.

“So, it’s not our first date anymore. Do you ever fuck on the second date?”

“Sometimes. If I don’t care about the girl that much.”

His eyes held mine. Holy shit. He wasn’t fucking me, wasn’t even trying to, even if he made me orgasm like wildfire.

What did that mean?

That he cared about me?

“Are we going to fuck?” I asked, because I needed to be really clear about this.

“No, we’re not. Not yet.”

I did the math in my sex-addled brain. That meant
he cared about me
. I melted. I almost simpered. I wanted his cock more than anything on earth, but he cared about me so I just had to wait. I gave a contented sigh as he reached to retrieve my glasses and settle them onto my face. Once I could see him with crystal clarity, he kissed me. We quickly lost ourselves in passionate, second-date kisses, but his jeans stayed on, and then he made me get up and get dressed so he could take me home. I felt disappointed and confused and sore and ecstatic all at once.

“So what’s next?” he asked when we got to my doorstep.

Did he mean relationship wise? Sex wise? My pussy angrily demanded to know what date he fucked on when he
did
care about the girl. I told my impatient pussy to shush.

“I mean, we’ve done over the knee,” he said. “We’ve used implements, and now we’ve used bondage. What’s next on this spanking odyssey?”

I stared at his broad chest and thought of all the power I’d given him, and how careful he had been, and how much I liked him. I thought of how close I wanted to get to him.

“I wonder if you could get me to cry,” I said softly. “I mean, that would be next, don’t you think? To be spanked to tears?”

His eyes widened. He rubbed his lip.

“You have to trust someone a lot to go that far with them,” he said after a moment. “I doubt you cry very easily.”

“I don’t cry easily. I hardly ever cry, but I wanted to, tonight. I felt really emotional, like I could have cried, but somehow...”

I didn’t want to tell him that I hadn’t felt safe enough to cry, because it wasn’t that. It was some fear inside me, some dread of being vulnerable.

“It’s not that the pain wasn’t bad enough, or the intensity,” I said. “It was some kind of self-protective thing. I wanted to cry, I just couldn’t quite do it.” I laced my hands together in front of me, the way I had atop the bench. “Maybe you could help me.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to think about that. You know, how to make it work.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” I said, backtracking at the gravity in his gaze. “It was just an idea. We could try something else. You know, anal or something. Just throwing it out there.”

He chuckled and slapped my butt. “Spanking and anal go together like strawberries and cream. But that’s more of a tenth date thing.” He sobered, taking my chin in his hand. “I’ll think about the crying. With you, maybe...”

His eyes held mine for a long, lovely moment. His touch was warm and firm, just like my feelings for him. I pictured myself crying over his lap as he spanked me, and then burying my tearful face against his shoulder afterward.

With you, maybe...

Maybe Slab Hands would be able to deliver. Heck, he’d done a bang-up job on our spanking odyssey so far. If anyone could make me lose it in the most wonderful way possible, it was him.

Chapter Four: Intense

––––––––

M
ateo had a big test to study for the following weekend, so it was almost two weeks before I saw him again. I opened the door on Sunday afternoon, nervous and excited. He was standing there, beautiful as ever. I sighed.

“Hello, Mateo.”

“Hello, Christine.” He brushed a kiss across my lips as he came in. “How are you?” he asked, checking out my little black dress. “You look pretty.”

“You look handsome,” I said, giving his ivory cashmere sweater and sexy-ass jeans the same slow, sultry inspection. “I’m really starting to look forward to Sundays. How was your test?”

“I aced it.”

Of course. He was good at everything. I tried to picture his big, burly body sitting in a desk at the University of Miami, as he pored over engineering textbooks and did all kinds of math and science equations.

When’s he going to engineer his cock into one of your holes?
my pussy grumbled. I silently told it to shut up and moved into Mateo’s arms. He held me a long time in a big bear hug of an embrace.

“So,” he said when he pulled away from me. “Are we still hoping for tears?”

“Yes. If you can get me there. If I can get myself there,” I corrected. “But I’ll need you to help me.”

“I’ll try to help. Have you done anything the past couple weeks that you need to be punished for? You know, things that make you feel guilty or ashamed?”

I took a deep breath, gathering my nerve. I’d asked for tears, so I figured I had to produce some pretty hardcore confessions.

“Well...” I began, “I haven’t been eating healthy, not really, and I haven’t been getting enough sleep. That’s pretty bad for my health. What else? Um. I haven’t been keeping my bathroom clean, and instead of sorting my laundry into whites and darks yesterday, I just threw it all in the machine together because I hate most of my clothes.”

His stern but attentive expression encouraged me to go on.
Tears
, I reminded myself.
You wanted tears.

“Let’s see. I was late paying my credit card bill this month. I mean, it wasn’t a huge bill, but that’s the most frustrating thing. I could easily have paid it but I didn’t, so then I had this freaking thirty-five dollar fee because of my stupid laziness and disorganization. Oh, and my mom asks me every week if I’m going to church, but I never go to church, and I lie to her and tell her I am going to church so she doesn’t worry about me going to hell, and I feel shitty about that.”

“Wow.” His expression had grown a bit steelier with each disclosure. It made my pussy twitch.

“And I forgot to call my best friend on her birthday,” I added, “and she always calls me on my birthday. And I messed up an order at the restaurant, and put tomatoes on someone’s salad when they asked for no tomatoes, because...”

“Because?” he prompted, sterner still.

“Because I was... I was thinking about you. About you spanking me. About you touching me. And I just completely forgot and threw tomatoes all over that salad.”

He pursed his lips. “Did they have a tomato allergy or something?”

“No. But they sent it back to the kitchen and the supervising chef yelled at me and told me to get my head on straight.”

He started pushing up the sleeves of his sweater, baring his beautiful, muscular forearms that were Italian-tan even in the winter. “Maybe I can help you get your head on straight, bad girl.”

My heart started beating double time. He was so good at getting me in the mood for this, and by “in the mood,” I mean terrified and horny and out of breath. The sleeves thing pushed all my buttons. It was like,
“I’m pushing my sleeves up because you’ve fucked up and you’re going to get it.”
I shivered and clasped my hands in front of me.

“I’ve been very bad,” I said forlornly.

“That’s apparent. Anything else you want to confess?”

“Yes. I wasn’t sorry about the tomatoes. On my break, right after that happened, I went into the employee bathroom and touched myself because I was thinking about how handsome you were, and the sound of your voice, and your big slab hands—”

“My ‘slab hands’?” he interrupted with a twitch in his lips.

“Yes. I have you in my phone as Slab Hands. Is that a punishment-worthy offense?”

“No. But masturbating in the employee bathroom when you just royally fucked up with some tomatoes is. It shows a blatant lack of respect for your work, and for people who don’t want tomatoes on their goddamn salads.”

His voice was really brisk now, as was his expression, so I came out with the only words that felt right at the moment. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“You’re going to be sorrier by the time I’m done with you. You’ve been a very bad girl this week, so you’re going to get a very hard spanking over my lap. It’s going to be long and painful, and it’s going to make you wish you behaved better.”

He was so perfect at this. He sounded so angry and disappointed I was already almost in tears.

“Go bring me your hairbrush, Christine. The wooden one you keep on your bathroom counter.”

“Oh. Okay. Yes, Sir.”

I could feel his eyes on my back as I went to the bathroom. My legs were already shaking, and my pussy was hot and
no, no, no,
I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about sex. I was supposed to be feeling sorry for my misdeeds. I was supposed to be tearful and penitent.

Maybe a long, painful spanking would help.

I returned to him with the brush in my hand. It was surprisingly difficult to do, considering that I’d asked for all this to begin with. I held it out to him. He took it and sat down on the couch, and placed it beside him, and reached out a hand to me.

I paused. Honestly, I’d expected to be tied up somehow, expected this whole thing to happen while I was securely in bondage. I’d expected him to bring over every hard implement he had, so he could force those tears out of me. But he was in charge, so I went to him. I was all ready to throw myself over his lap, but he stopped me and made me look in his eyes.

“I’m disappointed in you,” he said. “You can do better, can’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“It’s a shame it’s come to this,” he said, taking off my glasses and setting them aside, “but sometimes you have to be shown the error of your ways.”

This felt so real. I supposed it
was
real, but then, why was I aroused? He pulled me over his lap so my front was kind of half on the couch. My legs hung down, my knees not quite able to reach the floor. I felt suspended, uneasy, scared. He put a hand on the backs of my thighs to keep me from skittering around.

“Legs together,” he said. “Toes on the floor.”

I complied, feeling very controlled. He brushed my skirt up to expose my ass, and then slid his fingers beneath the waistband of my panties.

“This is going to be a bare bottomed spanking, Christine. Unfortunately, there’s no other way to deal with extremely naughty girls.”

He slid my panties down over my cheeks. It felt sexy, even though I was literally shaking with nerves. He left my panties just at the tops of my thighs, as if he wanted them to frame my ass for his punishment. I bit my lip, wishing I didn’t feel so turned on. I was a bad girl, after all. I needed expiation in the form of tears.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” I answered, lying very still.

His big hand rested across my cheeks, a warm, heavy promise of impending pain. “I want you to take this spanking without flailing around and fighting me. No hands in the way, no whining and begging for mercy. You’re going to get the spanking you earned, and you’re going to accept it from start to finish. Say
Yes, Sir
if you understand me.”

“Yes, Sir.” I shivered and braced one palm on the ground. The other was pressed to my mouth, to keep all the words in, words like
Oh my God
and
Holy hell
, and
I’m so freaking scared
, and
Please start
, and
Oh wait, please don’t start.

His hand moved back and forth over my tensing ass, and then he started spanking me. It wasn’t full out, no, but his hand was hard and it
hurt
, that shocking moment of
ouccchhh
before I had time to adjust. I blew out a breath and clenched my teeth. He hadn’t given me a hand spanking, a pure, sustained hand spanking, since that first night in his Jeep, and this was definitely harder than he’d spanked me that night. The blows fell one after the other, until a cry finally burst from my lips. “Ow, ow,
ow
...”

“Hush. You earned this.”

I tried to be still, to accept the spanking as he had lectured, but without any breaks, the pain just built and built and built. My body jerked involuntarily, seeking respite he wasn’t willing to allow. My legs made small kicks, then bigger kicks.

“Toes on the floor,” he reminded me.

I moaned and straightened my legs into the required position. When I squirmed on his lap to escape the pain, he drew me back where I was supposed to be.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“I want you to think about ways you need to change. It’s not hard”
Smack!
“to keep your life organized”
Smack!
“if you make an effort.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said over the sound of the unending spanks. “Oh, please.”

Oh, please stop. Oh, please, it hurts so much.

He did stop for a moment, but only to pick up the hairbrush. I wailed as I felt the back of the wooden brush whap against the underside of my ass. The wood stung even more than his hand, a sharp, hard detonation of pain. Just as he’d spanked me continuously with his hand, he spanked me continuously with the hairbrush, delivering a dozen blows with perhaps one or two seconds in between.

My cries rose in volume, even after he hushed me. “You deserve this,” he lectured. “Yes, I know it hurts. Tell me this, young lady: what’s worse, cleaning your apartment and paying your bills on time, or taking this spanking?”

“The spanking,” I wailed. “It’s so much worse.”

“Exactly. If you did those other things on time, without procrastination and laziness, you’d feel better all around, and you wouldn’t be getting your ass torn up.”

“I’m sorry, Sir!”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. You’re the one you hurt with your behavior. And God...lying to your mother?”

He stopped as I kicked up my legs. I was close to tears now, really close. It hurt so badly.

“Put your toes on the floor,” he said. “Keep them there.”

“I can’t. It’s so hard.”

“You still need to do it.”

I clung to his calf and straightened my legs behind me. My ass felt wretched. He wrapped an arm around my waist so I couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. He put the brush down and started with his hand again.
Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.