The gym kept her occupied until Blake returned home from work. Each day, she ensured she was there to greet him, wearing a dress with her panties absent. Regardless of his weariness, he’d gather her in his arms and kissed her. She tasted rock on his lips, a sheen of dust from the mine, which settled in his short hair and clothes. While he kissed her passionately, he’d ruck up her skirt and seek out her bare bottom with a groping hand.
Today was no different. He squeezed a cheek and she rose up on tiptoes, pressing her body into his. His stiffening cock beckoned to her, awakening her own arousal. When he slid a finger down her cleft, seeking out her wet hole, she purred, remembering the previous night, how he’d licked her into an orgasm—her favourite kind of orgasm. Lysa couldn’t fault Blake when it came to giving her pleasure. Even if he took her first, hard and with force, he ensured she received her share of sensual treats.
Occasionally, he spanked her.
Unlike the mortifying incident
over his lap, he interspersed his smacks in the midst of intense love-making. She’d grown accustomed to the stings, although she still didn’t understand why they made her wet, needy and agreeable to his demands.
Lying naked on the bed, with his own urgency spent, he brought his sensual skills to bear. His strength and brawn didn’t prevent him from being tender and gentle. She shivered. If goose bumps were a measure of her aroused state, then she lost count of their number and intensity.
He trailed kisses down her abdomen as she settled onto her back. Each light brush of his lips whipped up the butterflies lurking beneath. The farther south he drifted, the more they took flight, heading straight to her heart, increasing its pace of thumping beats. A surge of exhilaration struck as he shifted his weight between her legs and dipped his head down. Each slow lick gradually parted her folds, letting him glide deeper into her sex.
Blake hooked her legs around his shoulders and she rested her heels on his back, sliding them down to his firm buttocks. He held her thighs in his arms, encased his mouth about her pulsating clitoris and let loose his fluttering tongue. Lysa buried her face under her arms and smothered a cry of delight.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she mumbled. He didn’t say no, and she couldn’t stop it if she tried.
Her orgasm rippled to the fringes of her senses and she held her breath until Blake tickled her tummy with his fingertips.
“Off,” she muttered, pushing his hand away.
“No sleeping. We’re going shopping.” He clambered off the bed and she propped herself up on her elbows.
“For what? I bought food supplies this morning.”
“You’ll see.” He winked at her as he pulled up his pants. “Get dressed.”
Of the four shops, he took her to the general store, which sold a range of goods that weren’t food related. She spotted everything from cutlery to replacement showerheads. Some of it looked used.
“When a worker finishes his stint here, he often sells his possessions. They end up here,” explained Blake. He steered Lysa towards the far corner of the shop.
He halted before a display rack and her jaw plummeted. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she exclaimed. Lined up on the wall, hanging from pegs, an array of implements and their purpose obvious. Paddles—long, wide, thick and thin, canes—short ones, curvy or straight, and straps. Blood drained from Lysa’s face as Blake reached out to touch a paddle.
“They sell… I don’t believe it…” She rounded on Blake, pulling his arm away from the display rack. “I’ve been good, haven’t I? Why the hell do you need any of this lot?”
Blake whispered in her ear. “Stop making a fuss. Spanking isn’t all about punishments, you must have realised that? Don’t bury your head in the ground. You’re turned on by it all.”
She stamped her foot on the floor. “No, I’m bloody well not!”
“Shh,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. “You mustn’t disrespect me in a public place, remember?”
Her lips sealed together, but in her mind she thought of words of displeasure, disbelief and other rude expressions not to be spoken aloud.
“Look at these paddles, heh. Some of them have soft furry sides.” He unhooked one and flipped it over. “Go on, stroke it.”
Lysa resisted the urge to grab it off him and whack him with it. She touched the surface with her fingertips and she felt a velvety softness, rather like fur. “But the other side.” She twisted his wrist around. “It’s got studs in it.”
“Studs? I’d call it texture.” He hung it back up and picked another. A long thin paddle with a flap at the end. It reminded her of a snake’s tongue. “Imagine this flicking over your splendid arse. Almost a tickle, heating up a spot for me to lick.”
She backed away. “Tickle. You’ve got a weird angle on what’s ticklish.”
He moved on to the canes. “Some are thin, whippy and others thick and rigid. Are you more inclined to sting or thud?” His lips curved upwards and his eyes glinted. A wicked expression of intent and one that sent out warning signals.
She stuck a hand on her hip. “Neither. Obviously. You implied you don’t like canes.”
“I don’t like the way a certain man handles the cane. I, on the other hand, can be quite gentle with it. Tap, tap, tap.” He rapped it against his leg.
“First tickle, now gentle. Let’s agree to disagree when it comes to your idea of appropriate adjectives.” She couldn’t stop looking at the tip of the cane, the way it bounced off his legs as if spring loaded.