Along for the Ride

“You have a choice.” She made sure he was watching as she gave him his ultimatum. “You can be punished in one of three ways ...” Oh, yes, she had his full attention now. “You can be reported to the police.” She pointed again at the phone, which was much nearer to her than him. “Or you can wait until Gregory gets here and discovers that you failed miserably in the simple task he set you, and that I am free.” She smiled and folded her arms across her chest, tapping her fingernails against her arms. “Or ... you can choose to accept your punishment from me, the person that you have wronged.”

“You must punish me.” He replied without hesitation. There was a sense of longing in his expression, as if he truly believed that would be his redemption. Georgie meant it for openers, although she could see he was aroused to the point of not caring what might happen after. The poor bastard really had the hots for her.

“Right, then, we’re agreed. Now I think it’s time for you to show me how much you regret your actions here today.”

He nodded in silent agreement, his body trembling. “What do you want me to do?”

Make him vulnerable, her inner voice suggested. “Take your clothes off.”

Did I really say that? she thought to herself and watched, mesmerized, as he obediently began to strip off his shirt and jeans. The fact that he was doing what she said set free another bolt of raw power in her veins.

His body was as well built as she had guessed it would be, with wide shoulders and strong hips and thighs. There was a scroll of dark hair over his chest; it led her eye down the thin line to his groin where it thickened out again in the black bush from which his cock stood up, rigid, like a sentry on parade. When she walked closer, she reached out and prodded him in the stomach. His cock swayed toward her, but she refused to touch it. Instead she rubbed her hand over his chest and down one hip and then grasped at his balls. This drove him into a frenzy of anticipation, and she felt his balls grow harder, rising up in their sac.

He put one hand out as if to touch her.

“Don’t you dare touch me again, ever,” she instructed from between her teeth, although she wanted him to desire her touch, to need it. His hand dropped, and he hung his head in such a sweet, pathetic way that it made her blood surge with power again. She put one hand on her hip.

“Sit down on the stool where you were before when you were watching me, you dirty boy.” When she called him “dirty,” his cock shuddered, his whole body trembling with excitement.

Georgie felt something primitive and savage being unleashed by the sheer thrill of sexual power. Her fingers tapped against her hipbones as she watched him follow her instructions and sit on the stool. She grabbed one of the tasseled tiebacks from the curtains and walked behind him; he watched her out of the corner of his eye without lifting his head. She quickly tethered his wrists behind his back with the strip of fabric, watching as his wide, well-muscled shoulders stretched back, flexing when she restrained him. Over his shoulder she could see the engorged head of his cock bobbing wildly, the solid length of it rapping against his stomach. It looked as if a huge python was out of control between his thighs, and her sex clenched in response, her clammy inner thighs growing damper by the moment.

She felt the urge to give him a good thrashing. The thought led her on. The control she was exerting over him had made him increasingly excited. If he was into submission this much, was he into S & M, as well, she wondered? She needed to know. She wanted to find out. She stepped in front of him.

“I think you deserve a good thrashing for holding me here.”

He gave a mighty groan and slumped forward, his head hanging right down against his chest. He was baring his back to her. Her pulse began to trip higher and higher. Then she saw it, the slow nod of his head.

“Punish me. I shouldn’t have done it ... I was bad.” His voice was hoarse and low.

She glanced quickly around the room, looking for something she could give him a hiding with. She noticed her plaited leather belt lying heaped on her dress at the side of the bed, along with her bag and shoes. They had taken her clothes off. They had undressed her. How dare they?

She marched over and snatched up the belt. She took a knife from the lunch tray and quickly sawed at one end of the belt. The plaited twines sprang free and she shook them out, the entwined strands of leather soon resembling something muc

h fiercer -- a cat-o-nine tails. She whipped it through the air experimentally, giving a wicked smile when it snapped and sprang back. She looked back toward Foster. He was watching her, wide-eyed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and upper lip. The python between his thighs was now ramrod straight, rock hard, and leaking wetness from its one eye.

“Mistress ...” He groaned with deep and desperate pleasure.

“Shut it!” The frayed leather belt flashed out at her side when she spoke. She paced from side to side.

Foster grew quiet. He watched the strap, his chest rising and falling.

She smiled to herself. He’d obviously not seen the potential in her chosen weapon when it was twined around her hips as she had been sleeping on the bed, nor when he’d undressed her. It looked lethal now, tailing out toward his feet.

She saw the anticipation in his expression. Sheer, joyful relinquishment flickered over his face. The punishment was something he wanted and would willingly take.

She grabbed his arm and pushed him down to his knees.

He swore as his kneecaps met the floor.

“Quiet!” The silence that followed was laced only with the twin sounds of their labored breathing. He flinched -- she had touched him, but it was only the gentle draw of the strap across his back, to test his reactions.

“You admit that you have committed a crime, holding me here?” She raised her hand.

“Yes ... I have.”

“And you stole my new underwear!” She was suddenly furious about that.

“No,” he blurted. “You didn’t have any on when I ...” His voice trailed off.