STRIPPED (The Slate Brothers 3)

“That’s very good,” Tyson says, nodding. He leans his head down— I’m so much shorter than him— and pulls my lips to his, kissing me deeply, sliding his tongue between my lips until I lick back at him. He pulls back and says, “Take my boxers off, Anna.”

He’ll be naked— I’ll be in my bra and pants still, but he’ll be naked in my room. I step back and gingerly grasp the edges of his boxers with my fingers, then tug them down. I have to pause when I reach the top of his cock— he’s so hard that it catches the elastic. I look up at Tyson, and he’s waiting patiently, knowing what I’ll have to do to negotiate the clothing over him. I take a breath, then reach over the top of his boxers to grasp his cock in my right hand. I whimper at the sensation— he’s so warm, so hard, and I can feel blood pulsing through him. Tyson groans deep in his throat when I touch him, and it reassures me that I’m doing something right.

I move his cock closer to his stomach in order to pull his boxers down; when they’re over him, they drop to the floor easily, and just like that, I’m kneeling in front of a naked man. Tyson studies me, watching me nervously stare at him, then says, “Stand up, Anna, and take your clothes off for me.”

I gulp— I haven’t even gotten over him being naked. But I do as he says, rising and reaching behind my back to finger at the clasp of my bra. I unhook it, take a breath, and then let it slide off my chest. My nipples, already sensitive and aroused, prickle at the air; Tyson takes a breath, and I see his cock stir at the sight. I’ve never been particularly proud of my breasts— they’re average size, and a nice enough shape I suppose, but nothing I found particularly brag-worthy. Tyson licks his lips lightly, and the memory of his mouth on my bra-covered nipple causes my core to burn.

“Should I keep going?” I ask in a whisper.

Tyson takes a breath, debating this, then lifts a hand to fondle one breast, then the other. His hand is gentle, but strong— there’s nothing light about the touch. I bite my lip at the feeling— I don’t want him to stop. My eyes drift shut as he rubs his thumb back and forth across a nipple, a satisfied noise rising from his throat.

“Your body, Anna,” he says with a long exhale. “It’s perfect.”

I almost object— that’s what women are supposed to do, right?— but the look in his eyes tell me that to him, his words are absolutely true. I reach up nervously and take my right breast in my hand, caressing my own nipple, and Tyson looks hungry at the sight. He reaches forward, takes my other hand, and places it hard against his cock, so I can stroke myself and him at once. I feel so soft, so small compared to him.

“Now,” he says, fighting for a steady breath. “Take your pants off. But I want you to face away from me when you do it, and bend at the waist. Understand?”

I nod and withdraw my hands from his body and my own, then turn my back to him. I hook my fingers into the sides of my yoga pants and tug down, then bend over at the waist as instructed. I’m wearing a thong— one of the athletic-wear ones, so nothing fancy— which means my ass is in full view when I bend over and step out of the pool of black fabric at my ankles. I’m about to rise when Tyson stops me with a firm hand on my left ass cheek, his other on my lower back, keeping me bent over.

He rubs my ass tenderly, squeezes it, presses his thumb against me, and then spanks me. It happens so fast that I yelp and, were it not for his balancing hand on my lower back, would have fallen forward. It wasn’t hard, and it didn’t hurt— but it stung in a way that thrills me. I turn red at this— I like being spanked? What kind of girl am I? But the place where his hand struck is alive and desperate for more, and I find myself leaning back.

“That’s right,” Tyson says. “I knew you’d like that.” He spanks me again, and I moan loud and long. Another, another, and my nerves are firecrackers shooting through my body, my hair swinging forward with each smack.

“I knew you’d like giving in, letting go of control,” he murmurs, as if to himself. “Tell me how much you like it.”

“I…I love it,” I admit, as he spanks me again.

Fuck.

I do love it.

I feel wild and out of control, and it feels right.