Whatever you want to do, do it.
‘I don’t want to get away with it,’ she said.
He moved one of his hands down, until it cupped the curve of her buttocks.
‘Good, because you’re not going to.’
He rubbed her skirt up and down, the light silky material rumpling over her bottom. Between her legs, the sensation quickened, causing her to hitch her breath and catch a little sigh.
‘So, what are you going to do about it?’
‘What am I going to do with you?’ His hand rubbed again, fingertips tracing the cleft of her buttocks over the thin material of her dress. ‘I’ll give you three guesses.’
She’d never thought of herself as really kinky, although she’d had a few fantasies of being tied up and used, but the craving she had for him to raise his hand and bring it down hard on her bottom, just then, almost drove her out of her mind.
‘Spank me?’ she whispered, and it happened.
It was so sudden and so loud that she didn’t feel the sting of it for a moment or two – too busy jumping out of her skin. But a handprint of heat soon seared through her and her legs came close to giving way.
‘Ten out of ten,’ he said. ‘Clever girl.’
‘That hurt,’ she said, reaching behind her to tend to her sore spot, but he grabbed hold of her hand and held it tight.
‘It’s supposed to,’ he said. ‘But you can take a little pain, can’t you? Especially when you know you deserve it.’
‘You won’t go too far, will you?’ she asked, wondering how much force he had in him, if what she’d already had was just a taster.
‘I won’t bruise you. Unless you want me to. But I’ll make sure you feel it for a while after. Trust me, babe. I’m an old hand at this.’
‘Are you?’
‘Uh huh. But this isn’t the best position for it. I need to be sitting down.’
She followed him like a lamb as he led her into the kitchen, which contained a row of breakfast bar stools, ranged like chrome sentinels, with little black leather pillbox hats.
He positioned himself on one of them, even his long legs only just able to reach the floor, and slapped his thigh meaningfully.
Jenna, her hand
held in his to prevent escape, felt as if she’d entered Looking Glass World. She’d never had a man treat her this way, would never have dreamt that she’d ever find herself in this position. But now she was here, she had to let the drama unfold, and it was more than mere curiosity urging her on. The place where Jason had smacked her felt good: it pulsed with excitement, and the need to feel it again.
She had to fight her natural urge to reject anything that smacked of abasement or humiliation, of course, but Jason knew that, and he tugged her closer then tumbled her over his thighs so that she didn’t need to continue with that struggle any more. It was done. She was there, bum up, over this horrible, attractive bastard’s lap, and there was nothing at all she could do about it now.
She could kick and flail, but her limbs came nowhere near the floor, and she was obliged to grab on to the metal legs of the stool to maintain balance, otherwise there was a real danger of sliding off his knees. Or, at least, there would have been, if Jason hadn’t put a firm hand in the small of her back, holding her exactly where he wanted her.
‘Keep your legs still or I’ll have to go harder on you,’ he said.
She let her muscles slacken at once and lay, shamefully docile, over her lover’s lap.
The helplessness felt alien to her, and she had to adjust more to that than to the position itself, which was awkward and graceless but sustainable. To know that she could go nowhere, do nothing, without Jason’s permission, gave a feeling in the pit of her stomach that wasn’t quite fear – wasn’t quite outrage – but included both of them. And yet the fear and outrage heightened the secret, shameful pleasure of it. A little nugget, hidden deep inside her, of intense realisation that she had been looking for this without knowing it. She had found it, the thing she had not known she wanted. Did she dare fully admit it to herself? Not yet. For now, she had to sigh and snuffle and complain and pretend that it was an ordeal for her. Even more so since she had the distinct impression that Jason had known she wanted this all along.
How dared he? He could he know her sordid, taboo little secrets? It was unfair, and it laid her wide open to him.
She concentrated on her beautiful flooring; the polished granite tiles glowing and reflecting the subtle spotlighting. It looked good, even from this angle. Perhaps she’d mention that in her online review. Or perhaps not.
Jason was arranging himself on the stool, shifting into a more comfortable position. Anger seemed to have distilled into something else, judging by the burgeoning lump that made its presence felt beneath her pubis.
The hand on her spine moved to the hollow between her shoulders, while his other rested on her bottom, ready to deal more of what she had already experienced. How many? she wondered. And for how long? And how hard?