A Spanking
RILEY
By the time I reach Gabriel's bedroom, I'm shaking.
I also can't decide if I should do what he wants. After a night of surprising answers—namely, that he doesn't want a virgin, a fact that I still don't fully believe—he asked me to do the most predictable thing ever.
Wait for him, naked, in his bed.
I step into his bedroom, and it's unchanged from earlier today, the same orderly, dark, sensuous space. A floor lamp in the corner is softly illuminated, a tall monstrosity that looks like it's made out of the same harsh iron as the bedposts.
My gaze goes to the bureau that I peeked into, and I look away quickly, ashamed.
It seems that Gabriel is inspiring me to do things I otherwise wouldn't. I'm not the kind to snoop. Even though I'm a reporter and curious, I've never done something like that for any story. For one, it's illegal. For another, it's an invasion of privacy.
But if I crossed that line to find out more about Gabriel, what other lines will I cross tonight?
I walk slowly to the canopy bed and grasp one of the posts. It's metal, possibly cast iron, and the sensation is rough and cool against my fingers. I bend my knee and with my free hand, slide off my heel. Then the other.
I don't arrange the shoes or set them neatly aside, because I suspect it will affect Gabriel more if I introduce a bit of chaos into this orderly, sterile room.
My bare feet are warm against the cool tile as I walk toward the full-length mirror in the corner. Since I'm not wearing the heels, the long black dress drags against the floor, making a soft swoosh sound. I pause in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.
With my heart in my throat, I slowly gather the dress at my hips and lift it inch by inch over my skin. The cold air sends goose bumps down my arms. I struggle to lift the black dress over my head. Why didn't Gabriel want to do this himself?
Control. This is another way to control me.
When I pull the dress over my head, my long hair gets staticy and tangled in the cutout dress for a moment, and I struggle to undo the damage. Crap. I can't even do this sensually—how am I going to fare tonight with a man like Gabriel?
Finally, I untangle my hair and the dress and fling it to the floor. It drops in a pooled heap of fabric in the middle of the room. With a little sigh, I shove my panties down. That feels good, since they're dreadfully wet and even sticky from our earlier encounter in the hall.
My clit is still pulsing from that, and the fact that he's making me wait here, naked, sends a fresh rush of wetness between my legs.
I stand before the mirror, staring at my naked body in the wan light. I've always thought I was a little too much. Too fleshy, too curvy, too obscenely sexual. Over the years I've tried to hide it with baggy sweatshirts and jeans, ill-fitting sundresses and oversized t-shirt dresses.
But tonight, in that dress, and now that I'm standing in a stranger's room naked, I feel sensual. Ready. Not obscene at all, but erotic. I cup my own full breasts, wondering what it's going to be like when Gabriel finally touches me.
My hand skims down my torso, and just as I'm about to touch myself, I stop and smile. He told me not to, but that doesn't mean I have to abide by his rules.
I pad over to the bed and climb on, sitting on my heels. There's something different from earlier: the restraints.
There are leather straps on each of the canopy posts. Those definitely weren't here this afternoon. Holy fuck.
I'm not ready for this.
But the thing is, the longer I stay here, the more I will be. I can feel myself poised on the edge of a cliff, facing down the sheer drop in front of me.
And I want to jump. With him.
He's not going to be gentle in this. He wants to make me his.
And I want that.
I'm ready for it.
I arrange myself on the bed and try not to think about the leather straps. My sensual mood is briefly replaced with my usual awkwardness, and I'm not certain how I should present myself to Gabriel when he walks in.
I try various positions: sitting up with my back against the pillows, lying down, sprawled on my stomach. I rise up to all fours and do a few yoga stretches, arching my back. This just makes me giggle.
I am ridiculous. I imagine myself looking like some cheesy meme, with the words HEY BABY in fat, white text at the bottom. I roll my eyes, feeling stupid.
Finally I settle on my back, my head on the sumptuous million-thread-count pillowcase. I look up, half expecting to see a mirror on the ceiling. There is none.
A few minutes pass, and my mind's back to thinking about Gabriel. How he kissed me with such ferocity that I could barely breathe. How he fingered me with such expertise that I nearly came in that hallway at the party.
My clit begins to pulse again, and now I can't resist. I'm horny as hell, and that's why I'm here, right? To do depraved things with a total stranger, one I'm insanely attracted to. My clit is like a magnet for my fingers and I don't waste any time touching myself.
I'm super, super wet. Not just because of Gabriel and everything he's promised me. I've been wet since the first time he kissed me last night. I've been aroused by him from the moment we met, and I hate myself for it. But there's no going back now, since I'm here fingering myself in his bed...
A mixture of arousal and shame flows through me as my fingers move in a circular pattern without much effort. Soon my hips are rocking in time with the strokes. My other hand joins in, plunging two fingers inside me as I work my clit.
I fantasize about how I'll look at Gabriel when he walks in. My nipples will be hard and dusky, my breasts high and with just the right amount of jiggle. My legs will be wide open, and I'll make him want me. Fuck, I will make him want me more than he's wanted any other woman—the classy and elegant Lexi included. Fuck her, fuck every woman from his past. He's mine tonight, for better or worse.
I feel like I'm falling, drowning in this fucked-up situation, my fingers circling my clit with soft, teasing strokes.
My skin is flushed and a sheen of perspiration has formed between my breasts. I shut my eyes because I'm close to coming, but don't want to just yet so I squeeze my muscles and slow down, tweaking and teasing my clit with just the right amount of pressure to feel amazing.
Even though I've done this a million times, it feels new and magical, and I'm not sure if it's because of the circumstances or the man. Nah, I'm pretty sure it's the man, even though the circumstances are pretty extraordinary, too.
How can my fingers feel so good when I've done this exact thing for years? I even own two vibrators and masturbate on the regular. But the fact that Gabriel could interrupt me at any second has heightened all my senses. I want him to interrupt me, because I want to drive him wild, want to push him to the brink as he's done with me tonight.
I'm in a strange man's bedroom, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne, mixed with clean laundry and leather, and I'm waiting for him to come fuck me. I'm defying his orders.
I'm begging to be punished.
The sheer strangeness of that thought, combined with my fingers flicking against my swollen clit, causes an orgasm to peak. I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut tighter, my hand freezing. I don't want to explode just yet. No, I want this to last as long as possible.
I want him to see me fall apart, to witness what he's done to me without even penetrating me with his cock.
I whimper when I feel the telltale contraction of my sensitive flesh that precedes an orgasm, and I'm ready to let go. There's no stopping my orgasm now.
"Fuckkkkk," I whisper, throwing my head back and grinding my pussy into my fingers.
I shudder and shake, my hips moving in a quavering circle, my breathing ragged and uneven. My cunt pulses around my fingers as I think of his kisses, his touch, the way he possessively shoved my panties aside while we were at the party. My body is alive and quivering, trembling and pulsing and—
I gasp, loud, my back arching.
"That's it, come for me, Riley," Gabriel whispers in my ear.
At first I think the words are part of my fantasy, but I become acutely aware of the smell of spice and the heat of a man's body next to me on the bed. My eyes flutter open as my pussy throbs.
"Gab-Gabriel!" I cry.
"Yes, tesoro, I'm here." He's still wearing his tuxedo pants, and his white shirt is half-unbuttoned, revealing a muscular chest.
I'm panting, exposed to him, wondering how he came in here so silently, wondering how much he saw.
Everything, probably.
"You were supposed to wait for me," he purrs in my ear.
His deep voice startles me out of my fantasy, and I sit up abruptly, my legs still splayed. He's standing at the edge of the bed, and for some reason, I'm mortified. Although I shouldn't be, because even I know this is all part of the game.
He, too, sits up and sits on his heels at my feet, staring at my pussy, and licks his lips.
"I couldn't wait." A lock of my hair falls over my face and I attempt to sound defiant, petulant.
He begins to strip off his shirt. "You couldn't wait? Even though those were my explicit instructions?"
"Nope. Sorry. I have needs."
I begin to close my legs and he makes a clicking noise with his tongue. "I have needs, too, Riley. And now it's my turn. Keep those legs open so I can look at you while I take off these damned pants. Lie back and be a good girl for me."
I swallow hard, once again aroused and needy. I oblige and ease back onto the pillow, watching him as he sheds his pants and boxer briefs.
"There. Like that. Open your legs wider." His cock stands at attention, massive and rigid. "Now spread your pussy open for me."
With fingers that are still sticky with my wetness, I do. I ache so bad right now, and this is unfamiliar. Usually, I orgasm in my safe little bed, with my trusty vibrator, then fall asleep. Tonight I'm ready for more.
"You made a mess of your pretty pussy, didn't you? Bad, bad, bad."
Now I'm nearly going out of my mind with desire. What's he going to do to me? I can't wait to find out.
He strokes himself for a while as he stares between my legs. I go to touch my clit again, because my need's building and I want to come again.
"No," he commands. "Roll over and get on your hands and knees. Now."
"Why?" I ask, knowing this will raise his ire, or make him do something even more depraved.
"You know."
I shake my head. "Nope, I don't."
"You little brat." He grabs me by one ankle, drags me toward him, then flips me like a hamburger on a grill. I yelp, thrilled at this development.
"Hands. And. Knees. So I can spank your beautiful ass."