Sweetest Mistress Page 2

  I pulled out of her mouth with a dirty pop.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. I shouldn’t, I knew. This was her chance to stop and think about what I was doing to her and run like the fucking wind. But hell, my assholery hadn’t reached such epic proportions that I would push her into something she didn’t want. This had to be her choice.

  She panted, clinging to the backs of my thighs as she caught her breath. “I’m fine.”

  I wasn’t convinced. “Melissa – ”

  “If you want to finish that way, you can.”

  She blinked up at me in some sort of mouth-fucked daze, lips puffy with smeared red lipstick, and were those tears down her face? I was an ass.

  An ass who wanted to do it again. Fuck.

  What was the question? Did I want to finish in her mouth? Well, hell, who wouldn’t want to finish in that mouth? It was pretty much designed for coming in, all swollen and pouty. And I knew from experience, warm and deep and – damn!

  I needed to at least try and give something to her. And that meant fucking her. Well, it could also mean eating her out, which would be more than fair considering how I’d just shoved my whole cock down her throat, but, well, I thought we’d already established I was an ass. Besides the fact that if I tasted her pussy, if I felt her come beneath my mouth, I’d probably spill into the sheets, and that wasn’t going to happen tonight.

  “Get on your hands and knees,” I said.

  Had there ever been a more beautiful sight than a woman on her hands and knees? All vulnerable and waiting. It made me want to protect her. It made me want to fuck her into the ground.

  I ran my hands along her back, leaving ripples of goosebumps in their wake. Up across those dimples at the base of her back and over the plump, heart-shaped ass. And between the cheeks, pink pussy lips peeked out at me, as if shy, as if demure, but glistening wet.

  I could die a happy man, looking at that ass. In fact, I wanted to. Whenever I did kick the bucket, I would think back on this image. No need to replay my life, the all-American childhood, the boring career, the broken marriage. No, I wanted to see this, but since I didn’t think she’d let me take a picture of her ass for such a morbid purpose – or for any purpose at all, really – I moved into position behind her.

  And then realized I didn’t have a condom on. No matter, I always had one. I usually carried one in my wallet – you never knew – but always on a date. That was the endgame of the whole dating thing, after all, and so it would be stupid not to be prepared. But as I thumbed through my wallet, I realized it was gone.

  I thought back – Suzie or Sammy or some other S-name. She’d only wanted it missionary and over with as quickly as possible. And I’d used my condom on her. Well, rationally I knew that there was no condom shortage in the world and that it was my own damn fault for not replacing the condom after my last date. But it felt good to blame Susan with her ridiculous Volvo and cats and lame sex that had nothing on this.

  “Wyle?” she asked, glancing back. It made her look even sexier.

  “Damn. I’m so sorry. I don’t think I have a – fuck.”

  It was the least eloquent thing I could possibly say, crude too, but it was the best I could do. The disappointment was like getting an ice cream cone only to spill the scoops onto the sidewalk a minute later – only a million times worse.

  This couldn’t be happening to me. I was a nice guy. I paid my taxes. I called my mother on Mother’s Day. I donated fifty bucks a month to some charity organization that had called me and setup auto-debit from my credit card. Surely the universe owed me a strip of fucking latex.

  “You don’t have a condom?” she asked.

  Biting my tongue back from suggesting some sort of saran wrap concoction, I shook my head.

  “It’s okay. I have a box somewhere.”

  A box? She had a box of them? Christ, yes. That’s what I was talking about. Fuck yeah to feminism or Sex in the City or whatever it was that had made it okay for women to stock condoms.

  She got up off the floor and rummaged around – butt naked, by the way, and I thoroughly enjoyed the jiggling of certain body parts as she reached into the cabinets – producing a box of condoms. I didn’t even bother to check the size, because hell, these were going on one way or another.

  And thankfully, in those few minutes, I’d gotten back some of my head, the bigger one. I could lead her over to the bed like a gentleman. I could ask her to lie down for me, face up, the way a gentleman fucks. And I could roll on a condom and slide between her thighs like…well, like a guy who needed to fuck, and fast.

  I slid in and – ahhh – began thrusting immediately, not giving her time to adjust or reject me. Just in, out, in out. Angles, my rational mind said. I had to be realistic. I wasn’t going to be able to last that long, so I had to hit the right angles to make her come. Kissing, also. Women liked kissing. I wasn’t sure it actually made them come faster, but hell, I was desperate.

  So I kissed her, sliding my tongue into her mouth in tandem with my dick in her pussy. She moaned, and I took that as a positive sign, at least until my dick surged. I tamped it down.

  And her hands, they were so good. Too fucking good. They slid up my torso and around to my ass. They rifled through my hair, tugging gently. All of it was too much, so I stopped them. I caught each of her hands in mine and dragged them up above her head. I pressed gently – stay – and drew my hands back down to breasts.

  “You never told me what you liked.”

  I froze mid-thrust. “What?”

  A sheen of sweat coated her face, and her mouth was still wrecked, wet from my kisses and my cock, but she said, “You asked what I liked. You never told me what you liked.”

  “I like this,” I said.

  She shook her head on the pillow. “It doesn’t feel right.”

  What the hell did that mean? Angles, probably.

  “It feels like you’re doing what you think I want,” she said. “If I’m wrong, you can tell me that, but I don’t need you to do this for me.”

  Well, shit. She was right. I mean, I was doing this because I thought she liked it. But that’s what women wanted, wasn’t it? That had always been my experience. She wanted me to use her however I wanted, so long as I did it right. And that meant fucking her right while acting the gentleman, some sort of magic blend that I could never hope to achieve.

  Women weren’t ever interested in my fantasies, in what I really wanted.

  But what if she was? It was crazy, but then this whole night was. And as much as I liked her – and liked fucking her – well, she was still a stranger. And then that meant I could open up, maybe, and even if she laughed in my face, I wouldn’t have to see her again.

  It wasn’t quite as simple as that. If she laughed in my face, I’d feel like shit. And technically, she knew Joanna, and that shit could come back to bite me.

  Still, those brown eyes called to me, promising not to hurt me, willing me to believe she actually cared.

  I sat back on my heels, unable to fuck her, to be inside her, while I said this.

  “Look,” I said. “What we did until now was really great. I enjoyed it and – what am I saying? – it was really fucking great, okay? I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, if I say that my fantasy is something different.”

  “Hey,” she said, placing her hand on my arm. “It’s okay. I believe you when you tell me you liked it. You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”

  I didn’t? I mean, when she said it like that, it seemed so obvious. But it hadn’t been like that before, not with other women and definitely not with my ex. Who I didn’t want to think about at all, but hell, I was. She’d said the same things as Melissa. She wanted me to be in control, she wanted me to use her however I wanted, except that was a lie. She just wanted me to read her mind, and that wasn’t the same thing at all.

  I took a deep breath and took the plunge. “I’ve never actually done it, but I’ve always thought about what it would be like to be…sp
anked.”

  Chapter Three

  I waited for the horror or more likely the derision. I was supposed to be a man. Maybe not the strongest or the most manly man, but a man nonetheless. I made decent money and watched sports on Sundays. I wasn’t supposed to want to be spanked, but I did. I had for as long as I could remember, jerking off to schoolboy fantasies in my head. And now I’d just outed myself to a relative stranger.

  “Just thought about it?” she asked, her voice curious, not condemning.

  “Well, I suppose I’ve looked at it. In porn, you know.” I cleared my throat. Shouldn’t have said that. You didn’t talk about porn around women, you just didn’t. It fell under the category of exes and parts of their bodies that could stand to lose a little weight.

  But she just nodded, as if that made complete sense.

  I found myself saying, “And a few times, I…called a hotline. A phone sex line. She told me what she was doing and it was, well, pretty great.”

  “I guess,” I added, as if that could somehow absolve me of my weirdness.

  “What kind of stuff did she say?”

  My face heated at the memory. Her husky voice and my helpless moans. I’d come so fucking hard just from those words. “She said that I’d been a naughty boy. That I needed to be punished. She said that she would spank me – hard – and that if I was good, I’d get to fuck her.”

  “Is that what you want me to do?” she whispered.

  I nodded solemnly.

  She swallowed hard and looked down, her lashes veiling her eyes as they had whenever I’d brought up her past. Damn. Why had I done that? Bad enough I’d even told her about it, much less asked her to do it. I wasn’t a risk taker, but this had been a huge risk. I’d shot the moon and lost. Now I was sitting here with a useless condom on my dick, feeling like a pussy.

  But when she looked up, she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t angry or annoyed. She looked…sexy. There was a glint in her eye, something I hadn’t seen before.

  “You felt bad making me suck your dick, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “What? No. Yes!”

  “Well, which is it?” She practically sneered. I almost came right then.

  “I did. It felt good, but I…I was too rough. It wasn’t right.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” she agreed. “Get on your hands and knees.”

  My body swung into position before my mind had even understood.

  “I was in this position for you,” she said.

  I swallowed. My ass was in the air, vulnerable. My cock hung down, pathetic, though not at all deflated.

  “Was that wrong, too?” she asked.

  Christ, what was the right answer? “Yes,” I said, because it was true. She’d been beautiful that way. Too fucking beautiful and I hadn’t known how to handle it. I didn’t deserve that. I wanted this.

  “What are you even doing here? It’s only our first date. You don’t know me. Why do you think you get to have sex with me?

  I didn’t know. I shook my head.

  She leaned close to my ear and murmured, “Have you been bad?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  Her hand trailed down my back, a mimic of my touch on her body earlier. My muscles jolted and jerked, uselessly pulling when I really didn’t want to go anywhere.

  “You need to be punished, don’t you?” This last was said as more of a statement. A consideration to herself, not me. “I just wonder if my hand is going to be enough for you.”

  Images flashed in my mind of her wielding a belt, a paddle, a flogger. Fuck!

  I knew this wasn’t her. This was a role, maybe, something she’d donned just for me. But it was even sexier that way. She wasn’t just doing this to any random guy she met. Well, maybe she was – best not to think about that. But she didn’t go around acting the dominatrix, that was for sure. She was shy and meek and controllable, except that I’d asked her to do this. And since that’s what I wanted, she was giving it to me.

  Smack. Her hand hit my ass.

  Smack, smack, smack.

  In all honesty, it hurt more than I’d been expecting. It also felt better than I’d imagined. Every slap zinged straight to my cock.

  Again and again, she hit me all over my ass. She strayed to my upper thighs and hips only to return to my raw ass cheeks.

  “Unh,” I grunted on a particularly hard one.

  “Did that hurt?” she asked.

  I was almost tempted to lie, afraid she’d stop. Afraid she’d never do it again. But something about kneeling on my hands and knees, getting my ass spanked, demanded the truth. “Yes,” I said.

  “Good.” She pinched the tender skin she’d just slapped.

  “Christ!”

  She smoothed the pain away with her hand. “Shhh.”

  Just as my body relaxed and leaned against her hand, she pinched again.

  “Fuck!”

  “You don’t like that?” she asked.

  “No,” I groaned.

  “That’s what makes it a punishment,” she said, sounding so prim and proper I almost came with my dick hanging in the air.

  She must have noticed because she nudged me, not very gently, on my ribs. I rolled to my side, but she was right behind me, climbing my chest and sitting on my face.

  “Lick me good and then you can come.”

  Christ, the woman had really gotten into her role. It was hot as fucking hell.

  I licked like my life depended on it. I was sure I’d never given oral as good as that, licking and sucking and drinking her down. I’d never been so inspired.

  She rocked her hips down, her clit riding my tongue. It hurt with how tired it was, but I wouldn’t let up, wouldn’t let her go. I’d never wanted a woman to come all over my tongue so badly.

  With a strangled cry from above, she gyrated down onto my tongue hard as liquid spilled all over my face. My own hips bowed up off the bed, thrusting into the air as she came.

  She collapsed next to my head, leaning against the headboard. Still panting, she said, “Good job. Now you can come.”

  I didn’t move, panting myself, unsure of what to do.

  “That’s right,” she said. “Jerk yourself off. You didn’t think you deserved anything better, did you?”

  I shook my head and grabbed my dick, pumping hard.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Squeeze it. Make it hurt. That’s all you deserve, isn’t it? You dirty boy. You very bad boy. Fuck your hand.”

  Her words drove me over the edge and my fist frantically yanked away while I spurted come all over my belly and chest. I saw black spots and my orgasm went on and on.

  When I could breathe – and see – again, she leaned down next to my ear and whispered, “Did you like that?”

  “Yes,” I wheezed.

  “Use your fingers and your tongue to clean it up off your chest.”

  “What?”

  “Do it and then you can join me.”

  She got off the bed and dressed quickly, and then left the room, all while I stared dumbly. I couldn’t figure out what had just happened. We’d started off with me in charge, but it had ended with her. All because I’d told her I wanted to be spanked. And it had been amazing. The whole thing had been amazing, if a little shameful.

  Okay, a lot shameful. I was lying on a strange bed with my cum come all over my stomach, cooling in my chest hair. Alone.

  This was insane. I should get up and clean this off using a washcloth and soap and water like a normal person. I was a grown man. I could do what I wanted.

  But if I disobeyed, she would know. She might not let me back here.

  Fuck.

  I dragged my finger through the goop, scooping up a dollop. This was so much worse without her here. At least if she were here, looking at me, goading me on, it could be hot. This was just degrading. And, all right, a little bit hot.

  I put it in my mouth and sucked it off. It tasted like…nothing much at all. A little salt. A slight tang of bitter. But mostly gooey nothing.

&
nbsp; I took another taste and another, until there was only smeared dampness left on my chest and stomach. Then I dressed and cautiously exited the room. Melissa was sitting in an armchair, reading a book.

  “Did you like it?” she asked, without looking up.

  “Not really.”

  “Mmm,” she hummed. Then she snapped the book shut and set it down. When she stood, she had transformed into the sweet, docile woman I had first picked up. “I enjoyed it.”

  I cleared my throat. “I did, too. I meant…that last. And I guess I did enjoy that, too. It was just new to me.”

  She smiled shyly. “Me, too.”

  “Well, you played the part very well. Would you be able to go out tomorrow night?”

  “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I have plans.”

  Damn, damn, damn. I had ruined it, after all. There was no need to even wonder which thing it had been. The whole night had been too damned much for her.

  “It’s a work thing.” She made a face of distaste. “Happy hour.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Then maybe –”

  “Another night.” She put a hand on my forearm. “Definitely.”

  “Great,” I said.

  I wanted to push it. To nail her down. What night? When?

  But I had to play it cool, especially after the spectacularly uncool of earlier. I strode to the door, trying to look, well, however it was a man was supposed to look after getting laid. Smug, I guess.

  She followed me to the door, but stopped me on step. “Wait.”

  Reaching up, she hooked her finger into the collar of my shirt and tugged. I wasn’t sure what she was doing, maybe a kiss, but I followed her finger down. She peeked into my shirt. I looked down, too, to see the half-dried cum sticking to my chest.

  Melissa looked up at me, her face a foot away from mine, and smiled. “I’ll call you.”

  Then she shut the door.

  Yeah. I felt smug.

  * * *

  I stared at the computer screen, trying to make sense of the columns. So many years I had done this and never had any problems. My business had grown until I’d had to start turning down new clients, only taking referrals.

  But now the numbers jumbled together, swimming on the screen. I couldn’t stop thinking about last night. I got hard just thinking about it.