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“Your safe word,” I remind her.
“Meatloaf.”
“Meatloaf?” I frown, then smoothen out my forehead. “You mean, the 'I’ll do anything for love, but I won’t do that'? That Meatloaf?” I hazard a guess.
She looks at me with wide eyes. “You know that song?”
I scoff, “Of course I know that song. Nineties Rock is my favorite. I'm actually surprised that you know it.”
“He released it in 1993, but its sound and style are more characteristic of classic rock from the seventies and eighties, which is the era Meatloaf is most associated with?—”
I glare at her, and her words trail off. “Sorry, I tend to spout trivia when I'm nervous.”
She’s adorable. “I love it when you do that, baby.” I allow my features to soften. “And when will you use your safe word?”
"When I want you to stop."
“Good girl.”
The pulse at the base of her throat speeds up. She flicks out her little pink tongue and wets her lower lip, and fuck me, but I almost come in my pants.
I sprawl back in the seat, and when I spread my legs further apart, her gaze drops to my crotch. Her breathing grows rougher, her gaze transfixed by the evidence of my arousal stretching my pants.
I pat my thigh, and she shakes her head. "I’m not doing that." She raises her eyes to mine. When I glare back, she loses some of the color on her cheeks. I continue to stare at her, the command inherent in my stance. She swallows, then, as if unable to resist, she inches forward. When she reaches me, she hesitates. I glance down at my thighs, then back at her face. She swallows hard, then she wiggles herself on her stomach over my lap with her pussy radiating heat over my thigh.
32
Vivian
He positions me more firmly across his knee, and I shiver. Then he slides my gown up the back of my thighs. His fingers graze my skin, and an electric current shoots up to my core. My center of gravity seems to have shifted to the space between my thighs, where a beat flares to life. My nipples tighten. I want this so much. I want him to punish me because I already know I’m going to love it.
Anticipation tightens my belly. Then, he tears off my panties, and I cry out. Cool breeze grazes my backside, and goosebumps crowd my skin.
"What are you doing?" I begin to turn around, but he throws a heavy arm across the small of my back. It effectively prevents me from seeing what he’s up to, which only makes his touch more agonizing. And that only turns me on further.
If you’d asked me the most likely scenario in the hours following my wedding, I’d have said we’d be at the reception. I would not have, in a million years, guessed I’d be laid out across my husband’s thick thighs, with what seems to be a baseball bat-sized arousal poking into my lower belly and his blunt fingertip teasing the forbidden hole between my butt cheeks. My pulse goes into overdrive. Oh my god, how can that feel so good? How can I want this so much?
All of my attention is concentrated on my backside, following his touch as he slips his fingers between my legs and grazes my slit.
"Jesus, you’re soaking, and I haven’t even begun."
"B-begun?" I squeak, then cry out when his palm connects with my arse. Slap-slap-slap, in quick succession—he alternates between the cheeks—again and again.
Each time he spanks me, my body moves forward. It feels like he’s putting his bulk behind each hit.
Fire streaks up my spine, igniting my clit, the hollow behind my belly button, swirling around my breasts, circling about my nipples, connecting the pulse points at my ankles, my wrists, and at the base of my throat, until every cell in my body feels full and fiery and ready to burst into flames.
If this is how it feels to accept him as my master, then I want more.
If this is how it feels to have him discipline me, then I’m going to make him mete out punishment as often as I can.
When he stops, shudders zip through me. Little twitches of pain on the heels of which a fullness follows. My body feels heavy and light at the same time. I’m weighed down by coiled springs of desire, winding into themselves, tighter, tighter. He massages my backside, and little eddies of pleasure spiral out to my extremities. Another groan bleeds from my lips.
"Look at you, with my palm prints etched into the curve of your behind. You make me want to feast on your flesh. You make me want to lose myself in your tight little holes." He stuffs two fingers inside my pussy, and I shudder.
"Fuck, you’re so ready, if I slapped your pussy, you’d come right here, wouldn’t you, Raven?"
I try to speak, but all that comes out is a thin, needy sound that horrifies me. How can I sound so debauched, so greedy, so… unrestrained? I squirm around and my clit connects with the hard column of his thigh. Shockwaves of sensations travel to my brain. OMG, a honeyed sensation coils in my lower belly. I’m aware I’m humping his legs but cannot bring myself to stop. I coil my fingers around his ankle for leverage. He doesn’t stop me as my movements get more frantic. Each time my clit connects with his thigh, the column at his crotch throbs. He’s as aroused as me; that’s my one consolation.
