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With a firm hand on either side of her, he pushed the black sheath up and over her head, throwing it to the floor.
She was naked, he was clothed; it was the way he wanted her.
He pulled her hands behind her back, pinning them at waist level, and held them there with one hand. With the other hand he slapped her. First her breasts, then her cunt.
“Ooo, ah, ah,” she breathed evenly, trying to absorb the sensation, but her body was sore everywhere. “Ah, Miles, please.”
“Shush. Lick my lips,” he ordered.
He offered her his lips to satisfy. The tracing of her tongue across his mouth had always sent him into paroxysms, heated spasms of energy that stiffened his dick.
They were eye to eye: his pleasure in her mouth-to-mouth attentiveness: hers in the slaps, each rude sting making her cunt twitch, the inside of her vagina throb. He rapped her pussy several times in a row at unmeasured intervals. Like Chinese water torture, she didn’t know when he would strike it again. He snickered diabolically, his eyes darkening as he retreated into an animalistic state of base satisfaction.
He slapped her cunt harder still.
“Please don’t, I hate it,” she moaned.
“You lie.”
He slapped her face, hard enough for her head to jerk to the side. “You like this, too, don’t you?” When she didn’t reply, he slapped her again. “Tell me.”
“I love it. I hate it, but I love it.”
“Don’t qualify the truth, bitch, you love it, it makes you frantic.” He teased her. Several times his hand came down to her shivering mound and stopped. Without thinking once, she squealed.
He chuckled.
Then, his hand slapped her with a resounding smack.
“Oh, gawd,” she retorted quietly, her body doing a simple shimmy, while her cunt seemed to melt from within.
He felt her between her legs where it was sticky and wet and her clitoris was hard. His fingers rubbed the bud, and she felt a savage stirring emanating everywhere.
“I want to cum,” she told him. Her body was bursting with pent-up, locked away, repressed sexual fever. Her belly burned hot, swelling, as if she had a reservoir inside ready to spill.
“Ah! Not yet,” he said sharply.
He pushed her from him. “Grab that dress, and run upstairs, third room on the left.” His room.
Tessa stared at him and turned to pick up the black sheath. Bent over, he smacked her ass with the palm of his hand. She tried pulling away and he grabbed her by the waist, paddling her rear end with a least two dozens smacks.
“Ouch, damn it hurts, please, Miles, no!” He ignored her mournful pleas, spanking her even more fiercely. He loved the rising stain on her ass and only finished when it was blushing top to bottom. Finally, he released her.
“Now you can go,” he said.
She hesitated, looking into his icy hot eyes.
“Go, go, run,” he ordered, looking as if he were shooing a cat away.
She bolted, hastening naked across the foyer and up the stairs. He followed for a few feet, whacking her rear, until he was certain that she was on her way.
“And don’t turn on the lights,” he called to her, as she reached the top of the stairs.
She heard him as she hurried to the third room on the left. Opening the door, she breathed again. He hadn’t followed her; she could catch her breath, though he’d be there soon. She could have orgasmed in an instant, but didn’t dare touch her screaming pussy. She sat on the bed, nervously scooting to the pillows, resting her back against the headboard, with her knees bent, her moist sex showing where it rested on the bed.
Miles entered with a candle in his hand, a long taper with a flame dancing. He stared at her from the same dark devilish place he’d been downstairs. This wasn’t romance, this was sex. She remembered that gladly. He was taking her deeper than she’d been before, even though the trappings of sadomasochism were absent. It didn’t matter. She was aroused and frightened.
Walking toward her, he stared at her some seconds.
