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Kara
Eric wasn’t fucking kidding about the spanking, as it turns out—not that I mind. On the contrary, I’m way too fucking into it.
I’m screaming, “YES, DADDY! MORE! SPANK ME HARDER!” and Eric is swatting my ass as he carries me over his shoulder until both my cheeks are burning bright pink.
I’m, like, never like this. I don’t know where it’s coming from. Like, yeah, okay. I’m probably kind of starved from two years of low fat, low calories and no dick to speak of.
But even before my great cum fast, I wasn’t this horny this often. With Ryan, we’d bang one out once every couple of weeks tops, and that was only if he wasn’t too tired, and I wasn’t too busy.
I had just as wild and crazy of a sex life before Ryan as anyone, don’t get me wrong—but this is different. This is more.
This is being within a hundred feet of a guy and immediately having a plan for exactly how I can get his dick in my mouth.
This is being spanked by a dude that’s technically, I guess, my boss—who I also happen to fuck sometimes.
This is calling him Daddy, for fuck’s sake!
I’m into it, though. I’m too wet to pretend otherwise. Like, literally dripping through the short little workout shorts I wore here today.
It’s just that the second I started chugging that Protein Plus shake, it was all over for me. A little taste of Eric’s cum with a dumb name slapped on the label might have satisfied one type of appetite, but in the process, it awakened another appetite completely.
I need Eric’s cum. NEED. He could have me crawling around the floor on my hands and knees fucking begging for him to cum in my mouth right now—but instead, he tosses me onto his big, cushy bed and lets me stare up at him with hunger.
To an outsider, we’d look like a couple of wild animals—chests heaving, fire in our eyes, staring each other down like we’re not sure if we want to kill each other or breed.
But the second Eric gets his sweatpants off and his cock out, I think it becomes pretty fucking obvious which conclusion we come to.
Breed.
Eric’s bed is fucking huge. It’s got the silkiest fucking sheets and the softest blankets I could have ever imagined, and enough pillows on it that I could sink down into them and never come back up.
This is a bed that I would gladly allow to swallow me fucking whole, I realize as I stretch out my arms decadently. It’s got four posts, one at each corner, and a canopy hanging over—
What the fuck?
Are those shackles?
When I look to Eric to try and figure out what kind of Red Room Christian Grey bullshit he’s pulling here, he’s gone. All that cardio must have paid off, because he moves too fast for me to stop him.
First, he secures my ankles—one in each leather cuff. Before I can sit up and deal with that, he’s got one wrist pinned, then the other.
“Huh,” he says, rubbing the fabric of my shorts between his fingers. “Should have undressed you first.”
“You kinky bastard!” I accuse, even though—fuck me—I’m so horny, I’m grinning from ear to ear. “Weren’t you going to ask before you cuffed me?”
“Would you have said no?” Eric shrugs, opening a drawer of his bedside table and pulling out a pair of sharp silver scissors.
I consider it for a second, keeping an eye on the scissors. “Well, maybe at first—”
“Of course,” Eric says, moving between my legs on the bed. “You don’t do anything without putting up a fight.”
“I like winning,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Really? I think you like to lose.”
I laugh. “Doesn’t sound like me.”
“Doesn’t it?” Eric slides the fabric of my cute little workout shorts between the scissors, and in one fluid motion, cuts them off of me on one side.
