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“I understand that feeling,” she said. Her thighs tensed again, squeezing, and I really wished they were squeezing around my head instead. “Were you more curious about doing the spanking, or being the one getting spanked?”
“Both,” I said. “Just to make things more confusing for me.”
“Does Vincent spank you?”
Her question took me by surprise, but it was sexy how confident she was talking about this. Her gaze didn’t wander away from me, her words didn’t shake. A playful half-smile remained on her face as she waited for my answer.
“He does.” There was just the right amount of humiliation involved in admitting that to her; just enough shame to make my cock pulse as it hardened. “I can be a brat sometimes, if you haven’t noticed. I push him to do it, I’m pretty clear about what I want — or so he’s told me.” Her smile had widened, and she uncrossed her legs as she leaned back at an angle, resting against the door. “You like hearing about this, don’t you?”
She nodded. She spread her legs, and her finger traced absent-mindedly along her inner thigh. Neither one of us was paying attention to the movie anymore, but the sounds of the spanking coming through my speakers made the cab feel extremely warm and small.
“I do like hearing about it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her finger had reached the edge of her skirt and kept going, dragging the cloth with it. My eyes fixated there as her hand reached the apex of her legs. “Tell me about the last time he spanked you...or about the first time.”
My cock had hardened so fast that it was uncomfortably squashed against my waistband, and I hurriedly readjusted. Shit, either she was taking cues from Vincent, or they both really enjoyed convincing me to say things that made me squirm.
“Is that embarrassing for you?” she said, a little too eagerly when I didn’t answer immediately. She was looking at me like she was hungry, like she wanted to pounce.
Did it really get her worked up to fantasize about me like that? That was...damn, I honestly felt flattered. I didn’t usually think of myself as the type anyone would bother to have fantasies about. But the way she was looking at me, like just the sight of me turned her on, was a particularly addictive ego boost.
“It’s not embarrassing,” I said. My statement wasn’t entirely true. It wasn’t embarrassment,exactly— but there was a hot feeling of shame dripping through me. I liked the sensation: the warmth that pooled in my stomach, how my tongue grew clumsy, and my brain felt slowed down. “I just don’t talk about it out loud very often.”
I could almost hear Vincent’s laughter in my head. It was easy to imagine what he would say if he were here.
Since it’s so difficult to say out loud, you should be practicing. Say it, boy. Tell her every last detail.
Damn it. He’d infiltrated my brain so thoroughly, he could dominate me without even being here.
“It seems like you enjoy talking about it,” Jess said. She spread her legs wider, and lifted one up on the seat so her skirt was lewdly bunched up. Her hand was between her legs, but I could still see her lace panties beneath. “You have such a dirty mouth when you’re fucking me. I want to hear you say those dirty things about yourself, too.”
My nerves made me laugh again, and my face had grown hot. But I wanted to encourage whatever she was up to with her hand between her legs.
“I’ll tell you about the first time,” I said.
Her eyes were bright with excitement, her smile both sweet and wicked. There was a bit of haughtiness in her expression; just enough mocking pleasure that it dialed up the degradation for what I was about to say.
“Vincent and I had been dating for almost a year. We were arguing about...something. I don’t even remember honestly.” It had been something petty. Vincent didn’t like arguing; he couldn’t be bothered. Looking back on it now, the topic hadn’t bothered me nearly as much as the fact that he refused to debate with me about it. “I’d been looking for a fight. I was stressed out, irritated...”
“You wanted to take it out on someone,” she said. “So the word vomit came up.”
Yeah, that was a good way to put it: word vomit. “I definitely said some things I shouldn’t have. We were sitting in my car, I had a hatchback at the time. It was pouring rain outside. And he looked me dead in the face and said, ‘You’re acting like a brat. Do I need to treat you like one?’”
“Oh, shit.” Her eyes widened. Of all people, I was sure she could understand the feelings a threat like that inspired.
Vincent’s words had filled me with a cocktail of dread and desire. One of the many times I’d found myself afraid of the very thing I wanted. He’d been so calm, and it made me feel like a petulant child. Naturally, that only made my attitude worse.
“I’d been trying to pick a fight with him all day,” I said. “I already felt guilty and tired.” Pushing my pants down just enough to get a grip on my cock, I went on, “So I said something rude. I cursed at him. He got out of the car and I thought he was going to walk away.”
There had been a split second of terror when he got out. I’d realized, in those brief few seconds when I didn’t know what exactly he was doing, that my behavior could cost me the person I loved. Ridiculous, rash, petty behavior.
“But he didn’t walk away,” I said. A shiver went over me as she pushed her panties to the side, massaging two fingers directly over her clit. I spat, allowing the saliva to drip down to my cock so I could stroke myself. “He opened my door and pulled me out of the driver’s seat. He said, ‘Either you get into the backseat willingly or I’m spanking you in the middle of the parking lot.’ So I got in the back.”
He’d told me he was going to spank me, and I’d thought it was a joke. Half the things he said were just jokes. But part of me, a part I was still struggling to embrace back then, knew he was serious.
I’d been so damn relieved that he was serious.
“What did he spank you with?” she said, her voice breathier than usual. She was flushed, I could hear how wet she was as she pleasured herself.
“His hand, at first,” I said. The words were debasing, but they tasted as sweet as honey. My balls were drawn up tight as I jerked my hand, slick with saliva but notquitelubricated enough. “Then a hairbrush.”
