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How a girl as beautiful as she is could possibly be so inexperienced at the age of twenty-three, I can’t quite fathom, but I intend to broaden her horizons tonight. Taking her hand, I lead her to the standing bondage frame. Then I deftly tie a knot around her left wrist and guide her arm up over her head.
“If, at any point, this is too much for you, just tell me to stop. I want us both to have fun with this.”
“What does that mean? Too much?” she breathes, her eyes wide as they shift from watching my hands to reading my face.
I pause to meet her eyes directly. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever been spanked before?”
This time, she giggles, and a moment later, she bites her lip to cut the embarrassed laughter short. Because, as much as I find the melodic sound pleasant, I’m far from joking.
“No,” she agrees once she has herself under control.
“I want to see how many times I can spank you before you’re ready to come.”
Angel swallows hard, and I give a dark smile before resuming the knot attaching her right hand to the frame. I check to ensure she’s secure but still loose enough that the rope won’t be cutting off the circulation to her hands.
She naturally grips the ties, holding onto them for support as they force her to stand tall, her arms stretched to their lengths. Then I capture her chin between my thumb and finger, tipping her face up so I can steal a kiss.
Her lips are soft and yielding, just as she’s proven to be, and I linger there, tasting her tongue as mine strokes into her mouth. Then I release her to go to the wall of toys. I pick the fur-tipped riding crop, a toy that can bring both pleasure and pain. A soft introduction when used appropriately.
Still, it makes a nice loud snap when I bring it sharply against my palm. Angel yelps, her back tensing as she looks over her shoulder with nervous anticipation. I smirk when she releases a shaky breath.
“Are you trying to frighten me?” she asks, her chin lifting defiantly.
“Anticipation is half the fun,” I tease, prowling forward slowly to stand behind her once more. Then I brush the soft tip of the crop slowly up the inside of her thigh.
Angel shivers, goosebumps rising across her flesh, and I give her ass a playful tap, not hard but enough to make her gasp.
“Spread them,” I command, indicating her ankles with the riding crop.
She does, stepping wide for me.
“Good girl,” I praise and scoop her hair over one shoulder so I can reward her with a light kiss on the neck. “Do you like being told what to do,krasivaya?” I tease, walking slowly around her body so I can take in her beauty from every angle.
She’s glorious, soft and yet lean and athletic, with just enough cushion to make her curvy but with the muscles of a dancer.
Angel frowns, as if the question confuses her somehow, and when she doesn’t answer, I take it as an opportunity to flick the whip sharply across her nipple, just grazing her breast. She squeals, her muscles tensing from the shock, but the sound tapers into something of a sinful moan.
“Answer me, Angel. Unless you want me to even the score.” I tickle her other nipple with the crop’s soft fur as I make my threat.
“No,” she blurts, and then her cheeks color, telling me without words that she’s not being entirely truthful with me—or herself.
“Hmm.” I continue my slow circle around her, nearing her backside once more, and after a moment’s delay, I give her ass a sharp smack with the crop.
“Ow!” she squeals, drawing her leg up defensively. “What was that for?”
I respond by delivering a quick snap to her other ass cheek, and Angel squirms as a soft groan escapes her. One that tells me the sharp sting of her punishment is also turning her on.
“I ask the questions, not you,” I state calmly. “And don’t lie to me. I can tell when you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying,” she insists as I circle back around to her front side.
With a flick of my wrist, I catch her nipple that I spared the first time around, and Angel jerks against her restraints, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. Drawing close, I trail the soft fur down from her collarbone and between her breasts, tracking closer to the peak of her thighs.
“You said you don’t like being told what to do,” I murmur. “But I can see it in your body language. You liked it when I told you to bend over the bed. You liked it when I made you spread your legs for me. Admit it.”
I give her clit the softest of warning taps, letting her know where I intend to strike her next if she lies again. Her eyes flicker with a fiery defiance, and for a moment, I think she might just stand her ground. Her lips twitch, then part, and she releases a breathy sigh.
“I like it when you tell me what to do,” she admits, and the confession turns me on far more than it should.
