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A hand landed on my shoulder and I jumped about a foot in the air. Anton chuckled at my reaction, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers over my skin. What new humiliation was he going to serve up this time? And why did I find myself excited about it? I must be sick in the head.
Slowly, lazily, the warmth of his hand trailed over my bare back, to the zip
per of my dress. For a moment I thought he would undress me, expose me to the cold, but instead his fingertips trailed over the fabric, down and down, until they met the swell of my ass.
Flattening his hand, Anton squeezed, and I gasped at the sensation. Under my dress I wore no panties, as he had commanded, and as my pussy lips parted with his fondling I suddenly realized how exposed I was, even still clothed. My heart picked up the pace, and in the light beaming down from the mansion windows the vapor of my breath puffed and curled in the air like smoke, coming in short, sharp bursts.
"You are very defiant, Felicia," Anton said behind me. "I cannot let that go unpunished."
Punishment. There it was again. What did he have in store for me?
I found out soon enough.
His hand departed my ass and traveled further down, down, to the hem of my skirt. A tug on the fabric, and then he was lifting the skirt up, moving it over my chilled skin, until my bare ass was exposed to him.
"Tell me, Felicia," he said. "Have you ever had a spanking before?"
Oh god. "No," I said. "Except when I was a really little kid. But my nanny stopped spanking me when I stopped responding to it."
"Oh?" he said. His fingers drifted over the crack of my ass, skating against the sensitive skin there, then going further down, until he was probing the hot delta at the apex of my thighs. Blood rushed to follow his touch, and I swayed on my feet, lightheaded. "I dare you to resist it now."
Dare? Dare was my last name, I was fond of saying. But I didn't tell him that. I didn't want to bait him. I wanted to fuck him. And if I had to go through a spanking to do it, well, that was fine. I could pretend to enjoy it.
"Stay," he commanded, and the warmth of his hand retreated, leaving me shivering in the cool air, my ass exposed like a full moon to the night. Suddenly I had a nervous thought: anyone could look out of the house, or any house on either side of us, and see me. The garden wasn't exactly private. But then the sound of Anton dragging a heavy metal chair over the concrete captured my attention, and I forgot my compunctions.
I heard him shift, his clothes moving against each other, and then I knew he was sitting down.
"Felicia," he said. "Come lie across my lap and recieve your punishment."
I wanted to say no. I wanted to turn around and go inside. But part of me also wanted to see what was going to happen. Curiosity killed the cat? Curiosity would be the end of me.
I turned to see him sitting languidly in an old, iron chair, sprawled out as though he were on a couch in a warm room, one foot stuck out, one arm over the back. His thighs, straining against the fine fabric of his trousers, looked full and inviting. I wanted to squeeze them, to chew on them. I wanted to wrap my legs around them and ride them to heaven. I hadn't straddled him yet, and I wanted to. What would his hips feel like, pounding into me? What would it feel like to be impaled under him, impaled on top of him?
Swallowing, I walked across the short distance to him. The grit of dust scratched under my feet.
He watched me. His green eyes seemed to glow in the light of the city around us, looking straight through my skin to the person underneath. I felt like he knew me, even though that couldn't be true. He had wrung me out, hung me up to dry and twist in the wind, and I wanted more. I hated rich men, men who wanted only to possess, not to love, and yet I was a slave to him. With every touch of his hand, he unmade me and remade me again.
I laid down over his lap, my ass cold and bare, and stared at the pattern of the poured concrete under my face. His thighs burned against me, warm and inviting. The heat we would make would drive the cold away. But not before he had taken his fill of my submission.
One warm hand moved against my thighs, squeezing, rubbing, and I had to force myself not to squirm. My heart hammered against my chest, beating against my bones, looking for a way out.
Fingers moved up, parted my slick pussy lips, revealing me to the cold, and I moaned softly.
"Fight it, Felicia," he whispered. "Don't give in."
Then he lifted his hand, and I knew he was going to spank me.
But that knowledge did nothing to prepare me for it.
His hand came down, a heavy smack, across my ass and on the lips of my pussy, and I couldn't help but cry out and jerk.
"Fight it," he hissed at me.
I bit my lip and he pulled back and spanked me again. The sting radiated out across my ass, over the flesh, and I felt it jiggle all the way up my body. My cunt ached for his touch, and it seemed it would take it any way it could get it, because with the next smack I felt a pulse deep in my belly, rich and throbbing. Was it possible he could make me come just by spanking me? I didn't want to know, but I couldn't tell him to stop. My breasts lay heavy against his legs, my nipples two burning points as they rubbed over him with each smack of his hand and jerk of my body.
He picked up his pace, and my pussy throbbed. My inner walls clenched, begging to be fucked while my clit stood at attention, a hard little ground zero for Anton's open palm. Again and again he spanked me, and at last I couldn't help it.
My lips parted and I moaned as my body jerked and twitched beyond my control, the open slap of his palm driving me higher and higher, pain and pleasure mixing in a way I never knew possible. I was going to come, was going to give myself over to his punishment and let him take me. I wanted it. I needed it. He had made me an addict for his hands, for his control. I needed to be his.
