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He’d barely touched me, and I was dripping like a leaky faucet.
“Mmm, that’s nice. Put your chin in your hand. Yes, like that. Perfect.”
I did my best to model for him, despite the fact that I was a touch away from an orgasm. I smiled and primped and tried to look saucy. Alastair egged me on with encouraging words.
“Okay. Now get on all fours,” he said, tapping his chin with a finger.
I did as he’d asked, going up on the cushions and posing like a good puppy, as if we really were engaged in a photo shoot. Alastair stopped talking and examined me with a frown.
“Stay still,” he said, his voice rough.
I gazed down at the velvet cushions as Alastair moved forward. They sank beneath his weight. The warmth of Alastair’s hand landed softly on my behind as he inhaled a shaky breath.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he said as he drifted his palm over my rear end. He shoved the fabric of the kimono up and over, so that my ass in the white bloomers and garters was there for his pleasure. He gathered the material of the ornate robe in one hand and held it at my waist then pushed the elastic edges of the bloomers up. Then there were fingers running along the garters, touching the skin of my thighs and pushing up under the edges of my panties.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Alastair muttered, as he examined me. “So fucking soft. How are you so goddamn soft?”
I couldn’t answer. I was beyond making words.
“You’re as soft as a girl, Toby, and just as pretty. But you’ve got this,” he murmured, as he slipped his fingers around the front to stroke my balls and up the bottom of my cock. I was hard as a rock, and the panties were wet with my lust.
I thrust against his hand, moaning like the desperate slut I was. I shuddered and whimpered as he touched me.
“So very pretty, baby…just for me.”
I gasped and lowered my chest to the cushions, so that my ass was in the air. He could have it.
“Good girl,” he said, and slapped me with his other hand.
I cried out in surprise and pleasure, and he did it again, his palm landing against my buttock over the thin white cotton and silk with a satisfying thwack.
“Oh fuck,” I said, unable to stop myself. “I’m sorry, Sir,” I whispered.
“Such language from something so pretty and dainty,” he murmured, stroking my cock with the lightest pressure—a deliberate tease. “I should punish you properly for that.”
He withdrew his hand and stood. He came around in front of me and urged me to my knees, holding my hand to help me. Then he sat down on the settee and pulled my upper half across his lap, and I knew what he was going to do.
My eyes went wide as he settled me, adjusting my body so that I was in the position he wanted. Something about being manhandled sent a spike of desire through me, and as my trapped cock bumped his thigh, I thought I might die. I made a desperate sound.
“Good boy, Toby. Just stay there. That’s all you have to do. Oh, and don’t come. It’s not allowed. Only when I say.”
I made a choking sound.
“I know, it’s going to be difficult to control yourself. But good boys and girls wait until their master gives them permission.”
“Yes, Sir,” I whispered, staring at the imperfections in the velvet as Alastair stroked his palm over the panties. “Yes…Master,” I murmured, just to see how it felt.
“Sir will do just fine, Toby.”
I could feel his cock, hard as hell under the soft material of his jeans.
“Yes, Sir.” I pressed my forehead against the cushions, overwhelmed. The physical sensations were one thing, but the mental mindfuck of bending over another man’s lap for a spanking was something else. It was exhilarating and terrifying and embarrassing and humiliating all at once.
“I’m going to spank this pretty bottom now.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Good boy. My pretty, pretty boy,” he said, and I squirmed, pressing my cock into his thigh as the first spank came. The shock of it, the sound of it, startled me almost as much as the stab of pleasure that accompanied the pain. I gasped and cursed behind clenched teeth.
