"Yes, I think that would be okay." His voice is neutral, serene, soft. And yet humming with subliminal power. "But isn't there some kind of ceremony, a form of words at least? Don't you think it would be a good idea, maybe, to call me "master" or something?"
That thud in my heart picks up speed. I feel as if I'm in the middle of a vortex. "Y- yes, master."
"Well, let's get started, shall we?"
Eyes still down, I pad across to him, and he offers a hand to help me go across him, and assume the age old position. His thighs feel firm and solid beneath the rough denim, his feet perfectly planted, everything in balance. As I go over, I feel safe. He won't let me fall.
As he adjusts his position slightly, and I adjust mine, his hand settles on the small of my back to steady me.
"You have a beautiful bottom, slave," he purrs quietly, with just a microsecond of artistic hesitation. That warm hand of his brushes my bare cheeks, first one, then the other. And again, stroking lightly, burning hot. I suppress a pathetic mewl when one finger traverses the length of my bottom crease.
"So, these men who spank you... Do they just play at it, or do they really spank you hard?"
"Yes. Sometimes. Quite hard." The words are difficult to get out. I can barely breathe.
"And do you like that?" He touches my anus and I squeak. Which he seems to ignore as a regrettable aberration.
"Yes! No! Sort of!" I can't see his face, but my imagination presents me with him smiling. Supreme. A happy god, playing with me in ways other than physical. But when he speaks, he still imbues his voice with that thread of theatrical doubt.
"Well, I'll have to see what I can do then. Wouldn't want to disappoint you after all this hard, serious spanking you've had in the past."
I open my mouth to protest that it isn't all that much, but then, out of the blue, his first smack lands and it just takes my words away.
It's not a heavy slap, but not light either. It hurts. And it isn't by luck or blind intuition it's landed right on the crown of one bottom cheek. He knows exactly what he's doing, and has done all along.
"That's amazing," he says, sounding strangely awestruck.
That is amazing, I think, just struck.
He's hit me in the perfect place and with the perfect weight. Like Pavlov's dog, my body responds. My pussy ripples in anticipation of more, more, more and my lubrication starts to seep down onto his jeans. Unable to control myself, I wriggle and rub myself against him.
"Are you supposed to do that?" His voice is mildly questioning, but there's nothing unsure about the way his fingertips trace the hot hand-shaped mark they've just created. And there's nothing tentative about the way he slaps me again, on the other cheek this time.
I squeal, already out of control in a way I've never been before. But of course, I've never been with a master this experienced.
How on earth has it taken me this long to realize that fact?
"I'll bet you're not supposed to do that, either," he remarks, sounding joyful, as if he's really enjoying getting into the swing of things. His arm certainly is, because he's slapping steadily now. If I had brain cells left over to ponder such matters, I'd wonder what on earth I've done to deserve this bounty, a man with a perfect natural gift for corporal punishment and a beautifully honed skill. But I have very little brain power available at the moment, nothing left over from the writhing, the whimpering and the blatant and desperate way I massage my crotch against his hard thigh beneath dark denim.
He smacks and smacks. I squirrel around and sob. And what happens eventually is almost inevitable, I suppose.
It all gets too much for me, and hitching myself up a bit, I sneak a hand beneath myself and slither fingers into my pussy. While he's still spanking me, I find my clit and rub it feverishly.
After that I'm a lost cause, and within seconds, I climax hard. Very hard. Almost too hard. I jack-knife on his knee, almost fall off, but he holds me tight. My pleasure soars as his fingers press my tender redness.
I fall back into my body again as a sniveling, glowing, still pulsing, incredibly happy mess. As I half slide and half fall in a guided fashion to the carpet at his feet, he reaches into his pocket and then hands me a handkerchief.
"You've done that a hundred times before, you sly brute, haven't you?" I accuse him from my lowly position as my brain clicks back into operating mode and I start to grin. "All that BS about making me tell you what my fantasies are... You've known all along. You could read the signs, couldn't you? Why didn't you tell me you were into exactly the same thing as me?"
He cups my face, makes me look up at him. His eyes are radiant with knowledge and mischief and power, utterly entrancing - although there's a base part of me that's more interested in his enormous erection and is dying to check that out.
"I suppose I should say sorry for stringing you along," he says softly, the stroke of his finger beneath my chin an elegant counterpoint to the throb, throb in my bottom and in my pussy, "But a master doesn't usually apologize, does he?"
The "M" word makes the pulsation between my legs deeper, hotter – even though it's barely minutes since I came. "No, but you still could have told me," I persist, wondering and hoping that if I provoke him enough he might do more, more, more.
"Indeed... indeed I could." His beautiful eyes glitter with excitement, danger, desire and dominance, holding me utterly as he goes on to remind me of the party where we met, and how he sought me out. I'd wondered why he – this peach of a man – had selected me when there were much, much sexier girls on the prowl. I'm pretty enough, but I know I'm a quiet bloomer.
"You're right. I could – I can – read you. I could tell you shared my interests... it's patently obvious from the way you carry yourself." I shudder at the thought of me beaming out those secret signals, an open book to a
cognoscento
like Terrence. "So I decided to see how long it would take for you to admit it."
"Oh, for heaven's sake! You devious bastard!"
"Tut tut... naughty, naughty," he chides, but the look in his eyes makes me wetter and warmer than ever, "Why so cross? It's what you wanted, isn't it? Part of the game? The dance?"
I want maintain to my mega-defiance act, play at being aggrieved, but the greater part of me, the truer part of me is thrilled, light-headed. He is my ideal, and I can't believe my luck.
"Um... yes... I suppose," I answer with a last mulish flicker.
"Finally, she admits it. I should punish you for being so obstinate, shouldn't I?"
My heart lurches. Can my steaming bottom take it? So soon? When I'm so red, so sore? But my sex lurches too, gathering itself and readying. I almost come, without a touch, at the thought of more.
"Yes, master," I whisper, lowering my head in acknowledgement, and starting to shuffle into position in order to get up and across his knee again.
"Oh no, Vickie... not that. Well, not right at the moment." He adjusts his own position now, conveying an eloquent message, and gilding it with a gentle but still delightfully devilish smile.
Oh yummy, I think, reaching out to unfasten his zip.
###
About Portia Da Costa
Portia Da Costa is a best-selling British author of romance, erotic romance and erotica, who's been published since the dinosaurs roamed. Well, since the early 1990s. She loves writing about sexy, likeable people in steamy, scandalous situations, and has penned novels, novellas and novelettes for Spice Briefs, Black Lace, Samhain Publishing and a bunch of other houses, plus a zillion stories for magazines and anthologies. Best known for writing contemporary settings, she's also launched herself back in time to write Victorian erotic romance for Harlequin Spice Briefs and HQN.
When Portia isn't writing she's usually being creatively lazy, rather like her beloved cat Alice but unlike her long suffering, hard-working husband.
Connect with Portia Online
Twitter:
http://twitter.com/PortiaDaCosta
Website:
http://www.portiadacosta.com
Blog:
http://wendyportia.blogspot.com
Delicious Masters
~ when women meet the Doms of their dreams ~
An Appointment with Her Master
Shy, but secretly sexy and imaginative, Mary-Anne Green fantasizes about having her bottom spanked by a stern and powerful master, the beautiful, cultured hero of her wildest dreams. She longs to feel the hand of a dominant man upon her, punishing her flesh, then caressing it to the heights of exquisite pleasure.
It seems that these wild scenarios are destined to remain solely in her imagination, until one day Mary-Anne meets her dream master online. Their chemistry is electric from the very first moment, and their fantasies and desires a perfect, sizzling match. In email after email they share everything. Dark urges, wicked wishes… painted pictures of fiery, passionate punishment.
But what happens when Mary-Anne and her Master decide to meet each other? Will the delicious, painful magic survive the transition to reality? Will their intimate bond be all they hope for, and perhaps more?
http://www.portiadacosta.com/appointment.html
Forbidden Treasures
When Alice Porter finds a chest full of vintage curiosa at an antique market, she little realizes how her discovery of the forgotten treasures of an Edwardian disciplinarian will change her life. The sexy hoard includes a punishment ledger and a well-used rattan cane, and the bygone items intrigue her husband Julian too. Sharing and experimenting with the writings and the wicked implement, the lovers begin a voyage of forbidden sensuality that shocks and thrills them both, revealing dark secrets from Julian's past and bringing the two of them closer together than they've ever been before.
http://www.portiadacosta.com/forbiddentreasures.html
In Sebastian’s Hands
A BDSM love story in three acts
When Megan meets Sebastian Holmwood at a fancy dress party, she little realizes how her life is going to change. Sebastian is a beautiful and unusual man with an irresistible dark mystique about him. The glint in his silver blue eyes, and the velvet rasp of his deep baritone voice make her want to do crazy things. Suddenly she finds herself longing to play perverse erotic games almost beyond her imagination. She wants Sebastian to spank her, touch her, dominate her, take her over in every way possible... and she knows that with him, the pleasure she earns will blow her mind.
Sebastian Holmwood is a dominant master who's never quite found his perfect submissive... until he meets Megan, dressed as Little Bo Peep, and carrying a crook that looks suspiciously like a punishment cane. Something about Megan's blend of naivety and mischief, and her bold willingness to follow his lead, speak to his dominant soul as a never before, and he knows he won't rest until he's spanked her and much, much more.
http://www.portiadacosta.com/sebastian.html
Delicious Pain
A bundled collection of Delicious Masters stories - including
An Appointment with her Master
,
Forbidden Treasures
and
In Sebastian’s Hands
http://www.portiadacosta.com/deliciouspain.html
In Sebastian’s Hands - excerpt
A BDSM love story in three acts
When Megan meets Sebastian Holmwood at a fancy dress party, she little realizes how her life is going to change. Sebastian is a beautiful and unusual man with an irresistible dark mystique about him. The glint in his silver blue eyes, and the velvet rasp of his deep baritone voice make her want to do crazy things. Suddenly she finds herself longing to play perverse erotic games almost beyond her imagination. She wants Sebastian to spank her, touch her, dominate her, take her over in every way possible... and she knows that with him, the pleasure she earns will blow her mind.
Sebastian Holmwood is a dominant master who's never quite found his perfect submissive... until he meets Megan, dressed as Little Bo Peep, and carrying a crook that looks suspiciously like a punishment cane. Something about Megan's blend of naivety and mischief, and her bold willingness to follow his lead, speak to his dominant soul as a never before, and he knows he won't rest until he's spanked her and much, much more.
Excerpt:
Mozart played on softly, but all of a sudden I was in a new and surreal dimension. Sebastian Holmwood could control me with the very slightest gesture, and as he walked smoothly towards the settee, then sat down just a yard or so away from me, I turned to face him, my head meekly bowed. He was lower than me, seated whilst I was standing, but in all things he had the upper hand.
"So, Megan Chambers, do you want to understand? Our friends downstairs are woefully ignorant. You know that, don't you?" He reached out, took hold of both of my hands, and then held them in one of his. He let his free hand slide lightly down my hip, tracing its approximate shape through my costume's fluffy petticoats. Sensing that he required it, I looked up and met his eyes, realizing he was a little older, and far wiser, than I'd originally thought he was. I nodded, knowing instinctively what I'd let myself in for, and feeling both fear and curiosity in equal parts.