Make Her, page 21
I didn’t expect her to last more than ten minutes, and while I had no idea who she was, many people would’ve known me here in real life, no matter what name I gave them, so I’d never bothered to lie about it—and outside of these walls, I was the kind of man you wanted to owe you favors.
So it was nothing to gladhand a few fellow pervs, allowing us to cut—and I was happy the show was still going when I returned, because Halloween-store Lisa and I needed some time to talk.
“We’ll be next,” I informed her, coming back to stand by her side.
Her lips parted at that, and she took in a thoughtful breath, nodding deeply, like she was preparing herself to go on a frightening rollercoaster ride. Her eyes were still on the women, who were chasing after pleasure, which gave me the freedom to look at her. Her ears were delicate pink shells, closely set against her head, and the angle of her neck was swanlike.
“Have you ever done anything like this before?”
“No,” she breathed, without turning.
“How do you know you like it, then?”
Her amber eyes flickered up at me. “College is a time for experimentation,” she said, with a hint of a tease, before sobering. “But this seems a bit more real.”
“It can be.” The thought of someone else her own age trying out things on her they’d only seen in porn disappointed me. Why would you take a thoroughbred to a children’s party? “So let’s both do our homework.”
At that, I had her attention again, and if I were honest, traitorous parts of myself liked it.
“I want you over my knee, but I only intend to touch you from here,” I said, indicating a height beside her hip, “to here.” I sank my hand down to outside her mid-thigh. “Will that be all right with you?”
She bit her lips and then nodded.
“Words, please.”
“Yes,” she said, and swallowed. “You can touch me.”
It was my turn to nod. “Did you have a safe word you wanted to use?” I asked, and when she didn’t respond quickly enough I added, “Like a code word in case you’d like me to stop?”
“I won’t want you to stop,” she said brashly.
One of my eyebrows rose perilously high. “May I touch your chin, then, before I give you incredibly stern advice?”
She gave me a questioning look. “Sure.”
I took it in between my thumb and crooked forefingers to make sure she could see nothing else but me. “Anyone who says that, in real life, and especially in here, is a fool. Are you a foolish girl, Lisa?”
Emotions ran rampant across her face again, especially at the mention of her name, then she squinted. “Maybe I need to be punished?”
I shook her head for her with the hold I had on her chin. “Don’t play act yet. We’re not done with the rules—and if you’re too impatient for rules, then I’m walking.”
She straightened her shoulders and became serious quickly. “I’m sorry,” she said, then added “Sir” as an afterthought.
“Good. Back to our discussion. What’s your safe word?”
“Mmmm . . . Lambo?”
“As in the car?” I asked.
I felt her nod again, and let go of her. “All right—if you’d like. Just one last question, then: what do you want to get out of tonight?”
That made her blink with surprise. And then she inhaled, as if to say something, but then fell back, swallowing whatever words had been on the tip of her tongue, as her gaze jumped everywhere but at me. “I—I don’t know.”
“Don’t know—or would rather not say?” I pressed.
“Can’t say,” she answered quietly.
“Brave enough to get spanked in front of strangers in public, but too scared to tell me why?” I asked with bemusement.
“Something like that,” she said, looking down briefly at her pedicured toes—before raising her chin back up defiantly. “What is it that you want?”
“For you to call me sir,” I said simply.
She groaned at that, as I hid a grin. Then she sighed heavily, before asking, “And what is it that you want, sir?” in a falsely congenial tone, like each of the words pained her.
I gave her a Machiavellian look—the same kind of look I gave suited men in boardrooms before I stole their companies from them—and instead of taking a highly appropriate step back, she took a challenging step forward, so brazen she almost made me laugh while giving me a hard on.
She was the exact type of woman I shouldn’t have been playing with. She ran hot, then cold, she didn’t know the rules, but was determined to win the game. I considered lying to her, but seeing as I had already had a more interesting night with her than I’d expected, if I were honest with her and she backed down now, then either I’d sorely misjudged her, or it wasn’t meant to be.
“Well?” she demanded, staring up at me, completely fearless, so I decided to reciprocate.
“What I want, little Lisa, is to make a pretty spectacle of you.” The women on the throne were moaning louder, and the scent of sex was heady in the air—so I took her chin again and leaned down and in, so she could hear me, and I would only smell her honey-scented shampoo. “I won’t tell you how beautiful you are, because you surely know it,” I said quietly into her ear, “but I like the idea of you strewn across my lap, your heart-shaped ass in the air, you mewling with each stroke as I spank you, preferably until you cannot breathe, and possibly until you cry.” My desires became more cogent as I gave them voice, and then they outstripped rational thought entirely. “I want you to dredge through whatever brought you here tonight and leave it behind as I beat it out of you, until there’s nothing left of you but the pride that you’ve survived me.”
I heard her breath catch in my ear. “Are we playing now?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Then . . . . I want that.”
“Which part?”
“All of it,” she said, before adding, “Daddy.”
I made a dissatisfied sound as I rose up, releasing her. “I’m not sure whether or not that makes me feel old, or like a monster,” I said, giving her side-eye with an arched brow.
But then she was there, her eyes wide and her expression begging me for something I already knew I couldn’t give her. “Why not both?” she said, with absolute sincerity.
The acridity of cleaning products cut through the air. The women on the throne were through, and some of the club’s new members were doing their service hours, quickly preparing it for our show.
And Lisa was still . . . hoping, I thought, was the best verb.
Wanting me to be something for her that I could never be. My only consolation was knowing that no other man in the room could manage it either—so it was just as well that she was with me.
I heaved a sigh. “Fine. I can call me that. You cannot call me that. And this is just one scene. Nothing real. After that, I don’t owe you—and you don’t know me,” I said quietly.
She nodded quickly. “I understand,” she said just as quietly back.
“All right.” Everyone in line knew we were next, and the throne was empty.
Waiting.
I centered myself, ignoring everything else in the room, settling my full attention on her like a heavy cloak, and I watched her accept it, frighteningly receptive to me, ready to respond to all of my cues. She was like some kind of filly indeed—one who’d been searching for the right rider—and so I gave her a somewhat wicked grin. “Lisa, would you like everyone else in this room to see what a good girl you can be for me?” I asked her utmost indulgence.
She gave me the sweetest, most trusting smile I’d ever seen, one that made me feel like an asshole for sins I hadn’t even committed yet. “Yes, please,” she said, beaming.
I offered her my hand, and she took it.
* * *
I let her lead the way to the throne, so that I could watch her ass—might as well pre-game some, since I was back here—and so that everyone else would see her acting of her own volition.
I had dragged women through rooms here kicking and screaming before—consensually, of course, with all the rules carefully hashed out and written down, practically notarized—but this wouldn’t be like that.
No, because somewhere along the line I’d apparently decided to be a good person . . . well, maybe not good, but I’d decided to give her what she wanted for the evening. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly when it’d happened, but no one was more surprised about it than me.
I mounted the dais the throne sat on and took my seat, careful to arrange myself—and the hard on I was sporting—for maximum comfort before crossing my legs. I could’ve spanked her lying flat across my lap, but I liked the idea of her being a little topsy-turvy, and having to brace herself against her own abuse by placing her hands on the carpeted floor. She made to kneel down, and I tapped my upper thigh meaningfully when she paused.
“It’s just that,” she said, trying to move and wincing, as all the lines on her catsuit became uncomfortably tight.
I resisted the urge to chuckle. “If your suit tears, you’ll be giving the couple over there the best show of the evening,” I said, tilting my head their direction. “But if it does, I swear I’ll give you my coat to take home, to cover yourself with.”
I had no business breaking up a bespoke Fioravanti suit, but I would if I had to.
If I didn’t, my dick might never forgive me.
“Okay.” She nodded and ungracefully climbed over me, like she was crawling into a tunnel. Her hands reached the ground and she shimmied, wriggling until my thigh caught her beneath her hips, and my cock was pleasantly trapped between my stomach and her ribcage.
“Remember your safe word,” I reminded her. “And tap my leg twice if you can’t speak.”
“Okay,” she said again, looking innocently over her shoulder at me, one side of her face framed by her hair. “Go slow?” she asked—her first true hesitancy of the night.
I slowly put one hand down over her right ass cheek, the one furthest away from me, to palm it while I could see her expression.
“I would never hurt my little girl,” I promised, as her face went even more flush than it had been prior from being so close to the ground. And then I added “Much” and raised my hand.
* * *
Five spanks in, and there was a strong chance I was going to hell.
I’d always assumed that if there was one, I was, because where the hell else—pun intended—would have me?
But the longer this went on—and I wanted it to last a very, very long time, far longer than I’d asked the others in line behind me for permission—the more certain I became.
I’d started slowly, rubbing her between blows, my callused hands taking their fill of her beautiful half-moon curves, sliding over the mere millimeters of cheap fabric that kept me from her skin.
Then she’d pitched her hips up higher, practically begging me for violence, and I felt myself inclined to give it to her . . . and I knew she’d let me, if I asked her right.
I sank back into the throne a little bit and jutted my hips forward, contemplating the perfection of her ass, as the shine of her costume was being slowly dulled by my handprints.
“You do realize you’re the most perfect girl here, don’t you?” I said, stroking a hand across her lower back.
I felt her whole body tense—her stomach muscles against my thigh, her arms straighten against the ground. I even heard her give a little gasp.
“There I was, sitting all by myself at the bar, wondering what I was going to do with the rest of my night,” I said, as rhythmically as possible, like I was charming a snake, and I moved my hands from stroking to palming, kneading the places on her I’d already hit, that I was sure were sore. “And then you came in, and I knew.”
That . . . wasn’t precisely accurate. But we were in a scene, and I was well aware it was what she wanted to hear.
“You did?” she said softly, twisting her head back quickly to look at me over her shoulder.
Lucifer was handing me his business card.
Beelzebub was opening a gate.
“I did,” I lied, and somewhere in the distance I heard Asteroth throwing away a key. “You were meant for my hand from the moment I saw you,” I said, running one of my forefingers down the seam stretched against her crack. The action made her close her eyes and shudder, and it was all I could do not to evilly laugh. “Can I spank you harder, Lisa?” I used her name because I hoped she would know it was a genuine request, but as soon as her eyes opened, and before she could rationally answer, I switched tactics like the asshole I was doomed to be. “Do you think you can take it for Daddy?”
She twisted more fully toward me at that, panting harder than the pain required. “I can take anything,” she breathed.
And in that moment . . . I wanted to give it to her.
It’d never occurred to me that perhaps I was the one who needed a safe word.
“You don’t mean that,” I told her in a low growl. “We discussed this.”
Her eyes blazed and she shook her head. “Don’t tell me what I don’t mean.”
“Then maybe you do need punishing after all,” I threatened.
“There’s nothing you can do that can hurt me,” she proclaimed, and I quite literally felt her insubordination as she physically braced for whatever onslaught she was taunting.
But I was older than her, and wiser than her, and extraordinarily used to getting my way.
“No?” I asked her rhetorically—and then roughly slid my hand between her thighs.
Her whole body tensed as she gasped.
“Technically this is within the priorly arranged touching zone,” I said, twisting my wrist to gain a little freedom—enough space to run the pads of my first two fingers against the fabric trapped against her pussy.
She took a long and shuddering inhale, before protesting, “You wouldn’t.”
“You clearly don’t know me,” I said, leaning over, to look her directly in her eyes. “I absolutely would.”
It was nothing to find her clit—I highly doubted she was wearing underwear—and once I was there, I thought the only thing that would stop me would be her saying the name of an overrated car brand. I traced lightly against it, getting her used to the idea of me touching her intimately—and the expression on her oval-shaped face was an exquisite combination of turned on and betrayal.
“Are you okay?” I asked her softly.
Me asking made her melt against me and she quickly nodded. “I think so,” she said, then nervously added, “You’re not really mad?”
Daddy issues indeed. “How could I be?” I told her, then gave her my best impression of a warmhearted grin as I stilled my hand. “When everyone here is going to watch the prettiest girl in this room come for me?”
Her gaze lingered on mine, as she bit her full lower lip and then slowly released it as her thighs squeezed to pull my fingers in.
“Such a good girl,” I praised her, sitting back up. She gave me one last longing look, and then braced one hand on the ground and clutched the other against my calf. I pushed my hand in deeper, for better leverage as I stroked her, and her thighs parted to let me.
I ran a figure-eight pattern over her clit, before pulling it between my first two fingers in a gentle V, feeling her rock against me. I had no idea how much time had passed, but if anyone else in line complained before I got her off, I would kill them personally.
“So beautiful, so passionate,” I crooned on. “So smart enough to pick me,” I added, and felt her laugh. She pushed her knees a little wider, giving me more space, and I rubbed my thumb against her pussy, which made her moan. “Did you like that?” I asked, so quietly she probably couldn’t hear—but she might feel the soothing rumble of my voice. I circled her entrance, pressing hard against the fabric that separated us, while working against her clit with my fingertips and knuckles. “Is my little girl going to come for me?” I asked more loudly.
Her hand around my calf grabbed tighter, and her hips rose in response, grinding against my hand, and riding up and down the shaft of my trapped cock, too.
I had sudden visions of what I would do to her if no one else was there. I would stay on the throne of course, but I would rip her out of her silly catsuit, wind my palm with her long hair, and make her ride me. I would come in her pussy, her mouth, and her ass, and after I’d satisfied myself with every hole, I’d stripe her tits with my cum just because I could.
And then she gave a needy whine, pulling me back from my reverie.
“Mmmm,” I purred, leaning forward to capture her hips between my lap and my chest as I put my elbow between her knees, and turned my hand into a fist, so I could bring all the muscles of my forearm to bear, rocking against her pussy’s edges with the knuckle of my thumb, feeling the muscles of her cunt quiver with anticipation. “Does my little girl need me?”
She was panting harder now, it was easy to see the movement of her ribcage beneath her catsuit’s shine. “Yes,” she hissed.
I changed angles and took a long moment to just trace the folds of her pussy and stroke at her clit, and no matter where my fingers went, her hungry hips chased me. I would’ve laughed, were I not so breathlessly hard. “Yes what?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” she begged, arching into me. Her entire body was tense, her toes pointed far harder than her precipitously high heels required. I could tell she was on a cliff, all she needed was to be pushed over.
And for this one instance, this singular moment in time, I was a man who could not resist temptation. I ground into her pussy and rubbed her clit roughly.
“Yes . . . what?” I asked again, more meaningfully, and the second she realized what I was giving her permission to do her fingers clawed me, her hips hitched up, and I came as close as I could to fully fucking her with my hand.
