Read Online The Naughty Corner by Jasmine Haynes - Free Book Online
Authors: Jasmine Haynes
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punishment session, he’d told himself he’d have his cock in her mouth the next time, but he’d changed his mind. He wanted to hold out a bit longer, to savor the build of his sexual tension.
She’d asked why he liked to punish and spank, why he was kinky. He didn’t know why. Or perhaps it was more truthful to say he’d had a couple of experiences that might have led him here, but he couldn’t be totally sure. He rather thought he had a predilection for it. Like a prodigy simply knows how to play a piano or a novelist begins making up his stories almost from the moment he learns the alphabet.
All he knew was that when he had her in his power, when she did whatever he told her to, his cock began to throb and some inner need took over.
It was taking over now. “Spread your legs and lift your skirt for the mirror.”
She hesitated. “There isn’t some hidden camera behind there or anything, right?”
“If I’m going to film you, I will tell you. Nothing is secret between us.” He laid his hands along her thighs in an attempt to soothe her.
While it might appear that he held the power, all she had to do was say no. All she had to do was walk away. He could never force her. He could only demand, but in the end, she was the one who had to agree. She had to want this.
His tension released when she leaned back against him, parting her legs, resting her thighs along his. He held her at the waist. Then slowly, so very slowly, she began to tug on the skirt.
Over her shoulder, he stared full into the mirror. She’d braced the toes of her sandals on the floor, his jeans-clad knees between hers. He widened his legs slightly, forcing hers farther apart. She was all dark and light in the mirror, creamy white skin, black hair, black skirt, white sweater. The effect was mesmerizing as she raised her skirt for him. A little more, then more.
His heart ceased to beat altogether. She was trimmed to barely more than fuzz, the lips of her sex pink, plump, inviting.
“Holy hell,” he said softly. “That’s the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He felt her laugh—or maybe it was a snort—vibrating against his chest. “You’re utterly perfect,” he whispered. “Touch yourself.”
“Wha—” She never finished adding the t .
He put his hand over her mouth. “Do what I say. Don’t argue. I’m dying to see your fingers in all that sweet cream.”
Even in the reflection, he could see she was wet and ready. The sweet, aroused scent of her sex rose around them. “Touch yourself for me,” he demanded.
She could still balk.
Yet Lola laid her head back against his shoulder and slipped her fingers down, down, down. His heart had started again, pounding against the wall of his chest.
“How often do you touch yourself? How often do you make yourself come?” He needed to know.
“Every night,” she murmured. Her fingers moved, circled, swept down, up.
He wanted to take her right then. Open his jeans, shove deep inside her. Watch his cock impale her in the mirror. But not yet. No, they needed to build to that.
Her nipples beaded against the thin sweater. His mouth watered. He might go crazy if he didn’t lick her, touch her. But it was the need, wanting her but not letting himself have her, that pushed him higher.
“Put your finger in my mouth.” It was the only way he would allow himself to taste her. For now.
She raised a hand, rubbed her index finger teasingly along his lower lip. Then he sucked her in. He licked and laved, tasted the sweet saltiness of her cream. Heavenly.
He let her hand fall away, immersed in the taste of her. “Undo the top four buttons on your sweater to just below your breasts.”
The mirror distanced her. He couldn’t read her expression, only the slight hesitation as she held her fingers aloft just inches from his lips. Then she exhaled and began working the buttons loose.
Her breasts weren’t large, but the creamy skin she revealed with each popped button made him
She’d asked why he liked to punish and spank, why he was kinky. He didn’t know why. Or perhaps it was more truthful to say he’d had a couple of experiences that might have led him here, but he couldn’t be totally sure. He rather thought he had a predilection for it. Like a prodigy simply knows how to play a piano or a novelist begins making up his stories almost from the moment he learns the alphabet.
All he knew was that when he had her in his power, when she did whatever he told her to, his cock began to throb and some inner need took over.
It was taking over now. “Spread your legs and lift your skirt for the mirror.”
She hesitated. “There isn’t some hidden camera behind there or anything, right?”
“If I’m going to film you, I will tell you. Nothing is secret between us.” He laid his hands along her thighs in an attempt to soothe her.
While it might appear that he held the power, all she had to do was say no. All she had to do was walk away. He could never force her. He could only demand, but in the end, she was the one who had to agree. She had to want this.
His tension released when she leaned back against him, parting her legs, resting her thighs along his. He held her at the waist. Then slowly, so very slowly, she began to tug on the skirt.
Over her shoulder, he stared full into the mirror. She’d braced the toes of her sandals on the floor, his jeans-clad knees between hers. He widened his legs slightly, forcing hers farther apart. She was all dark and light in the mirror, creamy white skin, black hair, black skirt, white sweater. The effect was mesmerizing as she raised her skirt for him. A little more, then more.
His heart ceased to beat altogether. She was trimmed to barely more than fuzz, the lips of her sex pink, plump, inviting.
“Holy hell,” he said softly. “That’s the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He felt her laugh—or maybe it was a snort—vibrating against his chest. “You’re utterly perfect,” he whispered. “Touch yourself.”
“Wha—” She never finished adding the t .
He put his hand over her mouth. “Do what I say. Don’t argue. I’m dying to see your fingers in all that sweet cream.”
Even in the reflection, he could see she was wet and ready. The sweet, aroused scent of her sex rose around them. “Touch yourself for me,” he demanded.
She could still balk.
Yet Lola laid her head back against his shoulder and slipped her fingers down, down, down. His heart had started again, pounding against the wall of his chest.
“How often do you touch yourself? How often do you make yourself come?” He needed to know.
“Every night,” she murmured. Her fingers moved, circled, swept down, up.
He wanted to take her right then. Open his jeans, shove deep inside her. Watch his cock impale her in the mirror. But not yet. No, they needed to build to that.
Her nipples beaded against the thin sweater. His mouth watered. He might go crazy if he didn’t lick her, touch her. But it was the need, wanting her but not letting himself have her, that pushed him higher.
“Put your finger in my mouth.” It was the only way he would allow himself to taste her. For now.
She raised a hand, rubbed her index finger teasingly along his lower lip. Then he sucked her in. He licked and laved, tasted the sweet saltiness of her cream. Heavenly.
He let her hand fall away, immersed in the taste of her. “Undo the top four buttons on your sweater to just below your breasts.”
The mirror distanced her. He couldn’t read her expression, only the slight hesitation as she held her fingers aloft just inches from his lips. Then she exhaled and began working the buttons loose.
Her breasts weren’t large, but the creamy skin she revealed with each popped button made him
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