how much time Charity would spend with her nose against the wall and her bottom on display for him. Panties around her knees, he thought. Especially if they’re panties like these.
Happiness seemed to bloom inside him; he realized that he hadn’t felt so content since the day he left for his first tour. That hadn’t lasted long; Laura had met someone else, and he had thrown himself into his duties in theater. Those had given him exactly the kind of intense, masculine experience he had craved, and only rarely, in those six years and the two that had followed as he started life as a bodyguard, had he missed the softer joys.
Of course, the softer joys for Ryan meant some things that Charity might find rather hard. But how could he not thank heaven that she needed his hardness and he needed her softness? He supposed there was some kind of paradox in the way he would now—no way to stop it, at this point—enjoy Charity’s softness by treating it as roughly as he possibly could, and triumphing over it with his belt, his hands, and the erection that didn’t seem likely to quit for days. Life, however, held so many paradoxes that most of the time Ryan thought it best just to enjoy what you could, and fight the rest of the paradoxes for supremacy.
He doubled the belt, holding the buckle in his hand. He wrapped the stout leather once around his fist. “Charity,” he said softly. “I’m going to whip you now.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, almost inaudibly into the bed. His heart and his cock gave a nearly simultaneous leap; seeing her presented so perfectly in submission to him, her face turned down just as he had told her to keep it, almost made him repent of the desire to bring the belt down on her backside.
Almost. His cock also told him of the need to deepen her submission, and so he swung the belt and heard the satisfying crack of it against her right bottom-cheek. Charity yelped, and another paradox arose: how could he want to protect her so very much, and yet take such pleasure in making her cry out? Another stroke, upon her left cheek, another yelp, and then he couldn’t help himself, but he rained down lashes all over, to teach her a lesson she would remember and to mark her bottom for at least a few hours, as belonging to him.
Charity’s bottom began to bounce up and down above her spread knees, in a kind of combination of the animal craving for his hand on her pussy that she had shown before and her bouncing over his lap to try to make her punishment hurt less. She made little whining puppy noises in her throat, and he could tell that the pain had gotten to the point where it wasn’t pain at all anymore, so he aimed three strokes right at her wet, panty-covered pussy.
Charity screamed at the excess of sensation, and Ryan threw the belt aside. He knelt at the end of the bed and reached out to take her thighs firmly in his hands. She gasped with surprise as he pulled her easily down the bed toward him, the pillows coming loose as Ryan reached over to toss them aside. Her knees ended up over his shoulders and his face was full of the sight of the lace of her naughty panties, covering the pussy nothing in the world could now stop him from uncovering.
He hooked his index finger inside the leg of her panties, and gathered the gusset into a thin strip. Then he pulled the strip aside and got the view of her, in the lamplight, that he had wanted so much. Her beautiful little cleft, soaking with her excitement, smelling like a naughty, wicked version of heaven.
“Oh, Ryan… sir… I…”
Ryan could tell that she was blushing hotly at the thought he was looking at her there. He loved the way her shame fed her excitement, because even as he heard the embarrassment in her voice, he saw her little pussy lips contract with helpless arousal.
“Shh,” he said, and kissed her on her coral inner lips, and then where he knew her clit lay hidden.
“Oh, God…”
“Has a man ever gone down on you, Charity?”
Happiness seemed to bloom inside him; he realized that he hadn’t felt so content since the day he left for his first tour. That hadn’t lasted long; Laura had met someone else, and he had thrown himself into his duties in theater. Those had given him exactly the kind of intense, masculine experience he had craved, and only rarely, in those six years and the two that had followed as he started life as a bodyguard, had he missed the softer joys.
Of course, the softer joys for Ryan meant some things that Charity might find rather hard. But how could he not thank heaven that she needed his hardness and he needed her softness? He supposed there was some kind of paradox in the way he would now—no way to stop it, at this point—enjoy Charity’s softness by treating it as roughly as he possibly could, and triumphing over it with his belt, his hands, and the erection that didn’t seem likely to quit for days. Life, however, held so many paradoxes that most of the time Ryan thought it best just to enjoy what you could, and fight the rest of the paradoxes for supremacy.
He doubled the belt, holding the buckle in his hand. He wrapped the stout leather once around his fist. “Charity,” he said softly. “I’m going to whip you now.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, almost inaudibly into the bed. His heart and his cock gave a nearly simultaneous leap; seeing her presented so perfectly in submission to him, her face turned down just as he had told her to keep it, almost made him repent of the desire to bring the belt down on her backside.
Almost. His cock also told him of the need to deepen her submission, and so he swung the belt and heard the satisfying crack of it against her right bottom-cheek. Charity yelped, and another paradox arose: how could he want to protect her so very much, and yet take such pleasure in making her cry out? Another stroke, upon her left cheek, another yelp, and then he couldn’t help himself, but he rained down lashes all over, to teach her a lesson she would remember and to mark her bottom for at least a few hours, as belonging to him.
Charity’s bottom began to bounce up and down above her spread knees, in a kind of combination of the animal craving for his hand on her pussy that she had shown before and her bouncing over his lap to try to make her punishment hurt less. She made little whining puppy noises in her throat, and he could tell that the pain had gotten to the point where it wasn’t pain at all anymore, so he aimed three strokes right at her wet, panty-covered pussy.
Charity screamed at the excess of sensation, and Ryan threw the belt aside. He knelt at the end of the bed and reached out to take her thighs firmly in his hands. She gasped with surprise as he pulled her easily down the bed toward him, the pillows coming loose as Ryan reached over to toss them aside. Her knees ended up over his shoulders and his face was full of the sight of the lace of her naughty panties, covering the pussy nothing in the world could now stop him from uncovering.
He hooked his index finger inside the leg of her panties, and gathered the gusset into a thin strip. Then he pulled the strip aside and got the view of her, in the lamplight, that he had wanted so much. Her beautiful little cleft, soaking with her excitement, smelling like a naughty, wicked version of heaven.
“Oh, Ryan… sir… I…”
Ryan could tell that she was blushing hotly at the thought he was looking at her there. He loved the way her shame fed her excitement, because even as he heard the embarrassment in her voice, he saw her little pussy lips contract with helpless arousal.
“Shh,” he said, and kissed her on her coral inner lips, and then where he knew her clit lay hidden.
“Oh, God…”
“Has a man ever gone down on you, Charity?”
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