I swallow to try to work some saliva into my dry mouth. “Perhaps you should punish me, Sir.”
I'm overusing the moniker, but I know it turns him on every single time I say it. He's right. I'm being naughty. I'm purposefully pushing his buttons because I want him. I don't know where any of this is going to lead, but it's definitely better than carrying on as if nothing has ever happened between us.
“Turn around so I can spank you.”
He's letting me know so I can put the brakes on if I want to. I obey, pushing my hands onto the counter and jutting my arse out. His bare feet slap across the stone floor, getting closer. His breath is hot on the back of my neck. He brings the flat of his hand down on my arse.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
He hits me again, this time on the other cheek. It doesn’t sting that much because the fabric of my trousers and underwear softens the blows. I wish he’d stripped me first. I want to feel his hand on my bare flesh. I want my arse to be red and hot to remind me not to be naughty again.
“Have you learnt your lesson yet?”
“No, Sir.”
He hits me again. I grunt. Damn, that hurt. But not as much as it could have done, I remind myself. Not as much as I want it to. I won’t drop my trousers unless he tells me to, no matter how much I want to do exactly that. Right now, he’s my Sir, and I will do anything to please him. I’ll take my punishment like a good boy, even though it’s less than I crave.
“Now?”
I shake my head. “No, Sir.”
He hits me three more times, alternative arse cheeks with each blow.
“Now?”
I can take more, but I’m curious about what’s going to happen next. “Yes, Sir. I’ll be good from now on, Sir.”
He rubs my arse cheeks through my trousers, soothing the sting away. “Better?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.”
He moves away. I listen to his feet striking the stone floor, getting farther away. I don’t move. I simply stare at the counter, following the grey swirls in the marble with my eyes. Is he going to do something else? Does he regret what he’s already done? He stops. There’s no sound except for my breathing, harsh from being spanked.
“Would you like me to bring you your coffee, Sir?”
“Aye.”
I pick up the mug and turn around. Hamish is sitting on one of the benches, facing me rather than the table. I bow my head as I walk over and hold the coffee out. I don't look up, don't try to make eye contact with him. I stay still, waiting for him to take the coffee. Last week, he would have been in the office at his computer. I would have sat at my desk and got on with checking his calendar and all the other little jobs I'd found to do. Last week, he hadn't stripped me naked and given me an orgasm. Last week, I hadn't sucked his cock, and he hadn't spanked my arse. Everything is different now. We can't go back. I don't want to go back. I hope I'm making that clear through my subservient behaviour.
He jerks his head towards the table. I put the coffee on it. He pulls something out of his pocket. My stare snags on the square purple packet he’s holding between two fingers.
“Get on your knees and suck my cock.”
I take the condom from him and sink to my knees, careful not to go down too hard on the stone. He spreads his legs wide, and I shuffle between them, reaching out to undo his button and flies. I push the fabric apart and pull down his underwear enough to let his already hard cock spring free. I don’t need to stroke it, but I do, feeling the weight and heat of it in my palm. I already know how thick and long he is.
Instead of grabbing my hair, as he did on Friday, he grips the edge of the bench.
“I told you to suck my cock.”
I rip the condom packet open and roll the rubber onto his length. I put my hands on the bench on either side of his thighs and push up so I can go down on his cock from above. I stretch my lips wide and take him deep, nuzzling my nose into the thick hair at his root.
“Oh, fuck,” he hisses as I apply pressure with my cheeks and flick my tongue back and forth over his length. “You’re so fucking good at this.”
I bob my head up and down, breathing through my nose, controlling my gag reflex. I take him deep every time, swallowing around the head of his cock so he feels the pressure of my throat.
“Good boy,” he croons. “I like that.”
