“No,” I call out, wriggling free of his grasp to kneel on the bed.
Baxter stares at me as though I’m a puzzle that has confounded people through the ages. “No?”
I knee-walk until our bodies touch, reaching up to unknot his tie. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” I chastise him, pulling it free of his collar. I wrap it around my knuckles and test its strength, watching Baxter’s eyes light up, then discard it to the side.
Not tonight. Given the length of time since I last had a man in my bedroom—let alone inside me—I want it to have been worth the wait.
And I want what I want.
When my fingers try to undo his belt, he takes them in his, pulling them gently away. “Not yet.”
The guttural tones in his voice set off a chain reaction that makes my clit throb and my breasts ache. I tweak my right nipple, desperate for relief, pinching it lightly then snapping my fingers away. Then the left, moaning as it gets harder, more sensitive. When Baxter covers it with his palm, it feels like it’s burning.
My voice trembles with need as I say, “I want to see you.”
But he shakes his head, staring at my face as he gauges each reaction. “You’re not in charge. Not here. Now get back on your belly where I put you.”
I’d protest except my pussy is drenched in response to the commanding tone. I roll over, slowly so my nipple drags across his palm, then jut my backside into the air as I rise onto my knees.
“That’s my good girl,” he says, the words flowing out as sweet and thick as maple syrup until I’m practically purring.
The sharp crack of his hand against my arse makes me jump more from the sound than the pain. With the next, I’m expecting it and can take the time to revel in the feel, from the first sting through to the lovely low burn that demands more.
Baxter gets into a rhythm, using his left hand to make the blows and his right to soothe my skin afterwards. After the first half dozen slaps, he rubs his finger along the outside of my pussy, then slips it inside.
At first, the intrusion is too much, too soon, but the second time he returns, it tips back into pleasure. I shove my rear end back against him, drawing his finger deeper until he nudges it back inside.
But the contrast isn’t enough. “Please,” I whisper, then repeat louder.
His hand caresses my butt cheek, easing the sting of pain. “You want me to stop?”
“I want you to use your belt.”
Baxter takes hold of me by the hair, pulling me back and twisting my jaw so can see him from the corner of my eye. “You’re sure?”
I nod, then when his fingers briefly squeeze tighter, answer aloud, “I’m sure.”
He forces my head down with his left hand, shoving it into the mattress. I hear the snik as he pulls his belt free and moan deep in my throat with anticipation.
The pressure against my face eases as he positions himself behind me. I peek through the gap between my arm and side as he folds the belt, then grabs the buckle and end in his hand, wrapping the folded length around his knuckles once to shorten the reach.
I extend my arms over my head, grabbing fistfuls of the covers in my hands and shaking my rear at Baxter to urge him to hurry. When the leather first licks against my cheeks, I whimper, still wanting more. The second strap gives it to me, leaving a burning line across both cheeks that intensifies until the next mark shocks it back to a severe sting.
Then the blows melt into one another. The pain surges and draws back, leaving me panting for the next strike and the surge that propels me ever higher. I’m close to my limit, skating along the thin edge that’ll tip me over into actual pain, when Baxter drops the belt.
I’m so overstimulated that the teeth of his zipper pulling apart are as loud as a roar. His fingers slip into me, his movements frantic as he feels how wet I am for him, then spreads me wide. He guides his cock to my entrance, pausing for the tiniest moment as he teases me, dipping the head in and out, in and out, until I moan, then burying himself up to the hilt with one glorious thrust.
His stroke is so intense, so fast-paced, that I can only cling to handfuls of the duvet and take whatever he pounds into me. The stretch as I take him deeper and deeper adds to the crisp lines of pain already tattooed across my arse cheeks.
I let go of the bed, stretching my hands behind me, wanting to touch him, feel him outside of where our bodies are so roughly connected. He takes my right hand in his, then twists my arm up behind my back, half-collapsing on top as he continues to pound into me, his stroke unrelenting.
Not that I want him to stop. I’m not a multiple type of girl but right now I can feel my pleasure mounting until I’m so close that if he pulls out now, I’ll scream.
Then I scream anyway, as his free hand grabs hold of my buttock, squeezing it with such ferocity that the earlier blows feel like butterfly wings in comparison.
Every mark is suddenly alight, throbbing with its own heat, burning me up until my entire core convulses, reaching a peak that I didn’t know existed. I call out his name as he plunges into me, him roaring as he fills me up, pumping again and again until the last drop is left deep inside my cunt.
Baxter’s full weight is on me for a second, then he groans and moves away, leaving my body feeling emptier than it ever has before. When I’m about to whimper from his abrupt absence, he’s back on the bed beside me, rolling me so I’m against him, my feet still dangling off the edge until I curl them up against my belly.
