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‘That’s good, baby. That’s really good. And I would reward you – I really would …’

I put a hand flat to his chest, and push him all the way back. He’s oblivious enough to look confused – I think he really hasn’t guessed what he’s done wrong. It could be that he truly did forget.

‘But you seem to have put on clothes, and what was it I asked you to do again?’

I snap the waistband of
my
pyjama bottoms, for emphasis. He looks first startled, then appalled. I really think he forgot! It makes me want to clap my hands together.

‘Oh – no but I –’ he starts out, before he realises there’s nowhere to go with that
but
. ‘Damn. I didn’t mean to leave them on. I was going to take them off before you came up, I was. I didn’t even wear anything when I went to the bathroom – or when I made breakfast! I ate at your kitchen table, while naked!’

He’s so earnest. Sometimes I wonder how he manages it, with those giant angry-looking eyebrows – though in truth I think they just add to his big, innocent expressions. They exaggerate him to the point of funny.

‘Maddie, really – I didn’t mean to not do it. I meant to be good. I just wanted to …’ He seems to wrestle, visibly frustrated, with a certain word. Before it bursts out of him. ‘Fuck! I wanted to fuck. I want to fuck. Are you not going to fuck me, now?’

‘That’s a lot of F words, potty mouth.’

And then he
apologises
. The urge to clap my hands grows strong, again.

‘But don’t worry. We’ll get to the fucking,’ I say, and he sinks down, relieved. Not so much, when I add, ‘After you’ve taken your punishment.’

Then his shoulders snap back up again, all right. His eyes go big, just briefly. A little wider and then normal again – if clearly still charged with electricity. I think I zapped him with a taser, without knowing it.

‘No, don’t.’

It’s the most deadpan, unenthusiastic refusal there has ever been since time began.

‘Bend over and put your palms flat to the mattress, Gabe,’ I say, and am thrilled with the lack of wavering in my voice.

Though I’m more thrilled with the way he swallows, and shivers, and shakes his head almost as an afterthought. My sex swells, tight against the material of my underwear. It practically demands that I cup it, through my skirt and my knickers – though it’s only when I’ve done so that I realise what it looks like. Lewd, and somehow like a man.

Like a rough, dirty man, showing some slut what he’s going to give to her.

And he sighs, just like said slut would. High and too aroused, not sure what to do next to get himself the maximum amount of pleasure allowable.

In the end, he goes with obeying me, exactly. He turns, jerkily, and bends over. Then plants his hands on the mattress, arms straight and strong. But it’s the way he turns his head so that he can look at me, and mouths the tense muscle in his arm – almost like a wet, open kiss, but with a bit of a bite to it – that really makes me cream myself. His eyes, just over the line of his bicep, big and dark and lust-blown.

I stroke one shaking hand over the curve of his back, and he drops his head between his shoulders. He’s panting, now.

‘What are you going to do to me? Don’t let it hurt too much, OK? I don’t think I’ll tell you to stop. I think I like it too much, I’m sure I do. One time I sank my teeth into my hand so hard it bled – God. God. I can’t believe the stuff I tell you, now.’

He’s babbling, and though I don’t want him to stop I’m also sure I don’t want to get anywhere near bleeding – no matter how much he might like it. Did he say he liked it? Lord, we’re getting into some shaky territory, here.

So I lean over his curved body, and whisper in his ear,
if you tell me to stop, I won’t. If you say the word wicked, I will. Nod if you understand me
.

And he does, of course he does. He’s read all the same books I have, and most of them have safe words. Even the ones that are only pretending to be BDSM, with silk scarves and ice-cubes.

I wonder if we’re pretending, or not. He certainly gasps, when I kick his legs apart. And moans, when I rip those ridiculous pyjama bottoms down, all the way to his ankles. When I’m back standing behind his bare arse, I say, ‘Tell me what you did wrong, Gabe.’

And at first, he doesn’t respond. He’s juddering all over, now – really going at it. When words finally come out, they’re all over the place.

‘I didn’t stay naked,’ he says, then after a second blurts out, ‘And I almost made myself come, twice.’

Though I don’t think it’s his conscience, that makes him tell me.

‘I see. Describe both instances, to me.’

He gives me a little frustrated whine, in response. I think he might actually be wiggling his perfect firm arse, for my approval.

‘Uh … one time I was going through your things, and –’

‘What things?’

Another frustrated sound.

‘The toys. Your toys. And then I thought about what you did with them, like putting them on your clit or inside your pussy or your … other things and –’

‘What other things?’

‘Your arse, OK? Your arse! And then I almost came all over everything.’

I stroke my hand over his hip, as a reward. He backs right into my touch, but his palms never leave the mattress.

‘And the second time was when the guy … and the two girls … oh God. I thought I was going to come without touching myself. It felt like I was going to come – but I didn’t. I promise I didn’t do that.’

His voice goes right up at the end of that last sentence. Mainly because right when he hits the word
didn’t
, I bring my hand down hard on his arse.

It’s amazing. He jerks forward, and the sound that comes out of him is like a shocked gasp – only it’s deep, and guttural. And when I smack again before he can recover, he actually tells me
no
.

Though not because he wants me to stop. Not even because he fake-wants me to stop! No, he says it, then follows it with
this
:

‘No don’t, Maddie, don’t, I think I’m going to come!’

And I’ve no idea why that turns me on so much, I really don’t. But I have to push my skirt up and shove my hand inside my knickers, all the same. Or at least, I do so until he says in a weirdly much less out of control voice, ‘No, let me do it after. I want to lick you, after.’

At which point I understand how a person might come, without a hand on them. A great surge of pleasure goes through me, taking any sense I had with it. I crack my hand down on his already pink right cheek, and then the other, and then both and then hard hard hard until he’s letting out all of these sharp little cries.

I can tell, too, when he presses his lips together to hold them in. Each one then ends on a
mmpf
, or some other kind of desperate noise – and all the while his arse grows hot and my palm gets even hotter, and sweat pools in the hollow of his back.

He’s rocking his hips, now – but not away from me. Towards my hand, every time it lands. And I think … I think he spreads his legs wider, so that occasionally, one of my smacks will land right over the seam between. Almost lower, too, over the just visible shape of his balls.

‘You really love it, don’t you, slut,’ I say, and he whines and tells me no, no. So I torment him a little more, just a little more. ‘If you hate it, I’ll do it softer. I’ll just tap your pretty little arse, in a polite sort of –’

‘No!’ He sobs, as the admission falls out of him. ‘Do it hard, OK? Use something on me, do it hard, please.’

I think about paddles, belts, crops. Instead of palm marks on his arse – stripes. Red as anything, lining his perfect pale skin.

But we don’t get anywhere near that far, because some kind of mad urge grabs hold of me and I grasp his hip tight in my hand, then jerk him back against the slap of my palm, every time I bring it down. And good God, does that ever have the desired effect. I’ve no idea what the desired effect even is, but it makes me scorching hot inside my too-tight clothes and my mind goes blank and Jesus, I can feel how wet my knickers are, I can feel it.

And all while he
uh uh uhs
and finally tells me that he’s definitely going to come, now. Definitely. He even warns me, that he’s going to make a real mess of my sheets.

Just before his body locks up and he twists under my grip and he can’t even seem to make a noise, under pressure of intense insane orgasmic bliss. I think he stops breathing. I have to tell him to start again and then he gobbles up air like a crazy person.

Though I don’t know what I’m doing, giving him advice. I’m the one with my nails digging into his hip and my face like a shell-shocked sex war survivor. I can’t move, not at all, and I’m sort of frightened that he’s going to ask me to because he’s recovered already and I’ve forgotten what day it is.

‘That was much better than I expected it to be,’ he says, after a long, long moment. As though he’s been considering things like this for so long. Whereas I … well. I don’t think I’ve ever fantasised about spanking someone until they came on my sheets. Not ever.

‘Are you OK, Maddie?’ he asks. ‘Can I take my palms off the bed?’

White noise buzzes in my ears. I think maybe I say yes, because he stands really slow and all awkward, as though oh, I don’t know. Something on his arse is burning? And yet somehow, it’s him who’s putting an arm around me. He sort of hugs me, and starts unbuttoning the jacket I’m still wearing.

Man, no wonder I’m hot! I thank him, for being considerate enough to remind me of my extreme hotness. But he just laughs and says –
why are
you
thanking
me? Then he gets all blush-y and flustered, when he has to start stripping the sheets off the bed.

Of course I try to stop him, because honestly I don’t give a shit. They’re probably already sticky with our bodily fluids anyway, so what does it matter? But then he smoothes on new ones and starts taking off the rest of my clothes, and I’m glad that it mattered to him.

‘You’re really quiet,’ he says, as he unbuttons my shirt. ‘Did you not … like that?’

I try to smile, but it doesn’t sit well on my face.

‘I think I liked it a little too much.’

‘If you liked it too much, then what did I do?’

‘You ran away to Las Vegas and married it.’

He presses his face into the skirt he’s knelt to unzip and tug down my legs. I think he says an embarrassed sorry against the material.

So I touch his hair.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ I say. ‘Don’t ever be sorry.’

I’m just in my knickers and bra, now. And then his cheek is brushing against the soft mound beneath the material, like he can feel the fur underneath. He works up to the press of his mouth against me, almost like he’s trying to do it by stealth – though he must know that I’m never going to refuse.

Not when the sudden hot, wet feel of his parted lips through my knickers makes me gasp. He licks me through them, at first – just with me stood up, legs almost together. The moist stuttering drag of his tongue over the material making my underwear slide, and tease over my pouting lips.

But that quickly ends. He just nudges me towards the bed and suddenly I’m sprawled across it, soft kisses all over my belly as he works my knickers down one-handed.

He licks, before he explores with his fingers. Just one lick over the apex of my slit, and then greedy probing fingers everywhere, and that drowning look on his face when he feels how wet I am, and oh – the sight of him squirming his free hand down over his stomach, so he can fondle himself at the same time.

I almost jerk right out of my own body, when the phone rings right in the middle. Though – weirdly – Gabe doesn’t seem to mind. The intrusion of the real world doesn’t put him off his stride at all, and even as it continues to shriek, he just keeps right on mapping out my clit with the flat of his tongue.

So slow. Too slow. The phone dies and then starts wailing again in a way that makes me want to throw something at it. Doesn’t it know that I need this, that I’ve waited patiently for this, for God’s sake –

‘Answer it,’ he says, in between soft touches of his tongue to my clit. The syrupy slide of his fingers into my cunt. He parts them, gently, once they’re in there, and I’m sure I’ve misheard him amidst all the gushing pleasure.

‘You want me to answer the phone while you’re going down on me?’ I ask, but he just looks at me above the curve of my sex, mouth still intent on its task.

‘What if it’s your next door neighbour, Gabe?’

I think his eyebrow lifts, a little. It’s hard to tell, while he’s eating my pussy.

‘What if it’s my Great-Aunt Petunia?’

He licks harder, for that one. Ah, my Gabe. Always ready for a little lavender-scented humiliation – though it does make me wonder who exactly he’s wanting to receive the humiliation. Maybe it’s payback time?

I answer halfway down the bed, legs still spread. Gabe buries his face deeper before I’ve even got to the
who is it
part.

Though I’ve got to say, I don’t think there’s going to be deep enough when he figures out who’s on the end of the line. I expected Jeanette, which would have been extremely amusing. But of course it’s Andy, of
course
it is, Andy – with his perfect sense of timing!

‘Hey babe,’ he says, as I wonder about his psychic abilities. Born with, or learnt?

Though in all honesty, at what intervals could he have called where we were
not
having sex? It was just a matter of time.

‘You busy?’

He’s not only good with timing. He’s also great at choosing his words.

‘You could say that.’

‘Ah, right. In the middle of fucking that pansy, huh?’

And at playing guessing games. I wonder if he can hear the wet lap of Gabe’s tongue. The slick-clicking of my monumentally juicy pussy.

‘No. We’re not fucking.’

Gabe stops briefly, then – just enough to fully meet my gaze, with questioning eyes. Though I kind of think he already knows, if I’m here talking about the F word.

‘He’s touching you in a dirty way though, right? What’s he doing? You got him fingering you?’

‘I have to go, Andy. Stop calling,’ I say, only then … then I guess Gabe doesn’t approve of that idea. I sense definite disapproval, in the minute shake of his head. The way he kisses the groove between my pussy and my thigh, suddenly, and spans one big hand over my hip.