His Indecent Proposition (4 page)

“No, sir.”

He continues to caress the firm flesh of her
buttocks as her anticipation – and terror – escalates. No, she has
never been spanked. Never contemplated it. She has never been
physically hit in her entire life. She has heard of such
sexually-orientated practices, of course, but has always chalked
their practitioners to be rock star and celebrity types; not normal
everyday people.

But Channing Crawford is far from being your
normal everyday person.

He takes huge chunks of her buttock flesh in
his palms and squeezes. “You have wonderfully unblemished
skin.”

Her heart skips several beats. She’s
frightened, and at the same time, she wants him to slide his hand
between her legs from the back and finger her pussy, which is once
again extremely wet. She wants him to delve into the recesses
between her clit and pussy lips again.

Disappointingly, he withdraws his hands. He
walks to her front and gestures to a low glass table in the middle
of the sofa and armchair arrangement.

“Get on top of that,” he commands. “Get on
your hands and knees on all fours.”

Her pulse is hammering at her throat as she
climbs onto the table.
But it’s glass. Won’t it break?
The
table seems sturdy enough, and it doesn’t even shift as she
concentrates her weight on one part of it.

He’s done this before, she thinks.

She crouches on her palms and knees, her
buttocks up in the air. Her shoes jut beyond the table’s edge.

“Spread your legs wider,” he says from
behind her. “I want to see that pussy.”

She complies; shifting her knees on the
glass surface as far as the edges of the table would allow her. He
remains standing behind her as the sun sinks beneath the tops of
the buildings and twilight encroaches upon them.

Oh, but she so badly wants to be touched
down
there
. Surely he can see the glistening dewdrops of
desire on the mouth of her sex, which is opening and closing like a
hungry anemone?

She hears the soft swish of his belt being
taken off. She cringes. A little moan escapes her throat.

He senses her terror.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’re not ready
for the belt. At least, not today.”

He strides to his desk. He has removed his
pants and he is now in his boxers. She watches his buttocks roll in
the silky material. Oh, but he has such a marvelous back – with
streamlined lats and fantastically sculpted scapulae. He opens the
drawer and takes something out, then he returns to her. The front
of his boxers is tented with his obvious erection.

A hot flush spreads from her cheeks down to
her breasts.

He shows the object to her. It is a flat
paddle – made of some sort of flexible wood. It has designs and
cravings upon it of an ethnic variety that she does not
recognize.

“I bought this from Bali,” he says.

She licks her lips in trepidation. Her eyes
begin to fill with tears.

“Please, sir . . . ”

“Yes?” He pauses.

“I-I . . . don’t think I can take the pain.”
This comes out in a rush. She has always been afraid of pain, she
who has never been spanked or beaten in her entire life. She’s also
afraid of needles and doctor appointments and anything associated
with bodily pain. Yes, she knows she’s a wuss, but she can’t help
it.

He smiles, and there’s a glint of something
tender in his eyes.

There’s a lyrical wistfulness to his voice
as he says, “When I was a child, I didn’t think I could take the
pain either. But then
he
made me take it, and he made me
what I am today. You will be much improved for it.”

Tears come to her eyes. If her palms weren’t
involved in balancing her current state, she would have clenched
them.

He walks to her left side.

“Are you ready, Susan?”

The air is electrified with charged
particles. She can almost smell the burnt iron crust of the atoms
between them.

No, she wants to say, I will never be
ready.

“Don’t move a muscle,” he cautions her.

The first blow takes her unawares.

Twack!

Oh my God. Her buttocks are running all over
with fire and tears of pain squeeze out of her eyes. It hurts. It
really hurts! She didn’t think that a slender paddle like that
could cause so much pain, but it does.

Twack!

She gushes out a cry this time. The tears
spill over to her cheeks. There will be no one to hear her in the
office now – not on this floor. It occurs to her that she can stop
this anytime. Concede a walkover to Leonard Drake.
Please, sir,
I yield my contention to Leonard. Make him VP instead, not
me!

But why should she? Just because she can’t
stand a little pain on her well-fed buttocks?

Get a hold of yourself, Susan. You’re made
of sterner stuff than this.

She finds herself clenching her buttocks to
lessen the impact of the blows. He continues to spank her
thoroughly, as though she is a child that must be chastised. The
sharp sounds of the paddle in contact with her rapidly reddening
flesh echo in the otherwise still atmosphere.

Thuck!

A sob worms out of her throat.

Twack!

Twack!

She can hear his breathing grow harsher –
not with effort, she’s sure, but desire.

The hot tears run and run down her cheeks
and drip off her chin onto the glass table. She lets out a piteous
cry with each strike of the paddle, each a little louder than
before. Her helplessness seems to spur him on further. Now she can
hear the paddle whistling through the air before the inevitable
smack on her rump, which she has no doubt is very red by now.

There’s something debasing about this whole
scene . . . and yet gratifying.

She hardly realizes he has stopped. Her butt
is a fiery explosion of pain and heat, and her eyes are so blurred
she can scarcely register what’s before her. He is a vague vision
in front of her. She blinks.

He has taken off his boxers, and his cock is
a rigid magnificent beast before her. Its uncircumcised head poises
in front of her mouth, and she can see every curved vein upon its
shaft. His entire organ glistens, full to almost bursting with
whatever sap it has accumulated.

A lump forms in her throat.

“Suck me,” he says hoarsely.

Without warning, he shoves his cock towards
her mouth. She opens it hungrily. In it slides. She tastes his
silken skin upon her tongue, which is immediately flattened by its
enormous girth.

He crams his cock down her throat as far as
it would go. She gags.

“Good girl,” he says in a soothing voice,
his hand on her hair. He strokes her head almost lovingly. “Now
suck me . . . hard.”

She tries to, but his cock is so large than
she can barely maintain her cheek muscle traction around it. She
tries to flick her tongue around his shaft, but even that is
difficult. She wants to tell him to take it out – to let her caress
it with butterfly licks first outside her mouth – but she cannot
speak. So she keeps her mouth open and her cheeks as closed in as
possible while he pumps into her in a semblance of fucking.

Her teeth graze upon his foreskin.

“Suck me harder.”

She increases her suction pressure. Her
cheeks bulge with the effort.

“Harder.” His voice grows harsher.

A thrill runs down her spine and between her
legs as she redoubles her effort.

“Not good enough,” he says, withdrawing his
cock from her mouth.

There’s a sudden hollowness in her throat
and green zigzags appear before her eyes. He moves to her side and
picks up the paddle. Before she can plead with him, a sharp
twack
comes down on her buttocks again. The pain is hot,
exquisite.

She cries out.

He paddles her several times more until
she’s weeping and tears are raining down her face.

“Please, sir, no more. Please . . . let me
suck you again. I’ll be
better
.”

He stops the spanking and moves to her
front.

In goes his hard cock – and she swallows it
with vigor.

She’s somewhat enjoying this, she realizes.
The pain, not so much, but his complete domination of her is a role
reversal she has never experienced before, and she finds it deeply
sexual and thrilling.

She sucks and sucks at him until she’s
seeing stars in her eyes, and she’s gratified to hear his breathing
grow harsher and feel his fingers digging into and clawing her
hair.

“Ohhh,” he moans, and the sound is music to
her ears. The thought of pleasuring this powerful, dangerous man
and bringing him to the cusp of orgasm is heady – intoxicating.

He thrusts his cock into her mouth
repeatedly. She suppresses her gag reflex and lets him go as deep
as he can go – right against the back of her throat. He does it
again and again, and his breathing grows so ragged that she is sure
he will come this way.

And then he stops.

He withdraws his still rock hard cock from
her mouth.

She pants with the effort, and sweat beads
her brow. Her tears have dried on her cheeks somewhat, and she is
glad she wears no mascara because it would have run, smudging her
face.

“Are you on the pill?” he rasps.

“Yes.”

Since she has started having sex with Brad
Thornbird, she has been on the pill because he likes to do it
without a condom.

“I’m going to fuck you. Keep still.”

He’s not asking for permission, she
understands. Her palms and knees are already aching with the
prolonged maintenance of her current position. She closes her eyes
as his shadow passes over her as he moves to her side. So he’s
going to take her on all fours, like an animal. There’s something
intensely erotic about the idea.

“I want you to feel me and only me,” he
says.

He picks up his tie – the very one he has so
callously dropped onto the floor – and wraps it around her
eyes.

“Oh,” she cries as he tightens it and ties
it behind her head. Darkness immediately closes in on her. She can
feel the two arms of the tie draping down her neck, the silk a
whispery touch against her flushed skin.

She hears his footsteps with her heightened
sense of sound. She can feel his hands on her hips. He caresses her
buttocks – those very buttocks he has inflamed with his merciless
spanking of it – and his hands are cool and soft and gentle.

The head of his cock nudges the hole of her
wet pussy. She moans as her womb actually contracts with need. She
wants him inside her – needs him desperately.

He thrusts into her without warning. She
lets out a little scream at the sudden pain. It soon abates, and
her moist, dripping passage is filled with his thick, warm flesh,
and her walls are pushed apart to its maximal circumference, and he
feels oh so good and large and omnipresent. He is right. In her
darkness, all her senses are attenuated to that one region where he
is joined to her, and she can feel every nuance, every curve of his
molded flesh inside her.

He begins to fuck her . . . hard. It is as
he promised. His hips slam against her buttocks, and his cock
pistons in and out of her well-juiced vagina easily and lavishly.
She can hear the moist, slick noises of their union, and it is all
she can do to maintain her balance on the glass table.

He grunts with each stroke, and she responds
in kind. Her palms and knees are sliding forward, pushed with each
roughshod pummel of his thrusts. He grabs her hips to steady
her.

Her moans become louder as his pumping
intensifies. Oh, but he feels so good. She’s filled in every way
she imagines possible – her erotic folds all expanded. His member
goes in as deep as he can possibly go, right up to the hungry mouth
of her roiling womb. It’s good, hard sex – the kind she is not used
to getting often. Her lovers are mostly gentle, a little clumsy and
trigger happy.

One of his hands creeps down to the front of
her sex.

As he continues to impale her, his fingers
grope for her clit. She moans as he begins an oscillatory massage,
once again delving into her clefts and igniting her most intimate
recesses. His cock strikes a special spot in her passage – one that
sends her into a frenzy of enhanced stimulation.

She whimpers, and he takes it as a signal to
drive himself into her harder. And all the while, his fingers worry
her tender nub of a clit. Harder and faster, and faster and harder,
until she’s panting, and whimpering, and moaning, and crying out
loud, and babbling “please please please please” over and over in
some sort of senseless evocation.

In her simulated darkness, there comes an
explosion of color and non-color, of sight and sightlessness, of
sound and no sound. She feels herself rising and falling and
expanding and falling off the edge as her climax takes her. A hard
surface slams against her breasts, and she understands that she has
fallen on her belly, and his hands are buoying her hips up. The
crest continues to float her up. And she feels a hot spurt flood
her pussy, and it’s deep and oh so satisfying. It fills and fills
her until she’s brimming, and spilling it over her rim, and she
feels it trickling down her inner thighs and down, down, down to
her knees.

Oh, oh, oh, oh!

He’s panting hard too. He squeezes her
buttocks as his orgasm abates. His breathing slows, and he finally
pulls his cock out of her wet, wet pussy.

He slides his hands over her back and
breasts. With a sharp tug, he whips her makeshift blindfold
off.

The ceiling light floods her eyes, and she
squints in the sudden brightness.

“You can go now,” he says. “Come see me
first thing in the morning.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

She’s trembling, and so he helps her off the
table. Her ass is smarting and his semen is still trickling out of
her pussy. She can scarcely maintain her balance as she gets down
on her feet. She almost topples over in her heels, but he grabs her
waist in time.