My Naughty Little Secret (18 page)

Michael was leaning against the bed with his hands at the foot of it, behind bared and waiting. I had to work hard to stifle a giggle. He looked blooming ridiculous, this big man poised, shaking in terror of a little woman like me holding a few twigs. I don’t think either of us was really getting anything from this. But I’d try anything once.

I positioned myself behind him and to try to get into the swing of it, I reminded him I was spanking him for all his lies. I reminded him that it was no guarantee I could forgive and forget, but I was willing to try. I told him how hurt I was and how he had made me feel insignificant by excluding me from his life. Then I swung. Hard. He yelped and jumped, covering his behind with his hands.

“Keep your hands out of the way or I’ll start over,” I warned, using the words he had used with me so many times.

“Fuck, Shiv, that hurt,” he protested.

“Of course it hurt, haven’t I been in your shoes often enough to know that?” I countered with a bravado I didn’t really feel. I whacked again before I changed my mind. And again, continuing five times in quick succession; with each stroke the look of horror on his face intensified, and each welt rising on his buttocks weakened my resolve. It was pretty obvious I was submissive rather than dominant. I dropped the birch on the bed.

“Ok, you’re off the hook, I can’t do any more,” I admitted. I was kind of disappointed as I had hoped it would make me feel better.

“Thank fuck, because I can’t take any more either.” We both laughed ourselves stupid and it was a real cathartic laugh. Somehow we ended up in each other’s arms, kissing hungrily. He had his already loosened clothes off before I noticed it and he was helping me lose mine. Our hands were colliding in our urgency for us both to be naked.

“Don’t ever leave me again, Shiv, ever.”

“Don’t ever lie to me again, then. How could I trust you about Vivienne when everything you ever told me was a lie?” I was crying again and he kissed my tears as they fell from my eyes.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear, I just wanted time for you to want me for me, not to want me or reject me because of who I was.”

In a way I understood what he meant. I was in London for the same reason, to be accepted on merit, not because I was related to someone who was related to someone else. I figured I just might be able to forgive this one.

I’d love to be able to say we made slow gentle love, but that would be a complete lie. We had that fast, furious, desperate coupling that comes after a breakup. Where the hunger is so bad you feel nothing can satisfy it. We fucked hard, Michael driving deep into me, as if he wanted my pussy to consume his penis, to smother it with my need. And my body was just as eager. I met him thrust for thrust. I ached for him to consume all of me. I bit his lips hungrily until he moaned for me to stop or he’d be marked. I thrust my chest upwards, wanting him to take my breasts in his mouth. I was desperate to cum, yet I couldn’t let go. I was holding back. Michael told me to turn over; he knew what I needed. I had to submit to him. Then he tied my hands above my head to the headboard and put some pillows under my hips. He played with my clit causing me to moan in pleasure, making me beg for more. Then he spanked me, hard. Finally, I could feel my body yielding to his will. But he wasn’t done yet.

“I’m going to have a little fun here,” he said seductively as he probed my anus with his finger, slowly and gently. It was the first time he had ever really used my anus purely for pleasure and the sensation was totally different. He lubricated the small plug and slowly and gently coaxed it in. At first I naturally resisted, but as I forced myself to relax, I could feel the pleasure. There was a sensation of fullness, different from my pussy. My muscles tightened around it, sending pleasant sensations through my whole private region. It made me feel alive. My pussy was flooding with desire and my submission was complete. With that he spanked me again, while the plug was in place. This caused me to clench my bottom cheeks further and I was on the brink of orgasm. I was on fire. I wanted him to fill me again, I wanted his cock but he wasn’t sharing. Not until he was ready. He switched for a slightly larger plug and the sensations intensified. In a way I felt embarrassed, having my bum manipulated in such a way, but my body defied my embarrassment and cried out for more. As he inserted the bigger plug, I didn’t resist and it went in easily; he thrust it in and out like a cock. The thrill was electric and my body shuddered with orgasm. Finally he was ready to possess me again. He removed the plug and released my hands.

“Up on all fours,” he ordered. “Condom or not?”

“Not.”

He penetrated my pussy roughly and thrust hard. I came again immediately. And again, one not quite subsiding before the next one started. He kept me there on the edge until he was done with me. When he felt I had completely exhausted all resistance, he thrust harder and harder until I could feel his warm ejaculation fill my pussy as his body jerked in climax.

Chapter Sixteen

We snoozed for a while, exhausted and spent. But we weren’t ready to sleep for the night. There was too much making up to do and a lot of talking to be done. Neither of us was ready to sleep on it just yet. Anyway, I hadn’t let the girls know I wouldn’t be home. I climbed out of bed, slipping into his bathrobe, to make the call, and Michael went into the bathroom. I could hear the bath filling. And smell the scent of vanilla and cinnamon. He came into the kitchen, opened a bottle of wine, and brought the wine and two glasses into the bathroom. My kinda man! When I followed him, the room was aflame with red and white candles; there were fluffy towels heating on the towel rail and more towels on the floor. Bubbles were almost overflowing. He opened the tie on his robe and peeled it down into a pool at my feet. Taking my hand, he guided me into the bath and handed me a glass of Nebbiolo D’Alba.

“Italian?” I asked, raising my eyebrows in censure.

“Don’t tell them this, but they have some pretty good wines,” he winked. “I like this one. It’s from the highest plain of Piedmont region; it gets longer sunlight to ripen the grape.”

Now that coming from a man whose stepfather owned a French vineyard was quite a compliment. I looked at the label, Renato Corno; the name meant nothing to me, but it tasted really smooth. Just right for sharing in a hot bath. The tub was one of those oversized old-fashioned types that could fit two with comfort. I pulled up as Michael climbed in behind me and put one leg either side of mine. I lay back on his chest and savoured the illicit luxury, a shared bath, with wine and candles, How decadent! Absolutely heavenly.

We sipped our wine at leisure and when the glasses were drained, Michael put them on the floor so they wouldn’t get knocked over. Then he lathered up his hands and started washing my back and shoulders. He kneaded the pent-up tension out of my shoulders and neck. The three days of upset bit by bit eased away. His hands slipped round to my belly and chest and he soaped me some more. I closed my eyes as I felt his fingers work their magic on my nipples. I could feel my desire fire deep in my belly again. His hands slipped, washing me intimately.

“I’d like this to go,” he said, tugging on my pubic hair, “not all of it, I want to know you’re a woman, but just a thin strip, so I have a good view.”

He soaped my anus, which he had used to such delight earlier. It was ever so slightly tender, reminding me of the stolen pleasure, and I shivered. He chuckled. Then my vagina, but my own silky moisture was better than any soap. His hands glided over and back with ease as I arched my body to his touch. Then as far down my thighs as he could reach from behind me. I was alive again and wanted my fun.

I turned to face him and soaped his chest and arms, scratching my long nails tantalisingly through his chest hair, using firm hard fingers on his shoulders and stretching round to his back. As he gave into the sensation, his already erect penis raised itself still more, looking for its share of the attention. But not yet. His belly and navel were next. Then his legs and thighs. Everywhere but his hard penis. I wanted him desperate and needy before I was going there. He was groaning, arching his cock closer to me, wordlessly begging me to stroke it. Finally I gave in and a sigh of relief escaped his throat. Soaping my hands, I slowly rubbed the head forward and back, down the shaft a little, not too much. Then in circular motions. Then forward and back. Then circular again. Rubbing the nubs under the head. He was in heaven and hell; I could see the pleasure was exquisite, but he wanted deeper longer strokes to satisfy his yearning. Only when I could see his eyes plead for mercy did I oblige and the relief was written all over his face.

“Stop, we’re going to make love,” he pleaded. Well, I thought that was exactly what we had been at in the bath; he may not have penetrated me yet, but we were definitely making love, sharing each other’s pleasure, wanting to satisfy one another’s needs, each trying to bring the other to heaven. He climbed out of the bath and put a towel around his waist. As I stood up, he wrapped a second around me. We kissed, standing dripping wet on the towels. Slowly and tenderly. And rubbed each other’s bodies dry. We went towards the bedroom. He flipped on the stereo and we made poignant love to the strains of “When Doves Cry” by Prince. I don’t know why; I guess it was because of the trauma of the previous few days, but it seemed to be the perfect tempo and the perfect words. He slipped into me easily, slowly, and gently, telling me he loved me. We kept that soft rhythm, our bodies already hyper-alert from the lovemaking in the bath. Our mutual climax was slow and easy and perfectly timed, as lovers who were totally in tune.

Michael got the wine and we sat on the bed talking with real honesty, for the first time in our relationship. He told me what it had been like to move to France; he explained that James had an affair with Catherine while he was still married, and as part of the custody arrangements and divorce settlement, he had allowed Lydia to change Michael’s name to Henrii, to help him settle in France. He said James really regretted it now and the reason they had been arguing that first day I met him was that James wanted him to change his name back, but Michael wasn’t prepared to go through all the rigmarole that created.

“For a time, my mother couldn’t bear to hear my father’s name mentioned,” he explained. “She was adamant when she remarried I would have Gaston’s name, and in return for his consent, she didn’t try to cause any harm to the business. I guess he wasn’t in the best bargaining position. They all get on fine now though; I suppose they had to get along for my sake. Mum’s still a shareholder in the business; she holds the shares that will transfer to me.”

“Christ, it must have been really tough, what age were you?”

“About six when they split, eight when Mum married Gaston. Gaston’s great, wait ‘til you meet him. I think it was largely him and Catherine who smoothed things over between Mum and Dad.”

“And your mum wanted you to come here to manage the business yourself rather than see it go to an external manager, I take it?”

“Got it in one, top marks to the lady with the red hair,” he teased. “She figured it would do much better in the family hands as I’d care more than any outsider. I didn’t believe her at first. I never felt it was my birth right, I felt more at home in France. But she was right. I see London, the store, and most important, you as my future now.”

“I’m not sure how comfortable I’d be with all that, Michael. I lived a totally different life from you, a simpler one. I need to think about it all. One step at a time, ok?”

“I knew it would be a problem for you; why do you think I hid it so long? And another thing, again you’ll need to think about it, but in my opinion, you should take Myra’s job. It was yours anyway. Before you or I knew it. At least think about it. Banbury’s needs you almost as much as I do.”

I sighed, I really couldn’t dwell on that one tonight, I had more than enough on my plate. I’d mull it over tomorrow when I was at home and maybe discuss it with the girls, get their views on the subject. And maybe Myra. Christ, why was nothing ever easy in life?

It was my turn to talk. We had walked into this crazy sexual and spanking world without ever discussing it properly. Although I enjoyed the thrill of it, I explained that I thought it was making everything too intense. I was scared that the speed of the relationship and the depth of it were largely due to the sexual excitement. I was afraid that it wasn’t real, that we were being blinded by it. Michael didn’t agree. He felt the eroticism was separate to the emotional connection. Just as intense and passionate, but only a part of the whole picture. We both agreed that there was a huge element of trust required to delve into this world and maybe that made us closer, but still we had to learn to trust enough to actually talk about it instead of rush headlong into it.

“I’m always too embarrassed to talk about it,” I admitted with a blush. “Jesus, it’s so flipping crazy. I feel like a screw-up for wanting to be spanked and disciplined. And worse, I let you stick things up my bum and I liked it.”

He was laughing at me again, but I didn’t mind it this time. I knew it was good-natured. It was probably often good-natured in the past too, but I was so sensitive about it, I didn’t see it that way.

“And I’m not a screw-up to want to do it to you? So we’re two screw-ups together. And I like sticking things up your bum; it’s a real turn-on. And that’s not all I’m going to stick there. When you’re ready, I’m going in. Now who’s the sick one?”

We talked about the discipline issues more openly than ever before and by the time we finished we had a kind of a game plan on where we wanted it to bring us.

“So when are you bringing me to Ireland? You met my family, now I want to meet yours,” Michael asked as the conversation finally started to dry up.

“Let’s give it another little while before we go down that road. I need a few weeks to get my head around all of this, and work. Please.”

“So who’s hiding who now?” he teased, but I knew he was a little hurt.