Sexy as Hell Box Set (19 page)

He was silent.

“Victor.” I slapped his arse. Hard.

He jerked. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Stop being so damn awkward,” I said, brushing away the sting on his buttock. “Or I’ll go and get that big fucking plug I shoved up Carlos’ arse and you’ll have that in for the next hour. Might make your trip to Heaven a bit more hellish.”

“Sorry, Mistress. I’ll try harder.”

He’d spoken the subservient words, but something about his tone didn’t quite ring true. As though he was acting. Spouting them because he knew that was what I wanted to hear.

Well, I’d soon change that.

A slight whirr echoed into the room, and the curtains drew back.

The Harlequin stood in the middle of the stage, hands on hips, face covered by a gold Venetian mask with a plume of feathers on the right-hand side.

I ran my hand around Victor’s waist, down his
obliques and checked the solidity of his cock. Oh, yes, nice and firm—the slap and the sight of The Harlequin’s large, bare breasts clearly worked for him. I’d suspected he was a bit of a tit man right from the word go, and now I was pretty sure I’d been right.

“Do you like her big tits?” I asked, touching my lips to the mound of his shoulder. He smelled of that woody shower gel again, but tasted of him: fresh and clean, like ocean surf on a hot summer’s day.

He hesitated and then, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Me too. Sometimes I frig myself off just thinking about The Harlequin’s tits. They’re so big and soft, the nipples so sensitive.” As I’d spoken I stroked his back, tapping my fingers down his spine. “Can you imagine what it would be like to put your dick between them, Victor? Use those big, warm pillows to
wank with? Perhaps you’d like to watch me masturbating at the same time. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Mistress.” No hesitation that time.

“And then when you came, it would hit the mask, wouldn’t it? Your cum would fly into those pretty white feathers, making them sticky and matted. How would that make you feel?”

He didn’t answer. I slapped his arse, hard, each cheek.

He jolted forwards. My palm tingled.

“This is what’s going to happen,” I said sternly. “While you watch the show, you’re going to imagine yourself screwing The Harlequin. Not boring old missionary, something kinky, anal perhaps, if that’s your secret thing. And I’m going to make your arse a wonderful bright red.”

“You’re, you’re going to spank me…Mistress?”

“Yes, because quite honestly, Victor, you deserve it. After standing me up last night, not using the plug when I told you to, and then all that skiving and sending dirty emails when you should have been working, you really do need to take your punishment.” I leaned closer so my lips caressed his earlobe. “You’ve been bad. Really bad, and for that you must take the consequences, but…I’m pretty damn sure it will get you off.”

He looked at me, taking his attention from The Harlequin, who was reaching into a black-and-white chequered box.

“The show,” I snapped, whacking his arse again.

His cock grew in my other hand. Yes, I had him.

He looked through the window.

“Let the heat spread,” I murmured in a softer tone. “Harness that pain and add it to your arousal. It will feel fucking fantastic when you come.” I kissed the bottom curve of his neck. “Trust me.”

The Harlequin had taken a long, plastic snake out of the box now and placed its fake rubbery body over those luscious big tits as the swaying dance routine began.

Briefly I let go of Victor’s cock, but only to reach for a paddle from my handbag. There was no way my palm would cope with the beating I intended for my little virgin.

“A bit wider.” I nudged at his feet, and he broadened his stance. “You remember my middle name?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Use it if you need to.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

The dance was slow to start with, lots of snake-tit action going on as The Harlequin moved past each window, stopping to press the assets that were the star of the show against the panes. When hard nipples, the size of Christmas baubles, squished in front of Victor, I applied the first stroke.

The flesh-on-wood noise rang around the room. He shifted forwards but quickly back. The snake, I swear, was giving him the eye, even though it wasn’t real.

My pussy was damp, my skin flushed, and I had Victor just where I wanted him. Obedient, naked and enjoying a show that would shock the hell out of him. How far would he let me go? What would it take for him to snap?

“Yes, that’s it,” I said. “Show me you’re the type of man who can stand up and take the pain.”

The Harlequin moved on. I hit Victor again, setting up a steady rhythm that I knew would make the strikes blur into one hot mass of torment.

I glanced down. His buttocks were rapidly becoming a fiery red, his cock engorged, bobbing between his belly and the wall beneath the window.

For a moment I wondered if I should paddle him and suck him off at the same time, but I was enjoying watching his expression too much. The Harlequin had poked the end of the toy snake into small red-and-blue striped panties, the head disappearing from view.

“Jesus, is she going to use that long thing as a dildo?” Victor asked, his voice strained like his throat had contracted.

I felt sorry for him, gripped his cock and
wanked him slowly, so he had somewhere to direct the pain my paddle was doling out. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a bit big.”

“Yeah, but you’re hard as a damn steel rod. It’s turning you on, imagining that really happening.”

He blew out a breath, gritted his teeth. “Fuck, that hurts, you know? What you’re doing.”

“Yes, but you deserve it.” I increased the pace, to show that I meant it.

He gasped. “To be hurt? Does anyone deserve to be hurt?”

“Yes,” she snapped.

“Really?”

“Yes, and this is good hurt so stop whining.”

“If you say so… Mistress.”

I whacked even harder, ignoring the ache building in my arm.

“Ah, fucking hell.” He canted his hips forwards and sucked in a breath, the air hissing around his teeth.

“So just come then it will all be over,” I said a little breathlessly.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes, fucking hell, Victor, that’s the idea.”

He removed his hands from the window. Went to reach for me.

“No,” I shouted and stepped back. “Don’t fucking move.”

That muscle jumped in his cheek. He hesitated and then turned back to the window and placed his palms on the glass. He stared at The Harlequin, who was lying down and writhing as if on the way to climax. Damn, it was a freaky show, that’s why it was only performed once a fortnight. It just didn’t have the following.

I started up my paddling again, arousal spinning in my brain, tugging my sex and making my panties damper. I knew Victor was turned on, he was just fighting it.

His beaten arse was a glorious shade of scarlet, the skin rippling on each strike. His cock held a drip of pre-cum, and he was panting through the pain. I had him on the edge of his boundary. I was pretty damn sure I had.

The Harlequin’s orgasm arrived, the shrieks of pleasure swirling into our small room.

“Oh, God,” Victor groaned.

“That’s it,” I said, “come, come for me now and take all this pain with you.”

But he didn’t come, he just kept on taking the slaps as The Harlequin stood, removed the costume and raised the plastic snake in the air.

“She’s a fucking man!” Victor said, dropping his hands and stepping backwards. “Jesus Christ, a man with tits like that. And what the hell just happened…fucking hell, too bloody freaky…”

“Yeah, but look at your dick.” I chucked the paddle onto the chair, gripped his chin and harnessed his attention. “
He
turned you on. Did you ever think a spank and a bloke would get the great Victor Partridge just about coming all over the wall in a sex den?”

He gripped my wrists, hard, yanked them upwards, towards his chest. My whole body jerked into his, our chests colliding.

A wild, feral flash seared over his white-hot eyes as he forced me backwards, up against the wall, his movements swift and strong.

Finally, I could see what I’d been searching for.

A red fog descended. Redder than my poor sodding arse. Zara had known full well she was making me imagine I was fucking a man, getting off on a bloke’s freaky false tits, and she’d bloody well strung me along for the ride.

And that paddle, on my backside. That was supposed to feel good?

Sure, my cock was as hard as wood, my guts ached for release, but still…

And the damn gleeful look on her face.

My heart thumped, and my focus went, my peripheral vision blurring. All I could see was her. All I could think of was proving that it was her who turned me on. Not a beating and a bloke. I’d done it all for her, to play her stupid game.

The air whooshed from Zara’s lungs as I backed her into the wall. A smidgen of the cockiness left her expression. For a moment I wondered if I saw fear.

I didn’t care.

“You turn me on,” I said through gritted teeth. “Not the stupid fucking show, or the damn pain on my arse. You, Zara, get that? Do you?” I shook her slightly.

“Victor, how dare you speak to your Mistress like this?” She tugged at her arms, tried to shake me off. A frown slashed across her smooth brow, and her pupils widened to deep, dark pools.

It was a paltry escape effort, and I dragged her arms over her head, trapped both wrists in one hand and stared down at her.

Her lips parted, she was breathing fast, her tits straining against her low black vest top. The expelled air from her nose whooshed onto my bare chest.

Every muscle in my body felt on high alert. My arse hurt, but my cock hurt more, my need for release verging on agony.

“Why?” I asked, shoving my body into hers and sucking in a tortured breath as I ground my cock over her belly. God, I’d never been so hard.

“Why what?” She squirmed.

I held her tight. There was no substance to her small muscles; she was taut and trim but had no underlying strength, I could feel that now. She’d be easy to pick up, carry away and keep as mine, forever. Who would ever know?

But damn, little or not, she could bloody well use a paddle.

“Why do you want me to feel small, helpless all the time?” I asked, my jaw so tense I could hardly speak.

“I don’t, Victor, not at all.”

I dropped my head to hers, spoke onto her lips, “Yeah, you do. Is it to make you feel big? Is that it? Has someone made you feel worthless and used and now you’re compelled to do the same to me?”

She twisted her head, shut her eyes. I heard the curtains come across the window. The room fell a shade darker.

She turned back to me, tilted her jaunty little chin. “You don’t feel worthless, Victor. Fucking hell, see what’s going on, why don’t you? You have me pinned to the wall. You want to screw me into oblivion, out of anger, frustration, passion and desire. Could those emotions be any further from feeling worthless? Could you feel any more alive than you do at this moment in your life?”

Damn it!

I hoisted her right leg in the crook of my elbow, wrapped it around my waist and sought the gusset of her panties. Dragged them to one side and shoved my cock as deep inside her as I could go.

She cried out. So did I.

Her pussy was unprepared, but she was wet enough and hot too.

I kept my grip on her wrists, holding her hostage. Pulled out and forged in again, slamming her body against the wall with mine.

I groaned and took possession of her mouth with a furious, desperate kiss.

My cock burned with need. The tautness of her pussy barely sated its ravenous hunger. I needed to get closer, deeper, become a part of her. Show her this was who I was, not some guy she could play with, treat as a hobby.

“Oh, yes, that’s it,” she panted into my mouth. “That’s fucking, Victor.” Her words were staccato. “That’s so different to how…you make love…this is fucking.” She paused and groaned as I ground extra hard over her clit. “Ah, yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

“I am, you little bitch.” As the words had spilled from my mouth I knew I’d meant them. Said in the heat of the moment, in the heat of her, it was how I felt. She was a temptress and a trickster and she needed a damn good seeing to by a real man.

A man like me.

I was getting close. I could hardly breathe, hardly stand. The force of my lust had driven me crazy. Zara was clinging to me with both her legs around my waist. I released her wrists, gripped her arse with one hand and the nape of her neck with the other. Didn’t let up with my frenetic devouring of her mouth, biting her lips as I came hard and deep inside her.

The pleasure went on and on. I was oblivious to whether or not she, too, had claimed an orgasm. This was all about me. Taking what I was due from the woman who’d made me her project.