The Accidental Mistress (3 page)

Oh God, it was always the same. The deep, randy surge of desire. Baring herself to John was new every time, always like the first time, when she’d undressed for him while masquerading as an escort, freshly picked up in the bar downstairs. She’d never been vain about her shape, and always ruefully admitted that even though she looked a bit like the 1950s glamour model Bettie Page, she didn’t have that goddess’s incredible figure. But seeing the reflection of
herself in John’s brilliant eyes, her self-esteem soared and she
loved
being in her own body.

Slowly, and with a bit of a burlesque flourish, she let the thick, fluffy robe slide down her arms, then straightened her spine and set back her shoulders, to present herself to the eyes of her master.

‘Beautiful,’ said John softly, drawing in a deep breath, as if she were Venus rising from the waves, or even the great Bettie herself, reborn to her glory days. ‘Now touch your breasts. Put on a little show for me. Let me see how you pleasure yourself when I’m not around.’

‘Well, I don’t stand up to do it, and that’s a fact.’

Oops, a slip-up. Insubordination. She could already imagine the impact of his hand, hot on her bottom. Retribution.

John sighed, a gusty theatrical sound. ‘Did I say you can speak? No. And if I desire you to play with yourself while standing up, you play with yourself while standing up. Do you understand me?’

Lizzie nodded, snagging her lower lip between her teeth as she braced herself up and went about her task.

First, she cupped herself, cradling the slight weight of her breast and flicking at the nipple with her thumb. Just that small action made her gasp, sending a sharp silvery jolt of pleasure right from the tip of her breast to her aching clit. She couldn’t help but rock her hips, and she daren’t look at John, knowing he’d have seen the movement, as he saw everything.

‘Be careful. Be very careful. Now, pinch your nipple. Do it hard.’

Swallowing, she obeyed, shocked by the pain, yet in the eternal paradox, also loving it. In all the brief time they’d spent together, she hadn’t completely figured out why she
could both dread and enjoy punishment. In normal logic, it didn’t make any sense, but in a beautiful chintz-clad bedroom at the Waverley Grange Hotel, it was exactly as it should be.

She pinched harder, suppressing her gasp as her clit throbbed, almost as if that were being squeezed too. Maybe that was next?

‘Touch your pussy with your other hand. Rub and squeeze at the same time, caress your clit.’

Again she obeyed, shocked at the wealth of slippery, silky fluid between her sex lips. As she stroked her clitoris lightly, she held her breath. She was incredibly close. As a woman with a fairly average relationship with her orgasms – sometimes easy, sometimes not so much – it always astounded her that with John, they were always within reach. Sometimes, he only had to look at her and she was on the brink. If anybody had suggested that was possible before she’d met him, she’d have told them not to be so daft. But with him, strange miracles could happen.

‘No climax. Not yet. Not until I’ve spanked you.’ His wonder-smile was devilish, a wicked icon to her eyes. ‘But try and get as close as you can without orgasming. Go right to the edge.’

You swine! You perverse swine!

She railed at him inside, but she obeyed him, loving the perversity, loving the way he pushed her. Her clit trembled beneath her fingertip, and she tried to back off a bit, rub a bit to one side. Could he see what she was doing? She was often convinced he had X-ray vision, and that he could see every secret of her body, and sometimes even her heart.

‘You’re cheating, Lizzie,’ he said, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed. The bathrobe he wore was thick and luxurious, but she could still see the prominence of his
erection. Its tantalising promise took her mind off her own problems. Soon … soon … she would have him again.

‘The game’s rigged.’

‘Tut tut … I never said you could speak. When I was in the army, we’d have called that insubordination, young lady.’

Despite his instruction, her fingertip stilled, and her other hand dropped away from her breast. ‘You were in the army?’ Curiosity skyrocketed, and the desire to know more of his life outside the bedroom momentarily made her forget about sex.

Slowly shaking his head, John favoured her with another despairing grin. ‘You really are the most incorrigible submissive, Lizzie. And yes, I was in the army once. But only for about a fortnight, so I didn’t rise all that far in the ranks.’

‘What happened?’ She imagined him, however briefly, in uniform, his curls brutally shorn. He’d still have looked fabulous, and despite his pampered lifestyle, she knew his mind and body were rigorous. Why hadn’t he stayed in?

John reached out for her hand, drawing it away from her body. ‘I’ll tell you one of these days. But now can we get back to the matter in hand? I think you need your bottom smacked, to get you back on track.’

‘Yes, sir. Just as you wish, sir.’ She feigned a subordinate, military tone.

‘I do wish,’ he said, tugging gently on her arm, guiding her towards the classic position, across his lap. It seemed so natural and easy, and in the blink of an eye, she was lying belly down, stretched over his knees, her head dangling, her hair a black curtain around her face. John caught her hands together at the small of her back, holding them in one of his while with his free hand he started stroking her naked bottom.

Softening her up …

Inside, Lizzie trembled, even though she tried to keep still, and not be that oh so incorrigible submissive. Being motionless, pliable and obedient was a great goal to shoot for, but not easy. It was John’s fault, though. He was too gorgeous when he was stern, or acting that way. His faux severity induced a volatile reaction, mostly the near uncontrollable desire to wriggle about and rub her body against his. The compulsion gripped her now, the need to work herself against his cock, through the thick cloth of his robe, and excite his flesh as much as he excited hers.

‘Hush. Be still.’ His voice was soft, authoritative but not harsh. His hand stilled on her bottom, fingers shaped to clasp the outer curve of it.

Lizzie quieted down, but it wouldn’t last for long, that she knew.

‘Oh, you beautiful woman, how I’ve missed this.’ He squeezed a little, as if savouring the resilience of her musculature. ‘All the time we’ve been apart, I’ve fantasised about touching you like this. Touching and stroking this gorgeous arse of yours. It’s just perfect.’

‘I hope you’ve thought about the rest of me too.’

‘Of course I have. The rest of you is perfect too, but you know what a horny old dog I am, love. My mind tends to run to sex, and to doing kinky things with you.’

‘Me too.’ It was the truth. She had fantasised too. And she’d played with herself, dreaming of a moment like this, even if she’d not truly expected it to arrive. The truth of it overwhelmed her again, and a few tears formed in her eyes.

I am so lucky!

‘Did you dream of me touching you?’

‘Yes, all the time.’ Not strictly true, but near enough.
There’d been times when all she wanted was just a glimpse of him again, a sight of his smile.

‘And did you touch yourself, thinking of me touching you and spanking you?’

‘Hell, yes!’

‘Me too.’ She could hear that longed-for smile in his voice, and feel the desire in his exploring hand as his finger slid into her cleft from behind, gliding and tickling. ‘Do you want an orgasm now, before we start?’

She did, but she didn’t. She didn’t know what she wanted. Just anything really, if it came from him.

‘No … it’s OK. It’ll be better after.’

Not sure if she’d made the right choice, she shuffled on his lap, ruffling up his robe and dislodging it. Bingo! Where the panels slid apart a bit, there was bare thigh beneath, with a bit of body hair … and his cock pressing hard, pressing hot.

‘Naughty, naughty.’

Without warning, the first slap landed like a thunderclap. She’d barely had time to register his fingers quitting her pussy before they’d struck her.

‘Oh!’

It stung. How it stung. The heat from one simple blow was enormous. No matter how much she’d thought about this in the last month, she’d forgotten its intensity. Before she knew it, she was squirrelling about on John’s knee, fighting his hold on her hands, and bumping and jostling his erection.

But he was unswerving and resolute. He spanked her steadily, his rhythm and aim breathtaking, spreading an even veil of simmering heat across both her buttocks within the space of a minute or two.

Even though she was the one being disciplined, Lizzie was in awe of
his
discipline. His control. His quiet composure
in the face of extreme provocation, mainly in the form of her rubbing herself against his cock so shamelessly.

When her bottom felt as if it were about to combust, he stilled his hand, fingers resting on the fury. ‘Oh my God, you’re amazing. You look so gorgeous, Lizzie. Your skin marks like a dream.’ Nearly bending himself double, he pressed his lips against the crown of each hot round in two little kisses. ‘Perfection … pure perfection,’ he breathed against the heat. ‘I’ve got to have you again, love. I’ve got to have you
now
.’

‘Thank God for that,’ gasped Lizzie as he released her hands. Desperate for him, she shuffled on to her knees on the soft rug beside the bed. Looking over her shoulder at him, the sight of his stiff cock made her want to purr. From between the folds of his dressing gown, it jutted, so eager, so hard, and a perfect fit for her.
The
perfect fit.

‘Come on, I’m waiting,’ she commanded him, full of sudden power. The switch was automatic. Submitting to John filled her with strength and confidence, and the power to order him about in return. With a happy laugh, he tumbled on to the rug behind her, and draped himself across her body. The press of his skin against hers, and the texture of the towelling robe … both stirred the heat in her spanked buttocks. She hissed through her teeth, but the sensations only excited her more than ever. Made her want him more and more. She dished her spine, pressing her bottom and her sex against him, loving the rock-hard feel of his erection pushing against her.

Leaning on one arm, he explored her with his free hand, caressing, squeezing, arousing. He fondled her breasts, her belly and her thighs, then slid his fingers into her sex, finding her silky wetness and stroking her clit.

‘Oh … Oh God,’ she crooned as he pleasured her with his
fingertips, stroking and circling the tiny organ, touching and teasing with exactly the right pressure and action. Within seconds, the pent-up yearning fractured and her sex flexed and rippled in a hard, deep orgasm. She pitched forward on to her forearms, overcome, tossing her head from side to side, making incoherent sounds, some of which just might have been, ‘John! John! John!’

With his body pressed against hers, the pleasure was contained and magnified, but after a few moments, some semblance of thought returned. ‘Please … oh please, fuck me,’ she gasped. ‘I want you in me.’ It sounded so wanton, yet her heart soared, loving her ability to command him, the dominance
he
provoked in
her
.

‘Nothing would make me happier,’ he whispered in her ear, then fell back a little, lifting away from her to rummage in the pocket of his robe, and then shuck it off.

‘Another handily placed condom?’ She lifted up a bit, turning to look back at him, grinning. He was always prepared, and was already rolling on the latex.

‘Do you blame me?’ he said, flashing her a quick, hot look, then concentrating on his task, snagging his lower lip between his teeth as he smoothed the fine rubber over himself. Like that, he looked boyish again, like a horny but responsible lad, suiting up ready to shag his first love. For a moment, Lizzie remembered his story of Benjamin, John’s heavy crush back at public school, the one he’d said he’d loved for about two weeks. Had Benjamin been his first sex partner ever? Or simply his first man? Maybe one day, when they knew each other better, she’d ask him.

But not now. Now, all she wanted was him. He was
her
first love. Her first real love. She’d thought she’d loved before, a boy or two, a man … yes, even Brent. But fond as
she’d been, and no matter how much she still cared for her house-mate, it wasn’t this. This wonderful, all-consuming, all-encompassing emotion she experienced with John Smith, the miracle man she’d found completely by accident that first night here at the Waverley.

Not wanting him to see the raw love on her face, she collapsed on to her forearms again, offering herself to him. She did love John, but she couldn’t expect him to love her back in quite the same way, if at all. He’d said he didn’t do the hearts and flowers thing, but he
did
care in his own fashion, she was absolutely certain of that.

Especially when she felt the hard push of his cock against her entrance. Hard, but measured, thoughtful of her, not greedy. He eased in, making her his, entering not simply her body, but her very heart and soul.

With a gusty sigh of happiness, she let him in, relaxing to ease his progress, and then, when he was right in, lodged deep, she clenched actively around him, embracing his hardness.

‘Oh Lizzie, yes, yes … you beautiful woman, yes!’ He gripped her by the hips, his strong thumbs pressing against the soreness in her bottom, making her growl with the pain and the perverse delicious thrill of it. She clasped him harder, tensing her inner muscles, and he let out a fierce oath, then thrust, deep and hard.

He was wild, a force of nature, and she responded with a savagery of her own, giving as good as she got, pressing back against him as he pressed into her. Still she squeezed him as best she could, but it was getting more and more difficult to concentrate, like being in the centre of a whirlwind.

‘Touch yourself, love,’ gasped John, still pounding. ‘Touch yourself … I want you to come. This’s not just for me … it’s for you too.’

He always thought of her. Always. Even when he was half-blind with lust, on the point of orgasm, he thought of her. Half sobbing, she buried her face in her forearm, and with her free hand reached back to touch him, to grab at the flexing muscles of his thigh, telling him with the simple contact what she couldn’t speak to him in words.