I am now clothed only in my thong, the vibrator necklace that I have worn daily as ordered, and my shoes—black slides with three-inch heels. I do as he says, and as I climb onto the mattress, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser. My skin glows, and my eyes sparkle. I look radiant with pleasure, and when I meet Jackson’s eyes in the reflection, his stern, commanding countenance breaks for just a moment to reveal a small smile of approval.
“You were made for this,” he says. “For me.”
He nods toward the bed as he steps toward me, and I look away, positioning myself as he asked. He steps behind me, then strokes his palm lightly down the line of my spine before cupping the globe of my ass.
“You are mine, Sylvia. From the first moment I saw you in Atlanta, I knew that there was no other woman for me. Not before, and not ever again. You are the light that fills my days and illuminates my nights.” I close my eyes, lost in both the meaning of his words and the passion with which he speaks them. “You are the rhythm of my heart.”
He slides the thong’s thin strip of material aside, then slips his fingers into my cunt before stroking my perineum. He teases my ass, and I bite my lower lip. The sensation is incredible, and when he presses against me, I feel my muscles clench, then relax as he gently slides a finger inside me.
“Oh yes,” he says, as I gasp from the unexpected pleasure of this new invasion. “You belong to me. But I’m yours, too. Wholly and completely.”
He is sliding his finger deeper inside, and his words, so sensual and soft, are in direct contrast to this deeply prurient touch. He orders me to stay still as he continues to tease my rear as my body adjusts. And, yes, as I crave more.
Too soon, he slides out, and I whimper. “The lady liked that,” Jackson says, still standing behind me. “One day, we’ll try more than a finger.”
The promise excites me, and when he lightly smacks my bottom, the impact sets off a chain reaction inside me. I shiver as electric sparks seem to spread out from my clit, like a tiny preview of a massive orgasm to come.
“Don’t move,” he says, and then leaves the room. I immediately mourn the loss of contact, and it is all I can do not to beg him to return.
I hear him moving in the suite. Drawers opening. Things rattling. Is he in the kitchen?
Then I hear his footsteps as he returns, and I start to turn my head to look at him, but am stilled by his sharp, quick, “no.”
I stop, then move only long enough to face forward.
Soon enough, he is behind me again. He rests a possessive hand on my back, and I am surprised by how much this calms me. As if the world is simply not right without the brush of Jackson’s skin against my own.
“I spanked you once and used my hand, and loved the way the sweet sting lingered on my palm. But this isn’t entirely about me, and I’m wondering if you might enjoy something just a bit different.”
Oh. He is stroking me now with something slightly rough. Not leather. Not metal.
Wood, perhaps?
I’m not sure, and when he lifts it from my ass, then smacks it lightly down again, any potential for further analysis goes right out of my head. There is just this sensation—a light sting, and not nearly enough.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes.”
The word bursts out of me far too fast, and Jackson chuckles. “As you wish.”
He repeats the smack, this time harder, so that my ass burns with a deep red pain that thrums and throbs with each additional spank. Between each blow he rubs me, and that sensation—a gentle touch over tender skin—is both soothing and arousing, as if each sweet touch sends the deeper pain further inside. It builds and builds, until there is no longer any pain at all, but a floating kind of pleasure that spreads out from my ass to bathe my entire body, sensitizing me and making me wild and hungry for more.
“Are you sore?”
“Yes,” I whisper, as he slips his hand between my legs and strokes me slowly, teasing my clit before slipping two fingers inside me. I am still wearing the thong, and the sensation of the material rubbing against me as he enters me is one more piece to this puzzle of wild sensuality. One more thing that is pushing me toward the edge.
“Do you like it?”