with electricity.
I was alive.
But I had no more time to assimilate this strange shift. His hand was dipping between my ass cheeks now, seeking out my wetness, and I responded by spreading my legs apart. His fingers slithered in, and I realized I wasn't just damp for him - I was dripping. It wasn't the spanking or the fact I was naked or how he was touching me.
It was the fact that he could . And dammit, he would.
"You are so wet, my queen, my whore, my mistress, my little slut," he was murmuring. I would have recoiled from those words at any other time. But like this, somehow, reality was suspended. I'd let it all go. This was someplace else.
Someplace I could open myself to a man like this. And like it.
His fingers were slamming into me, rolling around, opening me out. I moaned and pushed back against his hand. It was too quick, and too much. I wanted gentleness. I wanted him to play with my clit and build me up slowly.
Yet the faster he got, the more I wanted that, too. I could feel the edge of my orgasm, already, and I wanted it now.
Everything was contrast, with Andrew. Fuck me hard but let it linger; punish me and reward me; hurt me and treat me tenderly. I had not realized I wanted such contrast in my previously well-ordered life.
"Please, yes, yes," I said.
His hand stopped its rhythmic pumping and I tensed. "I'm sorry-" I began to say, conditioned already to tread carefully.
"At my direction, Jasmine Turner," he said, rolling my name around in his mouth, his laconic vowels and deep voice making me shiver. "At whose direction?" He slapped me sharply, my pussy suddenly cold and empty.
"Yours, sir, thank you sir," I gasped out.
He slapped again, the bright pain blooming fresh across the dull thud of the bruises already forming.
"Thank you, sir," I managed to say but tears were forming in my eyes again. I hated him. I wanted him.
I needed him.
Or at least, I needed him to finish what he was doing, and I remembered what he'd done before - left me begging and wanting for days while he toyed with me . Oh God, not again, I prayed.
Just as I was starting to get my head around the cruel fact that he might deny me my orgasm, his fingers slipped around my pussy lips, rubbing slickly over my engorged clit. "Ahh!" I swallowed my begs but I could not help sighing out with need.
His other hand ran along my back, firmly, then encircled my neck. Panic instinctively rose up in me and I tensed, but he held a little tighter. Curiously, his grip seemed to calm me. I relaxed and let myself fall back into his control once more.
After all, nothing else mattered but his teasing fingers, my streaming, throbbing pussy, my burning ass and my dangling breasts . Hold me, choke me, but God damn just fuck me!
Then his fingers were inside me once more and I squeezed my eyes shut as he plunged and thrust and his hand held my neck and I could barely breathe and my whole body burned as it tingled and I came, exploding and gasping and clinging on to his ankles. I didn't want it to end yet I longed for the finish, the release, and the calm aftermath which came so slowly, so tantalizingly.
He rubbed at my buttocks and I can't remember when he let go of my neck; he stroked my hair and for some stupid, stupid, stupid reason that made me cry even more. So he picked me up and turned me around and I nestled against his wide, strong chest and in spite of my shame still I cried.
Chapter Three - Andrew
I suspect that it is human nature to want what we are told we cannot have. Such has been my experience, and it was borne out afresh with Jasmine.
She had stirred my cock from the start. Partly it was her brashness, her lack of polish, and her infuriating confidence. Partly her body and her poise. Partly - strangely - her power. She was a young high-flier and I felt her energy crackle and light me up in reflection.
I had told myself she would be a quick fuck, nothing more.
Then that man - my father, or at least, the man whose
I was alive.
But I had no more time to assimilate this strange shift. His hand was dipping between my ass cheeks now, seeking out my wetness, and I responded by spreading my legs apart. His fingers slithered in, and I realized I wasn't just damp for him - I was dripping. It wasn't the spanking or the fact I was naked or how he was touching me.
It was the fact that he could . And dammit, he would.
"You are so wet, my queen, my whore, my mistress, my little slut," he was murmuring. I would have recoiled from those words at any other time. But like this, somehow, reality was suspended. I'd let it all go. This was someplace else.
Someplace I could open myself to a man like this. And like it.
His fingers were slamming into me, rolling around, opening me out. I moaned and pushed back against his hand. It was too quick, and too much. I wanted gentleness. I wanted him to play with my clit and build me up slowly.
Yet the faster he got, the more I wanted that, too. I could feel the edge of my orgasm, already, and I wanted it now.
Everything was contrast, with Andrew. Fuck me hard but let it linger; punish me and reward me; hurt me and treat me tenderly. I had not realized I wanted such contrast in my previously well-ordered life.
"Please, yes, yes," I said.
His hand stopped its rhythmic pumping and I tensed. "I'm sorry-" I began to say, conditioned already to tread carefully.
"At my direction, Jasmine Turner," he said, rolling my name around in his mouth, his laconic vowels and deep voice making me shiver. "At whose direction?" He slapped me sharply, my pussy suddenly cold and empty.
"Yours, sir, thank you sir," I gasped out.
He slapped again, the bright pain blooming fresh across the dull thud of the bruises already forming.
"Thank you, sir," I managed to say but tears were forming in my eyes again. I hated him. I wanted him.
I needed him.
Or at least, I needed him to finish what he was doing, and I remembered what he'd done before - left me begging and wanting for days while he toyed with me . Oh God, not again, I prayed.
Just as I was starting to get my head around the cruel fact that he might deny me my orgasm, his fingers slipped around my pussy lips, rubbing slickly over my engorged clit. "Ahh!" I swallowed my begs but I could not help sighing out with need.
His other hand ran along my back, firmly, then encircled my neck. Panic instinctively rose up in me and I tensed, but he held a little tighter. Curiously, his grip seemed to calm me. I relaxed and let myself fall back into his control once more.
After all, nothing else mattered but his teasing fingers, my streaming, throbbing pussy, my burning ass and my dangling breasts . Hold me, choke me, but God damn just fuck me!
Then his fingers were inside me once more and I squeezed my eyes shut as he plunged and thrust and his hand held my neck and I could barely breathe and my whole body burned as it tingled and I came, exploding and gasping and clinging on to his ankles. I didn't want it to end yet I longed for the finish, the release, and the calm aftermath which came so slowly, so tantalizingly.
He rubbed at my buttocks and I can't remember when he let go of my neck; he stroked my hair and for some stupid, stupid, stupid reason that made me cry even more. So he picked me up and turned me around and I nestled against his wide, strong chest and in spite of my shame still I cried.
Chapter Three - Andrew
I suspect that it is human nature to want what we are told we cannot have. Such has been my experience, and it was borne out afresh with Jasmine.
She had stirred my cock from the start. Partly it was her brashness, her lack of polish, and her infuriating confidence. Partly her body and her poise. Partly - strangely - her power. She was a young high-flier and I felt her energy crackle and light me up in reflection.
I had told myself she would be a quick fuck, nothing more.
Then that man - my father, or at least, the man whose
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