Page 32 of Going Deep
She inhaled sharply, her body giving an involuntary jerk. He looked up at her face, noted that her lips were parted, her cheeks charmingly flushed. “Stay still,” he reminded her, his tone low and firm. He felt her quiver slightly under his hands as she fought to obey. To please him.
And he was pleased.
He shifted his gaze from her face to her breasts. Round, with sweet nipples that were tightening and darkening even as he watched. His olive skin provided such a contrast to her milk-pale skin, hard and dark where she was soft and pale. The plump lower curves fit his palms perfectly, heavy and firm under the softness.
He couldn’t help the low growl that rumbled in his throat, darkly pleased when she quivered in response. “How sensitive are your nipples, Ginger?”
“Not…not very,” she replied, her voice husky with arousal.
“Hmm.” He flicked his thumbs over them once, twice, smiling when her breathing hitched and they tightened even further. “Are you sure about that?”
Her eyes had darkened with arousal, the pupils dilated. “I’m not sure about anything anymore.”
She was delightful. Aroused, eager, vulnerable. Was there anything more appealing?
He was enjoying the tease, the buildup, but the need for more was growing. Deciding to move ahead while he still had a firm grip on his control, he stood. In her bare feet, the top of her head barely brushed his chin, and when she tipped her head back to look at him, he could see the knowledge of her further vulnerability reflected in her eyes.
And her increased arousal.
Unhurried, he tugged the shirt off her shoulders and laid it over the arm of the sofa. “Keep still, darling,” he cautioned and, moving slowly, walked in a circle around her.
She quivered but held still, her hands at her sides while he looked at all of her.
Strong shoulders, beautiful back. Her ass was round and firm, her legs long and strong. The light tan covering her legs stopped at the tops of her thighs, the tan on her arms and shoulders not extending past her shoulder blades. She either wore an extremely modest bathing suit or got her sun while doing other outdoor activities.
He continued his tour of her body, appreciating the strength and softness on display. She shivered—in reaction, he thought. The room was warm, kept that way in consideration for the comfort of naked submissives, so she likely wasn’t cold. Still, it would be remiss of him not to check. “Ginger, are you comfortable?”
She shot him a look, a non-verbal are you fucking kidding me? that had him swallowing a laugh. “Let me rephrase—are you cold?”
“Oh. No, Sir.”
“Good.” He flashed a smile before grasping her shoulders and turning her to face the spanking bench. “Then up you go, darling.”
Ginger eyed the bench. It looked like a modified sawhorse, wider at the top, thickly padded, and covered in black leather. There were smaller platforms jutting out from the sides, two at the front and two at the back, also padded. Straps hung down from each, and she realized the smaller platforms were for knees and arms. Was he going to bend her over that?
“Yes, I am,” he said, and she realized she’d spoken out loud.
While she was dealing with the embarrassment of that, he nudged her forward, urging her down with a hand in the middle of her back. The bench was high enough that the edge just hit the top of her crotch, and she went up on her toes and bent forward until her chest met cool leather.
She squeaked in surprise when he lifted first one knee, then the other, and placed them on the platforms. The position lifted her hips off the bench, putting a sharp, uncomfortable arch in her back and her ass high in the air.
“Well, that’s charming,” he commented, and she flushed hot when she realized what he must be looking at. Oh God, her pussy was on full display, it probably looked obscene with her butt in the air and her legs spread, wet and dripping and eager?—
“Just what are you thinking about, darling?” he asked in a low, amused drawl.
“The core message of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and its relevance to society today,” she managed, the sarcasm escaping without thought.
“Really?” he mused. “I’d have sworn you were thinking about this.”
And slid a finger into her pussy.
Oh, God. She was so slick he slipped inside her like a hot knife through butter, smooth and slick and soft. But his finger was hard, and when he curved it to stroke gently against the soft, spongy tissue at the front wall of her pussy, she saw stars.
“Ginger? You still with me?”
“Here,” she said feebly.
“Still thinking about Frankenstein?”
