Page 34 of Going Deep
He chuckled and rose, and she sensed him moving away. But that was all right. He wouldn’t leave her.
His hand was on her butt again, rubbing and stroking. It felt so nice, even though his hand was a little rough. Calluses, she realized, like he worked with his hands, and remembered she didn’t know what he did outside the club. Maybe he had some kind of handsy hobby, like carpentry or playing the cello. String instruments left calluses, didn’t they? She kind of thought so, but she wasn’t sure, she didn’t know a lot about musical instruments?—
The loud crack hit her ears at the same time a sharp, stinging pain struck her ass. She gasped, her body jerking in reflex, but the straps held her snugly in place. The sting faded into a glowing sort of heat that seemed to settle deep into her, soaking into skin and muscle and bone until it reached her suddenly throbbing core. She barely had time to absorb it before he struck the other cheek, with the same sharp sting settling into the same pulsing, delicious heat.
The moan rose up in her throat unbidden, answered by his low hum of approval.
“Do you like that, Ginger?” he asked.
Her butt throbbed, heat swirled. “Yes.”
“Do you want more?”
“Yes. Please.”
“All right.”
Her mind fogged with pain, swirled with pleasure as he struck her butt over and over again. He varied his blows, from a soft caress to a sharp slap, so she couldn’t settle into a rhythm, keeping her on edge. He kept going until she thought her entire backside must be glowing. She no longer felt the blows as pain. Instead, when his hand landed, she imagined she could feel the force move through her body as a wave of energy and heat that flowed from one end of her body to another before settling deep in her cunt.
Her needy, empty cunt.
He slid his hand over the tenderized flesh of her ass, down between her legs. She was so wet, so slick with need that his fingers slipped easily through her folds to find her clit. When he stroked over the little bundle of nerves she let out a keening moan, her hips rolling, seeking his touch. But the straps held her fast, and somehow the inability to move made the pleasure all the more intense.
His low chuckle sounded as though it came from far away. “So wet, Ginger. So excited. I don’t know which you liked more, the spanking or the bondage.”
Straining against the straps holding her down, she didn’t know either—and didn’t much care. The light, almost delicate touch on her clit was a tease, a torment, pushing her closer and closer to orgasm, but not hard enough or fast enough to take her over the edge. She tried to push her hips back, desperate, and couldn’t move an inch.
He chuckled again. “No, darling. You don’t get to decide.” His fingers left her clit, and her broken wail echoed through the room. He pressed a finger to the opening of her cunt, barely breaching the entrance, before pulling back to circle gently. Press and circle, press and circle, over and over until she thought she’d cry if he didn’t make her come.
“This is torture,” she gasped.
His answer was a smug, “I know.”
Her body felt heavy, her blood thick. Her aching, empty pussy was pulsing, little spasms that felt so good, so frustrating. Her breasts ached where they pressed into the padded leather beneath her, her muscles strained against the straps holding her down. Her breath came in pants, her heart thundered in her ears.
She hadn’t known her body was capable of feeling so much.
“You’re beautiful, Ginger.” His voice rang in her ear, so close, and she forced her eyes open to find his face all but pressed to hers, watching her as his fingers continued to circle and press, circle and press. “Your face is flushed, your eyes are bright. Ass practically glowing, and your pussy…” He pressed harder for a brief, wonderful moment, and her needy flesh clenched hard around the tip of his finger before he drew it back.
“Your pussy wants so badly to come,” he whispered, his eyes glowing with satisfaction and lust and what she thought might have been joy. “Doesn’t it?”
She licked her lips. “Yes.”
“Yes what, Ginger?” he asked, his voice so low, so rough she barely heard him through the ringing in her ears.
“Yes, Sir.” She couldn’t look away. “Please, Sir.”
“If I give you what you need, what will you give me?”
“Everything,” she answered, not caring what she was promising, heedless of what she was offering. “Everything.”
His eyes flared, going a bright, glittering green at her words. One finger suddenly penetrated, driving deep into slick, swollen tissues, setting off a riot of sensation. Her hips tried to arch and couldn’t move, driving her higher, and her eyes started to slide closed.
“No, you don’t,” he warned, pulling his finger almost all the way out. “Eyes on me, darling.”
She struggled to open them again, struggled to focus on his face.
“Good girl,” he praised, pushing his finger back in. “I’ll stop if you close your eyes or look away. I want to watch you when you come.”
