Page 19 of My Big Alien Bodyguard

“You’ll keep.”

7

Zayne

Another night, another concert. Another chance for the woman I am beginning to fall for to be hurt by someone in the audience, or someone profiting from the audience. Loving Lyric has become an exquisite torture marked almost entirely by denial.

Professional boundaries exist for a reason. I’m not supposed to get too attached to a client. Professional distance is supposed to keep me objective, stop me from making the mistakes that inevitably come with emotion. I’ve lost objectivity here. I want to keep Lyric safe, but I want to do more than that too. I want to own her. I want to have her be mine. I want to spank her shapely ass, which is being shaken all across the stage in the most alluring of fashions.

She is a beautiful woman, a stunning performer, and she ismine.

Her narrow escape from my punishment will not last long. I will ensure she meets her contractual obligations, but I will not lether get away with her rebellion. It’s not safe. And I will always keep her safe.

If she so much as looks as though she is thinking about jumping off stage, I am going to yank her back. I am closer than she realizes, and tonight I am willing to make a scene.

As if catching my thought mid-performance, she looks over her shoulder. I know she can’t see me. The stage lights are too bright to allow any vision back here. But she can feel me, and she wants me to see her. Wants me to see that bratty little smirk, and I know she is going to try it again. She’s going to throw herself into the crowd.

I don’t know what compels her to put herself in such serious danger at each and every opportunity. It’s almost as if she wants to meet the void that lies at the center of us all. Or perhaps she sees herself as a sacrifice, something to be given to the audience, taken by them in little pieces. Maybe it is not enough for them to consume her music. Maybe she wants to be consumed.

She flexes her muscles and leans forward, and I know she intends to defy me. I have never, in all my years as a bodyguard, entered the stage during a show. I am about to do it for a second time in two shows. Then again, no other client has ever been so spectacularly reckless.

I dash forward and grab her before she can leap, wrapping my arms around her and hauling her back.

The crowd goes wild at this turn of events. They think it’s all staged and scripted. They think this is supposed to be happening. And really, they’re right. This is precisely what should be happening. Lyric should be punished the same way she most likes to misbehave — publicly.

There’s absolutely nothing to stop me from pulling down her tight, sparkling pants and spanking her deserving ass bright red, and that is exactly what I do. I pull down her skintight leggings, prop my leg up on a speaker, and bend her over my thigh.

“Zayne!” She shrieks my name, and the sound of a very naughty girl about to be punished ripples over the crowd. The audience reacts with a wave of laughter.

“You’ve been a very bad girl,” I growl. The mic picks that up, too, as well as the hard slaps that I land on her newly bared rear. Lights are flashing from the massive audience like thousands of stars twinkling — but those aren’t stars. Every one of those lights is someone taking a picture. Lyric Walker’s spanked bottom is going to be intergalactic front page news by morning.

The backing music keeps playing. Though she is a naughty girl being spanked, she is also a performer. And so, she performs. She continues to sing while I spank her, although her voice becomes pitchy when my palm meets her rear. Her skin is so deliciously soft, and her flesh so plump and round. There are tens of thousands of people here watching me do this, and millions more watching around hundreds of worlds, but I don’t care about any of them. I only care about her.

I spank and spank her, landing dozens upon dozens of harsh slaps on her ass, watching it turn red under the spotlights. It is the most satisfying interlude I have experienced in a very long time. She needs this so badly, and she looks so absolutely perfect when it is done. Looking down at her squirming rear, I see the thin line of wetness between her lower lips. She is aroused. She wants me.

I should fuck her right here on stage. I should spread her legs and thrust my cock deep inside her naughty little cunt. Thatwould teach her a proper lesson about disobeying me. It would also satisfy the sexual intensity that has been left between us since we first slept together. This woman has not been fucked nearly enough.

I wonder, briefly, what Simon thinks of this. Will he be losing his mind seeing this? Or will he be looking for the marketing angle?

Of course I already know the answer. There will be Lyric WalkerBad Girlpaddles for sale on the website before the concert ends, I bet.

But this isn’t about Simon, and it’s not about the public. This is entirely, one hundred percent about Lyric and what she needs. My cock is throbbing inside my pants. I want to be inside her so badly I can barely contain myself. For the moment, I have to content myself by letting the tips of my fingers occasionally make contact with her pussy, spanking that tight little pouch of hers as red as her cheeks.

Her voice is starting to sound huskier and more intense, and she’s beginning to moan more than yowl in the spaces between the words. I could spank her all the way through orgasm. I could force her to come here on stage, in front of the universe. I could show everybody what a filthy little brat she is.

“Please,” she whimpers.

“PLEASE!” The crowd hollers back.

I laugh at that. It is so very satisfying to see her hoist by her own petard, such as it is. The crowd she has used so many times to disobey me, has turned from being an ally of hers, to one of mine. They want to see some kind of climax or crescendo. They want her to come or to cry. I want that too.

I spank her until her hips dance over my thigh, until her cheeks writhe and squirm, and she rubs that hidden bud I know the secrets of well enough against my thigh. The audience has no idea, but I am focusing intensely on her naughty pussy. I am punishing those delicate yet swollen, wet lips and she is loving every moment of it because she is the kind of twisted that allows pain to be pleasure.

In between swats, I reach between her thighs and rub her clit briefly. This is now an explicit display, though I am trying to be surreptitious about it. The music is still playing, and she is still orgasmically wailing those breathless broken words as she finally gives in and comes against my fingers, squeezing her thighs, and trying to hide her blushing reaction as much as is humanly possible.

“Behave,” I growl in her ear as I tip her back up to her feet.

The crowd screams as she pulls her pants back up again, and I melt back into the shadows.

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