Chase. Flora Dain

me. All week.’

      He steps away, his hands still gripping my shoulders, his thumbs moving gently on my skin. ‘And now look.’ He shakes his head slowly, his mouth twitching faintly at the corners. ‘See what you get up to when I’m not around? You just can’t be trusted, can you?’

      I grin, alarm and lust blending into a flare of excitement. ‘Trusted? To do what?’

      He’s pulling me towards the bed now, his grip suddenly painful, his fingers closed on my wrist like a vice. ‘Not to dress like a tramp. Slutty schoolgirl? Without my express permission? Disgraceful.’

      He sits down suddenly, his grip still like iron, and pushes me away to arm’s length, still holding me fast. ‘You’re going to undo the top button of your pedal-pushers and the first inch or so of your zip and then you’re going to put that eager, wicked little hand right in there and you’re going to feel yourself. Now.’

      In a panic I scrabble with my left hand and edge my zip down a little way, keeping my eyes on his as I force my fingers down into the skin-tight split cutting into my groin where these damn pedal-pushers have been causing me grief all day as they pressed hard on my private places, making me ache every time my thoughts strayed anywhere near Darnley.

      He watches in silence, his eyes locked on mine, waiting for the tell-tale flicker in my face that tells him his command is being rigorously obeyed.

      ‘Keep feeling. I want to see that wicked little fingertip working that greedy, needy clit. And if you dare to come –’ his voice lowers to a predatory growl ‘– the spanking you’re about to get will become even longer and a lot harder.’

      ‘Like something else I could mention?’ I arch my neck as he lowers my zip a fraction further, his fingers lingering on my navel as he does it, skimming the edge of my slim, straining wrist where my hand is wedged into my crotch and my gently working finger is already edging me ever closer to my doom.

      All at once his fingers skim my wrist and clamp around my slim bones, his grip so fierce I look down at him in alarm.

      ‘Don’t stop.’ He sounds husky, and now I see his eyes are fixed on my wristbone and the places where it disappears easily into his circling, vice-like thumb-to-finger circlet.

      What now? What tiny facet of my flexing, delicate wrist has caught his attention? It’s like he’s transfixed, his chest barely moving. Has he forgotten to breathe?

      I ruffle his hair with one hand and stoop to kiss it, my lips barely touching its mass of springy, fresh-washed chestnut, gilt-tipped now in the low sunlight slanting in from the dying sunset that bathes the vista outside his vast windows in a wash of gold.

      ‘Darnley?’

      He looks up slowly, his eyes dark with purpose and the prospect of hidden, complex pleasures. ‘Nearly there?’

      I shudder as his sudden question sparks a violent jolt of arousal from my swollen, fiery bud, thudding with building excitement as my finger obediently torments it towards climax.

      ‘Good,’ he says, softly. ‘Now take your hand away and get over my knee, you naughty girl. Dressing like a tramp and feeling yourself? You think that kind of behaviour goes unpunished for long round here?’

      I stare at him as flames flicker through me, well aware that in seconds he’s going to find I’m shamefully aroused. I may even show.

      His eyes flash. ‘Well?’

      Startled, I forget my moistening shame for a second and jerk back into play. ‘Yes, sir,’ I jabber. ‘Er, no, sir.’

      He arches an eyebrow, his query cynical. ‘Well? Which? It goes unpunished or not?’

      My breathing’s faster now, my cheeks filling with colour as my excitement builds. ‘It goes unpunished. I mean it goes punished. Dammit, Darnley, just do it already.’

      I collapse over his knee, laughing now, but confused. Everywhere down inside my pedal-pushers glows in a lake of flame as my tormented bud presses into the tight fabric. I curve low, the lacy line of my thong an extra torment and painfully tight as I bend over. At the same moment he forces my thighs apart and chuckles softly as he discovers my shame.

      ‘And what’s this? You’re close? And we’ve barely started? Wicked girl. This earns extra strokes. Open your legs. Keep them nice and straight. Put your hands behind your back and keep them there. I’ll make a couple of tiny adjustments to improve the view.’

      I strain to hold position while he wrenches my top down below my hanging breasts, scooping their weight out of my fancy bra-cups so they bulge out over the ridge of fabric. In the mirror opposite I look like a porno ad. He looks – as always – like some classical god.

      So unfair.

      I watch him, entranced, as he gazes down at me, his perfect profile motionless, rapt now as he peels my straining pedal-pushers down a little way over my hips to the place just below the tops of my thighs where they start to split apart. He pauses a moment, dips his head and drops a kiss on both sides of my now exposed and, I assume, deliciously quivering rump, thrust high up under his face in two pink, shivering mounds.

      Breathless, I watch him in the mirror as he does it. Is he always this reverent when he looks at me down here? He’s very still, like he’s found some precious treasure and wants to savour the moment of discovery. It’s a kind of worship.

      It brings tears to my eyes. For a few precious seconds I feel his hot breath on my skin and the whisper-soft touch of his lips on first one and then the other cheek of my backside.

      The next moment he brings even more tears to my eyes as his hand rises high in the air and comes down hard. I yell in shock and surprise, even though I knew perfectly well what to expect. It’s always a shock, that first shattering blow. I screw my eyes tight, not wanting to look any more.

      He leans down close to my ear, his breath hot again.

      ‘Quiet. Or I’ll gag you.’

      ‘I’ll try, sir.’ I grit my teeth. All at once this whole spanking thing gets even hotter as blows fall. I clench my teeth to stop crying out, twisting my fingers into a knot at my back to avoid fending him off. And sure enough, just like always, something about this sends flames flaring through me, every jolt of my mound on his hard, muscular leg a bolt of electricity straight to my thudding centre.

      When he pauses to fondle me his touch ripens the dark burn of his punishing blows with a wave of tenderness so arousing I feel giddy with desire. I’ve already fingered myself to frenzy. Now he’s soothing me to another as my secret places burn and scorch, pooling with need, flexing with hunger, endlessly denied the bliss of release.

      At last he pushes me off his knee, his breathing ragged. He takes firm hold of my pigtails and pulls me to him with a dark, meaningful grin, scoops both pigtails into one hand and frees himself with the other. His erection springs before me, hot, hard and bulging. Now it’s my turn to worship as he guides my head, pulling my hair painfully tight as he twists my pigtails round his fist and torments my breasts with the other, a painful tweak on my nipple making me open my mouth.

      His eyes dance. ‘Take it in your mouth. And keep your eyes on my face. Get it nice and wet.’

      I lunge forward, letting his grip on my hair signal how far, and start to lick eagerly. I push forward along his shaft a little way, then draw back at his tug.

      ‘Now you can finger yourself till you come. But keep your eyes on mine. I want to watch.’

      This is the hardest part. I’m shy under his amused, steady gaze. My climax erupts almost at once as my teasing finger lands on my hot, throbbing little place but the rush of pleasure that follows lowers my eyelids in rapture and jolts through my mouth in a spasm of pleasure. It’s an effort not to graze him with my teeth. He pushes in a little further, filling my mouth to stifle my moans. As my orgasm ripples away he grins, pulls away from my lips and rises to his feet. He