Chapter 20 – Leslie
He couldn’t be serious.
We’d just confessed our deep pain to each other, gotten really vulnerable. I expected sex after, sure, but this? There was no way he actually believed I’d let him spank me. I was not a child, or like, his submissive in a dirty romance novel or something. Sure, I had called him Daddy a few times, but that didn’t give him permission to punish me.
Except as I gaped at him, he didn’t look like he was kidding. His face was stern, his eyes were hot. And—I glanced down—his cock was hard. And if Mason had proven anything to me, it was that it didn’t matter if I gave him permission. If he wanted it, he’d take it.
And I hated it, but just knowing that about him made me soak my panties.
“Strip, Leslie,” he said, his voice quiet but unyielding.
“And what happens if I don’t?”
His voice was gruff. Low. “Then I make you. And I double your punishment.”
Well, that didn’t sound fun.
So I stood and pulled my shirt over my head, then unbuttoned and wiggled out of my shorts. I stood in front of him, fisting my hands at my sides in order not to hide myself from his gaze. He’d seen me naked before, anyway.
“Underwear, too.”
Annoyed at the slight tremble in my hands, I undid my bra and let it fall to the floor, then lowered my panties. And apparently it didn’t matter that Mason had seen me naked before. Between the heat of his gaze on me and the way he growled “beautiful” under his breath as he scanned my body up and down, rubbing a hand over his cock, this time felt like the first time. I’d never been more afraid and I’d never felt more needy.
But he wasn’t going to touch me the way I wanted.
“Bend over.”
I hesitated. There was a fork in this road, and if I followed this path, I wasn’t sure where it led, but I knew it was somewhere intense and terrifying. But if I followed the other, it would lead me away from Mason, and I knew I didn’t want that anymore. He’d carried me all the way across campus. Brought me to his home. Fed me all my favorite foods—made them himself!—just to make sure I ate. Told me about how his mom had died, and how much it hard hurt him. And I’d been right: The photos this summer hadn’t been his idea. I knew I wanted him, physically. Maybe, just maybe, I wanted him for more than that.
Even if that meant bending over his bed and letting him rain terror down on my ass. If he wanted to play Daddy, then I was going to let him.
So I slowly bent over, pushing my ass out toward him and burying my head in the comforter. It smelled like Mason: like ocean spray and oranges and danger. The smell instantly calmed me, even as it aroused me.
“Good, good girl,” he praised behind me, running a big, warm hand over my left ass cheek, then my right. “Count.”
Then, without any further warning, he slapped my right ass cheek—hard.
“Hey!” I complained.
“That doesn’t sound like counting. Try again.”
He smacked my left ass cheek that time—even harder.
“One,” I grumbled.
He smacked me a third time. “One, who?”
Oh, god. The realization that that was what he wanted from me made the heat from his spanks slide down between my cheeks and around to my clit.
“One, Daddy,” I said, my voice breathy.
“That’s right,” he said, his voice warm and soothing in its praise. “That’s exactly what you call me, because I’m taking care of my girl right now, aren’t I? Punishing her, so she knows how to behave better—and take better care of herself, too.”
With that, he smacked my ass again.
“Two,” I squeaked.
Smack.
Smack.
Slap.
“Three, Daddy.”
“Four, Daddy.”
“Five, Daddy.”
The spanking continued, the heat and pain growing, morphing. I didn’t know how many times he was going to spank me. He hadn’t told me. I did know that I was getting so wet from it, I was worried I’d drip all over his comforter or floor. And I was so turned on, I might come from this alone. An orgasm loomed in the distance, like a far off wave from shore.
He paused, sliding his hand between my thighs and brushing his fingers over my pussy.
“Oh, you good girl, you like this, don’t you? Taste how wet you are.” He lifted his fingers away from me, and then they were painting my own wetness on my lips and forcing their way into my mouth. I almost choked on them, and on my own taste—salty and sweet and unfamiliar. My whole body went red with embarrassment….and desire.
The wave rolled closer.
He pulled his fingers away. Then:
Slap!
Slap!
Slap!
These were delivered to the underside of my ass.
“Six. Seven. Eight, Daddy.”
The wave grew closer still. I was so close. All I had to do was tip my hips forward and rub my pussy against the bed and I would come. I would?—
His hands on my hips stilled me. “You get to come when I say so, butterfly. For now, take your punishment.”
“But how much more?!” I cried. “I don’t think I can hold off.”
“You can. You will. Just two more and you’re done with your punishment.”
Smack. Nine. On the inside of my thigh. The orgasm loomed over me.
“Butterfly?”
“Nine, Daddy, sorry.”
He didn’t say anything, and I clenched everything in anticipation of the last spank—completely shocked when he brought his hand around to my front. Was he going to get me off instead?
The burn from his last spank—right on my pussy—told me otherwise.
“Ten, Daddy!” I screamed, barely holding off from coming.
“Good girl, you took your punishment so well,” he said, as I shook from the effort of staving off the approaching orgasm. It was so close I could taste it.
“Please, Daddy,” I begged.
“Mmm. Please, what?”
“Please, let me come…”
“Good girl,” he praised. “My good little butterfly. She gets exactly what she needs. Daddy will always give you what you need. Wait here. And do not touch yourself.”
I waited as Mason disappeared out of his room, closing the door softly behind him and locking it. The pleasure began to dissipate and I breathed more easily, relieved and disappointed. Was he done with me?
When he returned with a pint of peaches and cream ice cream, something in my heart went squishy. I didn’t even know you could get my favorite ice cream on campus.
“Mason, thank you, but I’m not hungry,” I said again.
“You’ll have a little,” he said.
“Mason…”
But he was flipping me over onto my back, kneeling down in front of me, dragging me down the bed by my thighs before throwing both my legs over his shoulders. Before I could say anything, he’d spooned up some ice cream and reached his hand up so the spoon brushed my lips. I couldn’t help myself; I opened my mouth to savor my favorite treat.
“Good girl.”
His hand disappeared, and as I swallowed the sweet, tangy, smooth ice cream, something cold, wet, and sticky hit my breasts. I jumped.
“What?”
“It’s my turn for dessert,” he growled, and then his mouth enveloped my left breast. He began swirling his tongue around my nipple and the combination of cold ice cream and his hot mouth brought the orgasm back. He moved his mouth to my right breast, and when he licked me there, there was more cold ice cream beneath his hot mouth.
I moaned, writhing beneath him, as he trailed ice cream down my ribcage to my belly button to my right hip, his tongue following. As he licked and sucked my skin, I discovered new erogenous zones I’d never known existed: my left lower rib, the area right under my belly button, my hip bone. Pausing, he spooned more ice cream into my mouth. I swallowed down the taste of fresh peaches and cream, the silky sweetness a tease on my tongue as Mason continued to tease me, making his way from my hip bone to my pussy, before he swirled circles around my clit with his tongue.
I screamed as the orgasm broke over me like a tidal wave. Screamed again as he began licking and sucking and biting, not relenting, the orgasm continuing as it sucked me down, down, down beneath the surface. It was so intense, so brilliantly, painfully pleasurable, I wasn’t sure I’d ever make it out.
Finally, he stopped, placing soft kisses above my mound and on my thighs as he rose to his feet and pulled me into his arms.
“I think that’s my favorite dessert now,” he commented.
“What, peaches and cream ice cream?” I asked shakily.
“No, Daddy’s pussy,” he corrected me. “Although if I could make an ice cream that tasted like you, I would. I’d never share it though, just keep it to myself. I’d have to make you come over and over and over again and package it up, leave it in the freezer for whenever I was hungry.” He looked at me, considering.
Everything in me went tight all over at the thought. He chuckled.
“Some other time.”
He stroked my back for a bit, both of us silent, me on his lap, him surrounding, big, and hard, and perfect. I felt safe and protected in a way I never had before, which was funny, since he was the one who I’d once needed protection from.
And maybe still did.
He’d spanked me, without my permission.
And you liked it, my inner voice pointed out.
“What was that thought?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You just stiffened up and went beet red. Something upset you. What was it?”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Not an option,” he told me sternly. “It’s not just your body that’s mine. All of you is mine. What’s in here,” he placed his hand at my heart, “and what’s in here,” he tapped my forehead.
“You can’t just…claim me like that.”
He ignored me. “Are you embarrassed because you liked your spanking?”
I didn’t respond. That told him enough.
“Why? We both enjoyed it. It didn’t hurt anyone. You know I’ve done worse, so why are you embarrassed?”
How could I explain that, as a recent virgin, all of this was new to me? Or that even if I’d gotten off to fantasies of that sort of treatment in the past, the reality was much more intense, and made me question everything about myself? And that didn’t even take into account my other fantasy. I doubted Mason would be interested in sharing me.
“I’m not a doormat,” I told him instead.
“I know you aren’t. If you were, I wouldn’t want you,” he said easily. “But letting me take you in hand, into my care—letting me punish you when you do badly in order to help you do better for yourself in the future—that’s not you being a doormat. That’s you learning to trust me.”
“And you think it’s that easy for me to trust you, after all you’ve done?”
He sighed. “No. But I have faith you’ll get there.”
“Why?”
“Because you not getting there with me isn’t an option. I’ll do everything I need to, wait for as long as I have to, to make sure you give all of yourself to me. I’m not a quitter, and I’m not easily defeated. You’re mine, butterfly, and I’m yours. Do us both a favor and realize it, and Daddy will reward you.”
I started to rise from the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to my dorm. I need to think.”
“You’re staying here until I’m sure you’re capable of taking care of yourself,” he said darkly. “I want you here for the weekend, and likely longer.”
“Mason!”
“Mace.”
“Mace.” I stroked his face. “Let me go home.”
“No.” He kissed my hand. “Nice attempt at manipulation, though.”
“I learned from the best,” I grumbled.
“See?” He laughed. “We were made for each other.”
Maybe he was right. But it didn’t matter, because we were stepsiblings. I wasn’t ready to give him up, but I knew we had no future. Even if we were made for each other, we could never be together.
So why did that make my heart crack in two?