Three
Amelia
“I’ve done what you wanted me to!” I say desperately. “I’m sorry! I’ve said I’m sorry!”
“An apology, but I don’t hear you begging for a spanking,” Van Wyk replies.
That wasn’t me declaring my choice, it was just instinct, an attempt to stop him doing what he’s threatened.
Like there was ever a chance of that.
He rips my panties off, the lacy material giving way with a jerk. My last barrier to him, gone. Anticipation has my pulse racing, but my eyes screw shut in denial. A finger slides inside me, and I can’t bite back the cry that escapes.
“So fucking wet,” he murmurs. “I knew you were. What’s your decision?”
Why the hell am I wet?
I’ve told him I don’t want this.
And he knew I was?
I can’t think. Not pinned across this table, with him penetrating me. Either I demean myself further by begging and he fucks my pussy, or he’ll fuck my ass. The options his, the conundrum mine. If I don’t decide, he’ll take my ass anyway.
It’s not much of a choice.
“My pussy!” I cry. No, that’s not what he wants to hear. “Please… spank me…” My voice fractures on the words, and I press my face against my arm and sob in shame.
“Pardon? Didn’t catch that.”
Absolute. Motherfucking. Bastard.
His finger is still inside me, rubbing, and now he’s forcing me to choose how he fucks me. Making me complicit in my own punishment.
“Spank me,” I say, and if my voice trembles, at least it comes out clear. I want to throw some defiance in there, call him one of the names I only dare use in my head, but I can’t bring myself to.
“Keep your legs straight.”
My body obeys him without my conscious thought. I’m presenting myself for him as he’s commanded, and it makes me so much more vulnerable. My heels don’t help; I’m on my toes. The table is low, I’m pitched forward over it, and my ass is raised as if in offering.
Van Wyk steps back, not even pinning me anymore, and his finger slips from within me. I’m left holding the position of my own choice, exposed and waiting, anticipating the moment he does whatever he wants with me.
I haven’t given up.
It’s not acquiescence, it’s… practicality. Survival.
His palm runs over my bottom, squeezing one cheek, drifting across to the other and giving it a humiliating little slap. “I’ll say one thing, Amelia. You do have a very beautiful ass.”
I grit my teeth. Is it not enough to humiliate me, he has to taunt me, too?
His hand disappears then comes back with a crack, the force of the blow driving me against the table, knocking the air from my lungs. The heat and pain arrive together, and I gasp in a breath.
“I’m going to fuck it,” he assures me, and spanks my other cheek, the sound echoing across the terrace.
“But you promised that if I begged, you’d take my pussy!”
“Oh, I will,” he says, his hand landing for a third time, and he’s not holding back. I can’t help but cry out. “Your pussy tonight; your ass another time.”
That’s twice he’s promised a future. What does he think this is, a first date?
I’m never seeing this man again. Whatever it takes.
The bastard doesn’t spank me again right away. Instead, his palm strokes over my warm cheek, and the gentle contrast is unnecessarily cruel. I screw my eyes shut, biting my tongue so that I don’t make a sound.
“I like the way your ass twitches when I do that,” he observes.
I didn’t… Motherfucker!
Barely has he spoken when the next smack lands, driving my thighs into the edge of the table.
My ass is on fire, all of it throbbing.
“Straighten your legs,” he reminds me.
I whimper, obeying. I hadn’t realized I’d slipped. It was instinctive, a futile attempt to hide.
The next blow lands, his palm striking my lower cheek, fingertips catching my labia. I don’t know if he did it on purpose—probably, everything else tonight has been—but fuck if it doesn’t send electricity shooting through me. My gasp is high, involuntary, and so humiliating.
“Keep still,” he says, his other hand resting on the small of my back. Then he rains down blows, one after another after another, until I can’t count them anymore but only try to weather the storm.
He pauses after what feels like an eternity. I whimper, flexing my legs, trying to shake away the sting, no longer caring how it looks.
“That’s beautiful to watch,” he murmurs. “You’re awake now, aren’t you?”
Jesus. Fucking. Bastard.
His hand smooths over my burning skin, and it feels so soothing that this time I can’t help the moan that escapes. I can’t keep still, my ass twitching under his hand, and I just know he’s going to comment.
But instead, his fingers dip lower, rubbing through my folds. “You’re wetter,” he says, voice husky, pulling at me. “Did you like that?”
Fuck. Did I like that? What sort of question…?
“No.” I don’t even have to think about it.
“I don’t believe you,” he replies. A fingertip slides through my folds, finding my clit, rubbing over it, and I can’t help but rise up on my toes. “If you didn’t like it, why are you more aroused?”
I have no answer to give him. It’s not just my ass that’s burning; my face is aflame too.
“Well?” he prompts, expectantly.
“I don’t know.” There. That should cover it.
“I do,” he replies. “You like it when I spank you.”
No I fucking don’t.
“Just as you like it when I force you to submit to me.”
Shit. Do I? Is that true?
No. No it is not.
“Look how wet you are.”
I’m not even conscious that he’s moved, but then his hand lands on my hip, and the head of his cock rubs through my folds. How is he hard again so soon? So very not impotent. No wonder it pissed him off so much.
I sob, knowing what comes next, hating that I’m so wet that it’s going to feel good.
Van Wyk chuckles softly. “I like the way you’re lifting your little bottom for me.”
Fuck. I didn’t, did I? He’s lying, isn’t he?
He pushes in, slowly, stretching me, and by this time I’ve given up trying to muffle my sounds. It hurts so good, his entry slow and deliberate.
“So damn tight,” he mutters, both hands on my ass now, spreading me wide. I can only imagine the view he has.
Inch by inch he penetrates me. I grip the table, bracing for his thrusts, but he draws back before he’s all the way in, then pushes forward again, sliding in more easily this time. I feel more full than I’ve ever been before.
And he’s not wearing a condom.
I’m on birth control, but he doesn’t know that.
“Are you—” I bite that question off, not wanting to inflame him further.
He draws back then drives in again, pulling a cry from me.
“Am I what?” he grunts.
Shit.
“Never mind.” Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?
He goes still within me, and his hand slaps down on my ass. “Am I what?”
“…Clean?” The word comes out as a squeak, embarrassment forcing my eyes closed. I know he’s going to hate that I’ve asked. He’s going to punish me more.
Instead, he chuckles. It’s so unexpected, and it sends quivers through his cock, straight into me, drawing a gasp.
“You ask that now?” His hips grind against my ass, underscoring how moot the question is. “Yes, I’m clean. Anything else you’d care to know?”
His tone is deliberately sarcastic, but now that I’ve spoken, I want the answer. I don’t trust him one little bit. Why would I?
“Have you been tested?”
His hand closes on my braid, pulling back my head, and he leans over me until his mouth is by my ear. It forces his hips harder against me, his cock shifting inside me. His voice drops cold. “Are you questioning my word?”
Of course I fucking was. “…No…”
“I haven’t fucked anyone since my wife.”
“You’re married?” I blurt. No ring, but that doesn’t mean anything.
Plenty of assholes don’t wear them so they can fuck around.
Like that makes any difference whatsoever.
This isn’t a goddamn date, as I’ve been telling myself since we came out here.
I’m never seeing him again. He can finish with me, and this will be over.
“I was,” Van Wyk replies, tone masked to the point of indifference. “She died.”
He has me bent over a table, my dress bunched around my waist, his hand fisted in my hair and his cock filling me, and somehow I’m the one left feeling like shit.
Part of me wants to apologize. To hell with that part.
“We can catch up later,” he says dryly. “If you’re done making small talk, be quiet.”
I’m so goddamn embarrassed that if the building collapsed right now, I’d welcome it.
But my anger is still there. Good, I need it.
“Cute question though,” he adds.
Before I can retort, he draws out of me and slams back in.
The force of it drives me into the table, and with his hand in my hair, pulling me up, all I can do is brace myself.
He doesn’t hold back, fucking me like he spanked me, sharp and fast and forceful, and every stroke rubs over my g-spot.
My arousal spikes, even though I don’t want it to, my whole world becoming the sensation of him pushing into me, over and over.
My gasps are high and sharp. I can’t help it; it’s more intense, more consuming, more raw than I’ve ever been fucked.
My orgasm arrives out of nowhere, blindsiding me. White light explodes across the back of my eyelids as he spears into me. So damn hard, so fast, like all that time in the gym was solely for this purpose.
Van Wyk grunts as I clench around him, momentarily losing his rhythm. His hand slips between my legs, finding my clit, thrumming it with a fingertip as he starts thrusting again, and my orgasm goes from scorching to white hot.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he says, his voice sounding like it’s a mile away. My pulse is thudding in my ears, and I don’t know if I’m breathing anymore, and I don’t care either. I’m vaguely conscious he’s pulled me up, my breasts exposed, my ass raised, fucking me where anyone can see.
Another orgasm melds with the first, or the second, or whatever the hell it is, and his fingers don’t stop playing with my clit.
God, I hate him so much.