Melted and Whipped (5 page)

He’s going to be inside me soon. I can’t wait.

He unhooks my bra and pulls it off, hands it to me, but his attention is on my bare breasts. Even though the room isn’t at all cold, my nipples have stiffened, and my arms are covered in goosebumps.

Porter flattens his hand, grazes his palm over my nipple, and I suck in air. My peak is so hard that his touch is almost painfully intense.

“If you need me to stop, tell me,” he says.

“I don’t need a safe word?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Not right now.”

The implied promise helps me make a decision. “Porter,” I say. “This is turning me on.”

He smiles, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m happy to hear it. You might have noticed that I’m aroused as well.”

“I was thinking… I mean, I never did the… the things you talked about earlier, but I’m curious. The idea turns me on.”

“Good,” he says.

I know I’m babbling, but I force myself to continue. “And… even if we’re just, um… I was thinking that separate from everything else, maybe you could teach me.”

“Separate from what?” he asks, his voice deep, his golden-brown eyes penetrating.

Oh, what the hell am I doing? Saying the worst possible thing, that’s what. And now he’s looking at me, waiting for an answer, but I can’t say it. I haven’t seen him in seven years, so why, after just a few hours, am I talking like this?

I’m trembling all over, my body both freezing and burning.

“I was wrong,” he says, frowning. He steps back. “You
will
need a safe word. If you need me to stop, say
red
.”

“What?”

He pinches my nipple lightly, and I gasp in surprise and pleasure. “I asked you a question, and you didn’t answer. I swear I wasn’t planning to spank you tonight, Emily, but plans change.”

My eyes go wide, but he’s not kidding around.

“You say you’re interested in exploring this.” His eyes interrogate mine, and he must be reassured by what he sees because he says, “Remove your skirt, turn around, and grab the back of the chair.”

My fingers fumble with my thin belt, the clasp of my skirt. Even pulling down the zipper seems to require more coordination than I’m currently capable of, but I somehow manage.

“And your panties,” he says.

My panties, I suddenly realize, are wet. Not just a little damp, either. They’re soaked with proof of my arousal, and there’s no way he’s not going to notice—

Porter reaches out and pinches my nipple much harder this time. I whimper, my hands flying up in a belated attempt to protect myself.

“Say
red
or take off your panties,” he says, releasing me.

I touch my fingers to the elastic waistband, but I can’t summon the courage to pull them down, to be completely naked in front of this gorgeous man who was the embodiment of all my college fantasies and who I’m now realizing might be the dark hero of all of my furtive, adult fantasies.

The thought is terrifying.

“Emily?” His tone has softened, like he’s shed the mask of dominant male to return to himself. But which is the real Porter?

He tugs the bra and blouse from my hand, and even though they weren’t covering anything, I feel even more exposed.

“You’re scaring me,” I say.

“In a good way or a bad way?” he asks, his expression curious but not alarmed.

“I… don’t know,” I admit.

“Do you believe I’ll stop if you say
red
? Take a moment to think about it.”

I stare down and try not to notice my bare breasts or my naked thighs. “Yes,” I say. “I know you’ll stop.”

“Look at me,” he says, and I raise my head to meet his golden eyes. “As long as you trust me, it doesn’t matter if I scare you. In fact, some women find that being a little afraid makes the experience that much more pleasurable.”

“Does it turn you on if I’m afraid?”

He unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and begins methodically rolling them up. His forearms are thick with muscle, and I can see the trace of veins under his skin. There’s no doubt about it; Porter can move some serious weight.

“Your fear turns me on very much. Right now, you’re trembling. You want me, and that scares you, but we both know you’ll also give yourself to me. Take off your panties.”

My fingers shake as I pull my panties down a few inches. That’s as far as I get before my nerve gives out.

Porter looks displeased. “Come here.”

Quivering, my chest tight and my breath shallow, I take several steps toward him.

His hands scorch my skin when he places them on my shoulders. “I’m going to spank you. Punishment will make it easier for you to follow my instructions.”

I don’t see how that would work out, but I don’t care. For the first time in my life, I’m going to be spanked by a lover. Not just anyone. By Porter, the man who created the fantasy.

He leads me to the foot of the bed and places my hands on the footboard. “Don’t let go,” he says. “That’s very important.”

Nibbling my lip, I look up at him. “Why?”

“I’m not going to really hurt you, not tonight, but I want you to develop good habits. It’s important that the submissive never put her or his hands out to deflect the blow from a paddle or whip, but it’s an instinct that can be challenging to overcome. A trick that works for many is to squeeze whatever’s restraining you. Do you understand?”

Slowly, I nod, and Porter’s face transforms back into the stern mask that gives me chills.

He places a hand on my upper back, between my shoulder blades. Slowly, he strokes his way downward.

“Your skin is as soft as I knew it would be,” he says. “Your body pleases me greatly, Emily.”

It’s a simple compliment, but I feel myself glowing, as if he told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world. It’s the way he said it, I think, that makes it so intimate, so sensual.

His fingers trace and tease their way lower, and I start to tense up. It’s not the spanking I fear so much as his hand on my butt. Now that I know he likes my body, I can only fall in his estimation.

What if he thinks I’m too squishy? That my ass is too big or too small?

He sighs in approval as his palm slides over the curve of my buttock.

That sigh… It’s even better than what he said.

His hand moves in broad circles, his touch changing from light to firm.

Any second now, he’s going to spank me. My inner muscles squeeze reflexively, and I wonder if his cock is even harder now.

“Only three for you,” he says.

I don’t have time to brace. He pulls his hand away, and before I can fully register what’s happening, his broad palm slams onto my ass.

For the briefest fraction of a second, I feel nothing, but then…

Sharp pain sweeps out from my freshly stinging skin. I inhale sharply.

“Good girl,” he says. “Two more.”

My grip on the footboard tightens, and I feel the muscles in my thighs and butt tighten in nervous anticipation.

His fingers touch my other cheek. This time, he barely caresses me before slamming his palm against my flesh.

I cry out, unable to control myself. It isn’t that he hurt me so much more than the first time, but he caught me off-guard.

He caresses my punished skin, and the burning heat turns into a soothing warmth. I find myself pushing into his hand like a cat begging to be stroked.

Except it’s not stroking I want from Porter. Or, rather, it’s not just stroking.

“One left,” he says. “Which side shall I do? Left?” He taps a series of light swats. “Or right?” He repeats the swats. “I can’t decide…”

He stops touching me, and I wonder which side he’ll choose as he walks behind me. Then I wonder what he thinks of the view.

And then I wonder if I’m so wet that I’ve soaked through my panties.

“I think I’ll do both.” His palms slam in unison against my ass. The force shoves me forward, pressing my neck against the footboard.

Throbbing heat pulses from where he hit me, and heaven help me, it feels like sex, or how I want sex to feel.

“Now,” Porter says. “Finish removing your panties.”

I move one of my hands from the wood to tug at the elastic waistband. My palm and fingers are damp, and I’m trembling lightly.

However, I’m not nervous. I want to obey him, to please him… and to get my reward. I can’t be certain there will be a reward, but I suspect there must be. It just feels right.

“Stunning,” Porter half murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself.

I don’t know what he’s going to ask me to do next. No, not ask.
Tell
. He’s going to
order
me to do something—my pussy gets wetter at the thought—and I’ll happily comply.

It’s not just the way he looks that has me practically panting with anticipation. It’s his intelligence, his humor, his kindness. And yes, that calm certainty on which he floats through life. Things don’t happen to him; he makes them happen.

As someone whose life has been ruined by the things that happened to me—my injury, getting laid off—perhaps it’s natural that I’m attracted to and intrigued by this difference between us. The few times I took control, like asking Porter out or coming to the mountains, it turned out to be a mistake.

It’s as if I had enough nerve to take the first step, but not enough faith in myself to complete the maneuver. I should have asked Porter why he thought it wasn’t a good idea for us to go out. I should have been aggressively lining up the next move after I relocated. How often do I tell my ski students that they have to follow through? That it’s not enough to initiate the turn?

“Kneel,” Porter says.

He’s certain I’ll do it, and even as I’m noting that, I’m also gently sinking to my knees.

“Part your lips. Make your body soft and pliant and inviting.”

When he says
inviting
, my inner muscles clench. I want him inside me almost as much as I want to please him.

I don’t know what to do with my hands. They feel awkward and in the way. I fold them in my lap. Porter doesn’t remark on this, so I suppose it’s good enough.

Slowly, he unbuckles his belt, first pulling the strap free, then flicking the tongue out of the notch. He unbuttons his pants, pulls down the zipper, and my mouth waters in anticipation.

After all this time…

He reaches into his pants, and I rise up on my knees, ready to meet the cock I fantasized about all through college.

I’ve always thought cocks were funny to look at, but Porter’s is… perfect. It’s long, which I guessed when he kissed me downstairs, but it’s also thick.

As I contemplate his impressive girth, I realize I’m aching to feel it pushing inside of me, stretching my body wide and claiming every inch of my pussy.

His cock curves slightly to his right, and the head is swollen, blue-purple. He releases his shaft, and it bobs gently.

Now I can see dark veins that twist around his length. I want to trace them with my tongue and suck the head.

“What you would like?” Porter asks.

My breath stutters in my chest as I glance up at his handsome face, then quickly away. “I… I’d like to lick… it,” I say.

“To lick what?” he asks. He catches my chin and tilts my head back so that I’m forced to look at him. He wants me to, what? Talk dirty?

He nods slightly. “Perhaps another three spankings will untie your tongue,” he says.

“Your… cock.” I swallow hard. He wants more, I realize. “I want to suck your cock,” I say, and the words feel strangely liberating. I do want to suck him, and I’m not ashamed.

“Open,” he says with a sigh as he grips his cock tightly in his fist.

I open wide.

“Not quite like that,” he says. “Not like you’re at the dentist. Stick out your tongue and think of making your mouth an O shape. I want to see your soft lips, not your teeth.”

My face burns with humiliation. I’m not a professional, but I’ve given enough blowjobs; I know better than to scrape him with my teeth.

He leans forward, and all my embarrassment is replaced by lust as he slowly drags the tip of his cock over and then between my lips. I imagine what he’ll feel like stretching my pussy this way.

A moan flutters from my throat as he presses the head into my mouth. He’s both sweet and salty, and the scent of his body calls to something in me, something primal and animal.

“Suck me,” he says, his voice almost breathless. It’s the first real sign I’ve had that I’m truly getting to him, and it emboldens me. I lean forward and try to take more of him into my mouth—because even though he told me what to do, he’s still controlling what happens. I can only take him a few inches before my mouth is pressed against his knuckles.

I guess he just wants me to suck the tip.

I flick my tongue against the taut underside of the head, and I’m rewarded when he sucks in a quick breath of air.

He begins thrusting to meet me, and that’s when I understand why he placed his hand there: he’s keeping himself from going too deep.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I say shyly. “I can take more—”

Porter cuts me off by pulling my head onto him. He hasn’t moved his hand, but he’s now beginning to thrust in earnest, essentially fucking my mouth.

It feels dirty, slutty… and I love it. All those years I lusted after him. How many times did I fantasize about him following me outside after a party, about him calling my name, coming to me with uncontrollable lust in his eyes, pushing me up against a wall and—

“What are you thinking right now?” he asks, pulling out. “Look at me.”

I force myself to meet his golden gaze. It’s not easy.

“I’ll tell you,” I say, “but I can’t do it while you’re staring at me.” The urge to swallow nervously grips me, but I know that giving in will betray the extent of my nervousness.

Porter holds out his hand. He shakes it slightly, and I realize he wants me to slide mine into his.

When I do, he pulls me up to standing. He traps my face and moves closer, until we’re only inches apart.

“You could have told me when you were on your knees in front of me,” he whispers. “Now you’ll have to tell me like this, when I’m so close I can smell your arousal.”