Punished by My Neighbor 4-Book Box Set (3 page)

I gingerly stepped into the room and made my way to the table, slowly, trying to gauge what was going on. Along one wall, a long, tall dark cabinet stretched. I wondered what it might hide inside. Other than that, and the massage table, the room was empty save me and Mr. Barrows. A bare bulb dangled from the socket above, throwing the room into stark light.

I could barely sort through my conflicting urges. On one hand, the adrenaline pumping through my body urged me to run, craving his chasing me and tackling me. My eyes crawled all over him, his broad shoulders, his trim waist, his narrow, powerful hips. I wanted him to pull me tight against him and take me then and there, in this almost-empty room, with its dark, closed cabinet, and long massage table and bare bulb in the ceiling.

I held out the package and he smiled, taking it and then casting it aside. “Do you know why you’re here, Emilee?”

I shook my head. Though I knew what I was hoping was the reason I was here. I wanted this man to punish me. I wanted him to take control of me and make me his.

“You’re here because selling your panties online is a very dangerous thing to do.” As he said the word dangerous, his lips curved into a smile, and I could barely draw my attention away from those beautiful lips and how much I longed for them on me again, his lips on my mouth, his lips on my ear, his lips on my neck, his lips on every inch of my flesh. I forced myself to focus on his words, I needed to know what he wanted from me, what he planned to do to me. “You never know the type of men who might want to meet you. The perverted things these strange men might want to do to you.”

My skin tingled when he said the word perverted. Did he see himself as perverted? The things he wanted to do to me, were they perverted? Simultaneously, I wanted to reassure him--that anything he might want to do to me was exactly what I wanted from him--and I worried about him. Did he know how much I wanted him in this moment, exactly as he was? Did he know how much I craved his punishment, his control, how much I craved knowing he wanted me every bit as much as I wanted him? “Do you know what I want to do to you?” He asked, his voice soft and almost hesitant.

Again I shook my head. My breath was coming in shallow pants now. I might not know what he wanted to do to me, but I surely knew what I wanted him to do to me.

“Strip,” he said, his eyes devouring me whole, making it clear he had no intention of turning away to give me any modesty.

My fingers fumbled with my dress ties, but I eventually worked the knot free and then it was quick work to shrug out of my dress. His eyes raked over me roughly and I gasped under his scrutiny. No man had ever seen me undress before, and I’d had no idea how much a gaze could feel like fingers prickling along my skin. How hungry someone’s eyes could be on me. How much I’d relish someone’s hungry gaze as it took in every inch of me.

“Strip,” he said again, and my skin warmed when I realized that he meant to see me naked. As in, naked, naked.

I wrestled my breasts out of my ruby red bra, and they hung heavy and free. My fingers went to the lace thong across my hips. I traced the soft lace with my fingertips from my soft, wide hips to my inner thighs. The need that was building in me was so intense then that I dropped my hands away as if they’d burned me. I’d wanted to take this slowly for him, to tease him as I followed his commands. But I couldn’t go slow any more and I plucked the thin lacy fabric from my skin and shimmied free of the thong.

His eyes followed the curve of my breasts to my soft, full tummy, down to the v between my legs, thatched in thick, curly hair, then down my fleshy thighs all the way to my toes. He stepped close enough to touch me, his breath hot on my earlobe, but he didn’t touch me. Instead, he stood there, close to me, breathing me in. It took all of my self control not to press myself against him and beg him to kiss me. But something told me that I needed to wait for his next move, and so I did, even as an ache blossomed deep in my belly, the likes of which I’d never before experienced, but which I could only describe as pure, unadulterated need.

And though I’d never been with a man before, I knew, with every fiber of my body, that I needed his cock in me, now.

He patted the massage table again. “Climb up.”

I scrambled gracelessly onto the massage table, feeling utterly awkward, all thick, heavy, clumsy limbs. I froze there, on all fours, pendulous breasts hanging down between my arms, realizing I didn’t know if he wanted me facing up or down. He pressed me down, hard with a hand mid back, so that I went sprawling onto my belly on the cool vinyl table. “Do you realize meeting strange men is dangerous?”

“I do,” I said slowly, wondering where this was going, and hoping I was right and he intended to punish me.

“And do you realize only sluts sell their panties to strangers?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. On the one hand, it certainly seemed reasonable, especially given how horny it had made me, the thought of men everywhere being able to see and enjoy my ad and my pictures. But on the other, it was undeniable that I’d never been with a man before, and surely I would have had to have had sex in order to be a slut, right? I ultimately decided a “Yes” would be more likely to result in the severe punishment I was so craving,  so that’s what I said.

“And do you realize sluts deserve to be punished?”

I swallowed. What did he have planned for me? “Mmm-hmm,” I said, wishing he’d begin already, wanting his hands on me, in whatever way he wanted to put them there.

“Before I begin your punishment,” he said, and I fought back the urge to beg him to begin. My skin prickled with desire for him to be rough with me. “Ordinarily, a punishment would begin by strapping you in place. But,” his hand gently caressed the small of my back, “I feel it's important you receive this punishment willingly. That you're free to leave at any time. Of course, if you do, that is the last you'll ever see of me. And that would be a shame.” He traced my spine with a lazy finger.

“Emilee, you may be beautiful and headstrong, but the only way you will learn is by being punished.” He brought his hand down hard against my fanny, so hard I cried out.

I followed my cry immediately with an apology, the sting still reverberating up my back. After what he'd said, I didn't want to risk his changing his mind, and I shoved my hand against my mouth to keep from crying out again.

His only reply was to smack me again, the sound of his slap ringing through my ear.

It hurt. So much more than I'd ever expected. And though I wanted to be his, I couldn't resist blubbering, “Please stop,” still in shock that a man had laid his hands on me. No one had ever struck me before, let alone a man, and I was stunned by how powerful and ferocious he was, by how much pain radiated through my body at his scorching touch.

He didn't say anything, but there was a pause as if he were considering. But considering what, I couldn't know. Finally, after an agonizing wait, he slapped me again and heat bloomed where his hand had landed. I was torn between relishing the pain and wanting it to stop.

He cleared his throat. I hoped he wasn’t about to tell me to leave because I'd failed to properly receive my punishment. “I’ll give you a choice.” His voice was deep and gruff, I could tell punishing me was affecting him as much as it had affected me. “I can continue this punishment with my hand--which will take longer--or I can use a tawse. With the leather tawse, each strike will hurt more, but the punishment will be over more quickly.” He paused and I tried to collect my thoughts. I’d never heard of a tawse, but if it would end the punishment more quickly it was sure to be painful. “Which would you like me to use?”

I sorted through the two options, but couldn’t force myself to decide. The idea of his hand continuing to strike me was so delicious--I loved the idea of his hand imprinting my flesh. But, if there was a way he could cause me more pain, I wanted that, too in spite of the way my flesh already flamed where he'd struck me. What was this man I'd always trusted doing to me that by simply touching me, he'd made me unable to resist him?

Before I could consider any longer, the words spilled from my mouth, feeling right: “Whichever is more effective in punishing me, Mr. Barrows.” I was mortified to hear how true they sounded. I realized just how much I wanted him to punish me.

“In that case, I’d like to introduce you to the tawse.” He stepped away from the table for a moment and the big black cabinet creaked open. Then he returned to my side and brushed something tasseled against my feet, tickling me and I giggled. “Do you think this is funny?”

“Of course not, Mr. Barrows. That tickled is all.”

He stepped to my head and brought the tawse to where I could see it. It didn’t look terribly cruel--a long leather tassel that might have been just as at home wrapped around some curtains. “This is the tawse,” he said. “And naughty sluts who sell their panties don’t generally giggle when they feel it against their flesh.”

With that, he brought the tawse down hard against the arches of my feet and I squealed like a wounded pig. Pain exploded through my feet, excruciating. He did it again, in exactly the same spot and I writhed underneath his force. Then, he moved up my body and smacked me across the back of the knees. Tears raced down my cheeks now, and not just from the pain. No one had ever hit me before! And here this man was, this man I’d looked up to for many years now, here he was spanking me. It was so humiliating and painful. And worse, I wanted it to continue.

He brought the tawse hard against my fanny, once... Twice. “Please,” I begged. “I’ve learned my lesson.” He smacked me again, the leather cracking through the air, and each of the leather fingers brutal against my already blistering ass.

“Silence,” he bellowed and then brought the strap down against me again. I muffled my cries against the vinyl, trying to make no noise in the hopes the explosive pain would stop. He slammed the strap against me again and then again, but each time I managed to keep silent with barely a muffled moan.

He moved to the head of the massage table and wiped my tear stained cheek with his thumb. His hand was so warm and safe against my flesh. “And tell me, what was this lesson that you learned?”

His.

I gasped for air and said, my voice thick with tears, “I’m a panty-selling slut who needs to be punished.”

“That’s right,” he said softly. “And will you ever do it again?”

I swallowed. If this was the result of placing an ad to sell my panties, of course I’d be doing it again. But as much as I relished the idea of that leather against my skin again, I’d had more than enough for today. “No, sir.” I said, hoping that was the right answer.

“That’s right,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring. “But tell me why did you do it this time?”

I drew in a deep breath and told him the truth. “I needed the money.”

He nodded and placed the tawse on the table beside me. “There are other ways for a panty-selling slut to make money,” he said gently.

I waited for him to offer me the wise counsel he had always offered in the past. Like when I hadn’t been sure which college offer to accept, he’d spent hours listening to me and then had told me plainly what he thought would be best for me.

He’d been right--the college he’d picked out for me had been the perfect spot for me, near home, but with a large enough financial aid package that I could live with my fellow students instead of staying at home with my mother next door.

I knew no matter what he suggested next that I’d go along with it.

He traced the welts that had risen on my fanny, absently probing the tender flesh there. “You will be mine,” he said at last. “And I will see to it that you never want for anything.”

I nodded, more than willing to take this bargain. “I'm  yours,” I echoed. The pain had begun to subside and what surged through my body was, once again, the pure, unadulterated need I’d been feeling for this man ever since he’d replied to my ad. But I knew better than to beg him to take me then.

He was making me his, that surely meant he intended to claim my body with his own.

He stroked gentle fingers down my inner thigh and then pressed those same fingers against the blistering marks he'd seared across the backs of my knees, sending pain crashing through my body anew and tangling it with the desire he'd nurtured in me.

He inched down to the end of the table. “How many men have you known?” he asked, as he eased his hands down my body towards my feet. I fought to stay still even as I knew he intended to inflame the welts he'd inflicted on my feet. When his fingers stroked the arches of my feet, though, the pain made my eyes water and I writhed in agony beneath his touch.

“None,” I said, hoping that wasn’t the wrong answer, hoping my punishment was over. I heard him pull his belt free of his pants, and then undo his zipper and my body flooded with desire.

“This is going to hurt then,” he said before gripping me hard around the hips and sliding me down the vinyl table. The vinyl grabbed and held my flesh and it peeled free painfully. He dragged me down the table like that its entire length, each painful squelch giving rise to new welts along my breasts and vulnerable belly.

Finally, he had me positioned how he wanted, my legs dangling off the edge of the table. “But you’ll get used to it,” he promised as he plunged his hard, thick cock inside of me.

I gasped, feeling him tearing me in two. The pain was so searing, so intense. He didn’t go slow the way men always do in romance novels. But he was inside of me, fully inside of me, making me his, and he stayed still for a long moment, whispering soothing things to me, as fresh tears sprung to my eyes from the pain. “You’re so tight,” he said. “I bet it feels like I’m splitting you in two. It gets better.”