The Accidental Call Girl (16 page)

John felt the rain on his face as if it were a phenomenon happening to some other person. All he could think about was the soft embrace of Bettie’s fingers around his cock. Her hold on him was light, yet at the same time, paradoxically, it had great weight. Weight of meaning, of feeling. He loved her touch. It felt right. Good. Clean.

He was tempted to let her suck him again, but the sight of her gorgeous nude body incited other urges. The curve of her haunch beside him, the exquisite tight round of her bottom where she perched on his jacket. They were so unbearably tempting to him. He imagined her face down over the tree trunk, her sublime rump offered to his hand, or perhaps to a switch. There were plenty of promising materials about, thin, whippy branchlets that would make the perfect instrument of punishment. In his mind her saw a red line across her creamy buttocks, and her hips churning as she fought the pain and pleasure both. She responded so divinely to discipline. She was a natural, despite the lack of experience she took such care to hide from him.

But he didn’t care about that. Her zest for the game was obvious; she certainly wasn’t hiding that. He hoped she’d tell him more of her story, and her background, in her own good time, and perhaps they could . . . well, he didn’t know quite what, but maybe some other kind of arrangement.

Rain splattered down, faster now, and the drops were like jewels on Bettie’s skin, diamonds on cream, and brilliant also where they clung to her dark hair, loose about her shoulders, and the equally dark curls of her exquisite bush.

‘Perhaps we’d better go now?’ she suggested, staring up at the glowering clouds visible through the break in the trees above them. For a moment, she closed her eyes as if savouring the rain, but still, below, she held him in that sweet, tantalising hold. It was like electricity. Not the lightning crash that might actually strike them any moment, if the weather deteriorated, but a softer, energising glow that made him feel strong and happy and young, like a boy, barely more than when he’d been that scout he’d told her about.

With Bettie, sitting here as the rain streamed down around them, the years, and the rocks and knocks along the path of his life, were all washed away. Everything seemed bright, and fresh, and new and full of possibilities.

‘No, let’s stay a while. You’re not afraid of the rain, are you?’ he teased, putting his hand on her wrist and, with some reluctance, prising her off him.

You’re not afraid of me, I know that.

He took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it, smelling his own aroused scent as he did so.

The look in her eyes as he set her hand down in her own lap confirmed the thought. She was eager, excited, enraptured. Everything magical.

No, I’m the one that’s afraid. Afraid of what I might feel.

But that wasn’t going to stop him playing the game, or sharing this exquisite, brief adventure. With an unexpected angel who’d fallen from heaven into his life . . .

‘No, of course I’m not. And, after all, there’s nothing on me to spoil, is there?’ Lizzie looked down at her own bare body and laughed. Good God, she was sitting here naked in the middle of the woods, in an increasing rain storm, and it felt wonderful. The moisture on her skin seemed to combine with the heat in John’s eyes to form a delicious, potent aphrodisiac. She wanted him more than ever now; either in her, or as the remorseless administrator of some as yet undetermined punishment.

‘Nothing
could
spoil you,’ he said, running his hand up her thigh, skin gliding on skin coated in water. ‘And yes, I think we should resume. I’m suddenly consumed by an intense passion to whip your glorious bottom.’ He squeezed. ‘Now come on, let’s have you over this incredibly convenient log while I select an implement.’

An implement? What implement? Her eyes skittered to the thin belt he wore. It looked rather cruel, as if it could bite fiercely. There wasn’t much else, apart from his hand.

Taking her by the arm, first he urged her onto her feet, then edged her down again, until she was lying over the tree trunk, her belly and breasts pressed against the hard bark, protected only by his jacket. Her head hung down the other side, but fortunately there was a dip beyond, or else she’d have been distracted by the idea of beetles and spiders crawling in her dangling hair. She wondered about asking John to tie it back again, but it seemed he had another purpose for her ribbon. He fastened her hands behind her back with it, at the base of her spine.

‘Beautiful,’ he pronounced as the rain lashed down, pausing to cup her left buttock and give it a squeeze. ‘Now lie quiet and be absolutely still. I won’t be but a moment.’

Oh no, he’s leaving me!

John strode away through the trees, in the direction they’d arrived from, and Lizzie was left, bared to the elements . . . alone.

Where are you? Where are you?

The minutes stretched out. The rain poured down. Her skin and hair were wet through. The pit of her belly ached with desire. She could hardly keep still, even though he’d commanded her to.

Perhaps a little adjustment of her position would allow her to rub herself against the hard bark beneath her, through John’s jacket, and stimulate her clit? Surreptitiously, she worked her hips, adjusting the angle, spreading her thighs, rocking. The result was worse. She was more roused, more needy than ever. If he hadn’t tied her hands she’d be rubbing herself by now.

Testing her bonds, she found them firm, but not uncomfortably tight. He knew what he was doing. How many women had he tied up before? How many women had he punished?

Dozens, I’ll bet. Who could resist him? Even if I hadn’t had a curiosity about BDSM before I met him, I’d certainly be into it now.

She wriggled again, trying to get off, knowing she couldn’t. Unless, of course, she could will herself into it? But even John Smith and the fantasies he inspired in her weren’t quite capable of that feat.

But still she rocked and jiggled, imagining him touching her, spanking her, fucking her. Even the sound of footsteps approaching couldn’t stop her and she was still moving as she saw John appear in the periphery of her vision.

‘Didn’t I tell you to be still?’

She craned around and found him smiling indulgently. But for once, his beautiful grin wasn’t what caught her attention. No, it was the thin, freshly cut switch he was slashing experimentally through the air. No great student of the natural world, Lizzie had no idea what kind of tree it might have come from, but it looked narrow and fierce and unsettlingly cruel.

Ignoring his query, she made one of her own. ‘How did you manage to cut that? More boy scout skills?’

He approached fast, still swishing his new implement, and sweeping his wet hair back from his brow with his other hand. He was just as saturated as she was now, his expensive shirt and trousers drenched. But it didn’t seem to bother him too much, and the way the sodden linen clung to his crotch only outlined the fact he was hard as rock again.

‘I always carry a Swiss Army knife. You never know quite when you’ll need one.’ He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket, and drew out the famous knife in question. It was a small version, but obviously just as effective.

‘Must be useful for all the stones in horses’ hooves you have to deal with,’ she shot back.

‘I’ve used it for that in my time,’ he replied equably, stowing away the knife and returning his attention to the switch, running his fingers along it then swishing it again.

Momentarily, Lizzie was distracted, though. John rode horses? What kind of life did he have, away from all this? She knew nothing of him, and suddenly wondered why the hell that was. The first thing she did, usually, when she met someone, was look them up on the internet, on Google and Facebook and Twitter, and yet this time, when finding a man’s provenance would be critically important . . . she hadn’t done it!

You’re making me crazy, Mr Smith. You’re making me lose it.

But as he laid the switch across the crown of her buttocks, she resolved to rectify her omission. She
would
find out who was this devil who’d bewitched her.

‘So, how many strokes do you fancy?’ He drew the thin wand over her skin, as if he were painting with the rainwater on the canvas of her body.

‘Well, I rather thought that wasn’t really up to me,’ she replied, trembling wildly. Despite the rain, it wasn’t really cold, but still she shuddered and gooseflesh popped up on her skin. This organic instrument of discipline was far more ominous than the hand, or the plastic ruler.

And yet John was a master. In every sense. She knew in her gut that he was supreme at this, and knew exactly what he was doing. He would only ever hurt her in the way she wanted and craved. In all other ways, he would take care of her.

‘No, it isn’t. I was just messing with you.’ His smile was like a sunrise polished by the rain.

‘Half a dozen. Just half a dozen. That thing looks vicious.’

‘Ah . . . bold . . . For that, I might give you twice as many.’

You won’t.

Somehow she knew that six was all she’d get.

‘Are you ready?’

She nodded, choked with apprehension . . . and anticipation.

‘You must be quiet and good and still and make me proud. Can you do that?’

She nodded, sincerely doubting she’d achieve any of it.

‘Very well . . . then we begin.’

Before she had time to think, there was a high whistling swish and the first cut landed. Even though she’d no chance to brace herself, it didn’t feel so bad . . . didn’t feel like anything . . .

Then her heart started beating again and electric fire arced in a fierce agonising line across the crown of both her buttocks.

It was astonishing. It took her breath. Blanked her mind. A shrill cry breached her lips and echoed around the little dell, and to her astonishment she realised she was rolling to and fro on the tree trunk, her feet kicking madly.

Oh God, that was only one.

The second was better . . . or worse . . . she couldn’t tell. It was just another line of fire that lay exactly parallel to the first.

‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ she chanted, twisting her hands in their bonds to try and grab herself.

‘Don’t do that,’ instructed John softly, and she instantly desisted.

Another stroke fell, right on the under-hang of her bottom this time, and she shrieked and shot forward over the tree trunk, nearly plummeting head first over the other side of it.

As she flamed and burned, John paused and rested a cool hand on her heat. ‘Steady, my lovely one,’ he whispered, the touch like a blessing. Then he sought her fingers and coiled them with his for just a moment. A surge of strength coursed through Lizzie from the point of contact, and courage too. She quieted, fell still, braced by his benediction.

Then he was beating her again, the last three strokes. They were harder than before, taxing her to her limits, but she kept dead still and uttered not a word even though her bottom felt as if it were roasting in a furnace, and she couldn’t tell where one stripe ended and another began.

The switch whistled through the air, but this time Lizzie saw it fly away across the dell, out of the corner of her eye.

Just six strokes. Exactly as she’d specified. She almost laughed, savouring a revelation in the pain.

Good God, I really
am
in charge, aren’t I?

‘Jesus, you’re adorable.’ John’s voice came in her ear. He’d flung himself alongside her, heedless of grass and mud, and buried his face in her hair. Lizzie pressed herself against him, not caring that his body rubbed against the fire in her bottom, making her hiss through her teeth.

‘I want you,’ she whispered, her voice breathy, the wind still knocked out of her by the thrashing.

His lips pressed against her neck, hot with passion and, as he kissed her, she felt him working on the ribbon that held her wrists, to free her. Loosed, she rocked back on her knees, twisting to fling her arms around him and embrace him. Every move stirred the pain in her buttocks, but she didn’t care. She even welcomed it. The fierce marks were another bond between them.

‘Oh God, let’s fuck,’ growled John, starting to pluck at his shirt, then wrenching it open to send buttons flying amongst the grass and ferns and undergrowth. Leaping to his feet, he kicked off his shoes, tugged off his socks, then attacked his trousers, shucking them off and tossing them over the tree trunk.

When his boxer briefs went the same way, he stood before her, a god of fire and rain, his erection jutting from his groin.

Lizzie shuffled towards him, lured by that magnificent rod, but John put his hand on her shoulder. ‘No . . . I want you to have pleasure too, my sweet Bettie.’ He sank to his knees beside her, fishing into the pocket of his trousers across the tree as he did so. ‘I want you to ride me into oblivion, you gorgeous goddess,’ he said, producing a condom with a flourish. ‘I want to see your beautiful body and your lovely face as I come.’

Rolling onto his back, apparently oblivious to mud and grass and twigs, and creepy crawlies various, he gestured to her, inviting her to join him. With a grin, he tossed her the condom.

All a jitter, and still constantly aware of her blazing bottom, Lizzie grappled with the wrapper, then prized out the fine contraceptive within. She half wondered if John wanted her to do the ‘put the rubber on with the mouth’ trick, but as she’d never done it, and suspected she’d make a not very authentic mess of it, she positioned the condom carefully over the fat tip of his cock and rolled it down as deftly and lightly as she could. He was close to the edge, she could tell, because he rocked back onto his elbows, his handsome face turned to the stormy heavens, his eyes closed. As she enrobed him, he opened his mouth as if to drink the rain that teemed onto his face.

Moving around with a thrashed bottom was uncomfortable, to say the least, but somehow the pain only seemed to add a lustre to the experience. Throwing her thigh across John’s lean hips, Lizzie manoeuvred into position, raising high so she could grasp him by the head of his cock and present him to her entrance. He felt huge against her there, warm through the rubber, but she was swimmingly wet in a way that had nothing to do with the rain, so when she bore down, and he bucked up, he slid in easily.