Although acquaintances rarely believe me, I was attracted to Adrian’s wicked sense of humor rather than his money. Not that he isn’t obscenely wealthy. He is. But I didn’t need his millions. I’d known going into modeling that my career would, by definition, be short-lived. I’d found a good financial advisor and was at a point where I could live the rest of my life quite comfortably off the interest from my investments.
What I needed was Adrian the man. At fifty-five, he was a good thirty years older than I. His impeccably styled, thick, dark hair had gone mostly to silver and there were character lines at the corners of his eminently perceptive gray eyes. But beneath his designer suits was a firm, toned body he still worked to a hard sweat every morning before he left for his office. His razor-sharp mind had quickly seen beyond my shoulder-length blonde curls and 38D breasts to the brain that had always gotten me profitable contracts.
The night we met, he held me, and the rest of his dinner guests, spellbound as he teased us to impeccably delivered punch lines. Later on, when it was just the two of us watching stars in his penthouse garden, I discovered what a truly marvelous listener he is. As we sat on the brocade-covered swing, first next to each other, then with me resting my head on his shoulder, he pumped me for details on my life—everything from my childhood in the suburbs to my cover girl career to the out-of-theway castles I loved to visit on my frequent European getaways.
I was so smitten that I would gladly have stayed the night with him. The kiss he gave me at my apartment door left my knees weak. But he said he’d make reservations for dinner, then got back in his cab and left. I stood at the window with my wrap still on, touching my fingers to my swollen lips and smiling until the sun came up.
Adrian told me later he’d been concerned about the obvious difference in our ages. Given the unprecedented intensity of his attraction, he’d been afraid he might be attracted too much to the contrast between his maturity and my youth. He said it was only when he realized the memories that most made him smile were all related to our conversations rather than to my looks that he’d made dinner reservations a second time. And every night after that. The chemistry between us was explosive. Our whirlwind courtship was so passionate that by the time we married, two months later, my panties got wet just seeing him taking off his jacket after work.
Two years later, our love had grown to the point where I was no longer interested in the upheavals of international modeling. I retired at the top of my career and started my own lucrative consulting business. Adrian was not surprised at my business acumen, though he reveled in teasing me, in private, of course, about how delectable he found my designer suits to be. He was fond of sucking damp spots on the front of my silk blouses or sliding his fingers beneath my formfitting skirts to finger my pussy while we discussed the day’s financial dealings.
I knew what he was thinking when his eyes once again turned molten as I paced the floor of our penthouse suite. We were enjoying a drink at home before we left to join friends for a late dinner. Adrian’s look immediately made my panties damp, but I was too annoyed to let myself respond the way I wanted to—the way I knew he wanted me to as well. When I reached the end of the sofa, I deliberately turned toward the window rather than walking over to him. I glanced back over my shoulder.
“It’s my own damn fault,” I groused, taking a sip of my wine. “I was an asshole to Jonathan, all in a power struggle over an artistic difference I don’t particularly give a shit about.” I took another good-sized swallow of my wine and sighed heavily. “Now I’ve lost the services of the best graphics designer in town. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to meet schedule.”
Adrian was quiet for a long while, studying the swirl of the fine liquor in his crystal brandy snifter. I rarely swore. Adrian disliked vulgar language. But I was pissed enough, at myself and the world in general, that at that moment I didn’t particularly care. The fingers tapping the edge of his glass let me know that now I wasn’t the only one annoyed.
“I’m certain you’ll do what you think is best.” He took a slow, thoughtful drink. “Though personally, I think you need your panties taken down for a good, sound spanking.”
I almost choked on my wine. At the same time, I was surprised at the unexpected surge of warmth between my legs.
“If I thought it would work, I’d try it.” I laughed, pointing my wineglass at him. “Hell, at this point, I’d try it if you thought it would improve the situation!”
He raised his eyebrows at me. Then he set down his glass.
“Come here,” he said quietly.
I gave him my best sultry smile. I was still irritated, but the heat between my legs was pronounced enough to distract me. I set my glass on the polished end table and moved next to him. His fingers trailed lightly over my hip.
“Lift your skirt.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. Adrian’s expression was unreadable. His caress moved on to my bottom. With a sardonic smile, I worked the hem of my skintight skirt slowly up. I’d eschewed a garter belt that day in favor of thigh-high black stay-up hose with a delicate butterfly pattern at the ankle. Adrian nodded appreciatively as my stocking tops appeared. His breath caught momentarily as I pulled the skirt over my panties. I was wearing a tiny midnight-blue satin and lace thong that barely covered the neatly trimmed thatch between my legs. His eyes sparkled when I wiggled my bottom at him, though I was surprised at the hint of steel still lingering in his gaze. He sat on the couch. With no warning, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of my panties and slowly pulled them down.
“What are you doing?” I laughed, bracing my hands on his head as he deliberately drew my panties over my knees. “I’m wearing a thong. If you really think you’re going to spank me, my bottom’s already bare.”
“Oh, I’m going to spank you.” Adrian smiled tightly and lifted a foot. “However, regardless of her attire, a young lady who’s going to get her bottom warmed should not be denied the anticipation of feeling her panties being taken down for the occasion.” He lifted my other foot, setting my obviously damp panties next to him on the couch. Then he patted his thigh. “Over my lap, love.”
I was amazed at the intensity of heat rushing up my face. I’d never been spanked before. The thought aroused me. At the same time, I felt guilty enough that a stinging bottom seemed like a decadent sort of well-deserved justice.
It was hard to maneuver in my heels, though. With my skirt scrunched up at my waist, no matter how I tipped, I couldn’t bend without falling. I looked helplessly at Adrian.
“I’m stuck.”
Wordlessly, he took my hand. I was again reminded of the muscles I’d been so surprised to see under his suit jacket and hand-tailored silk shirt the first time I slid his clothes from him. He drew me carefully over his lap, guiding me forward until my elbows were resting on the couch and my bottom was firmly ensconced over his thighs. His palm caressed my lower cheeks in warm, firm circles.
“I’m going to take your shoes and stockings off, in case you start kicking.”
“Oh, indeed!” I laughed. That seemed silly, but I had to admit, what he was doing was turning me on something fierce. Adrian slipped off my right shoe and stocking, massaging deeply into my instep. I laid my head on my hands, moaning into the couch as he rubbed.
“That feels nice.”
“Sensitized skin responds better to a spanking.” The other spiked heel hit the floor, followed by my second stocking. I was relaxed bonelessly into the couch when he finally stopped rubbing. Through the soft wool of his pants, the damp heat of his erection pressed against my skin. I wiggled contentedly against him.
“What next?”
“I spank you,” he said calmly. His watch jingled as he shook his arm. A moment later, the heavy gold timepiece rested next to my panties on the couch. His arm tightened around my waist. “I’ll stop anytime you ask me to,” he said quietly. I shivered as his fingers caressed my bottom cheeks. “But unless you ask me to stop, love, I’m going to give you the thorough bottom warming you so richly deserve.”
I giggled and nodded. His hand lifted. The shock of a hard, sharp spank jolted into me.
“Ow!” I twisted around, looking back over my shoulder in total amazement. “That hurt!”
“A spanking is supposed to hurt.” He ignored my shiver and stroked my tingling bottom. “Unless you’re asking me to stop, lay your head back down. Lift your bottom when you’re ready for the next stroke.”
I eyed him dubiously. That swat had carried a definite sting. But my pussy was so turned on it was vibrating. And I was curious as to what a spanking would feel like—especially when I had so clearly earned one. I put my head down and tentatively lifted my bottom.
“Good girl,” he said, his grip again tightening around my waist. “Wiggle and cry as much as you need to, but don’t try to get away or cover your bottom.” I gasped as a swat stung over my other cheek. This time, Adrian didn’t stop. He spanked me again, and again, and again. I wiggled and squirmed. After the first half-dozen strokes, I started to yelp. I threw my hand back over my bottom.
“It hurts, Adrian!”
I was surprised when his hand simply caught my wrist and pinned it to my waist. “It’s going to hurt a good deal more before we’re done.” I yipped as he swatted me again. The one after that was even harder. “Stay in place, young lady!”
Then the smacks rained over my bottom. Adrian swatted me a good three-dozen times, sharp hard spanks that quickly brought tears to my eyes. As much as the pain, what stunned me was that Adrian was really spanking me!
And he wasn’t stopping. The louder I yelled, the harder he smacked. The more I tried to twist away, the tighter he held me. My bottom hurt! I bucked up, howling at a stinging flurry on the tender spot where my bottom met the tops of my thighs. Adrian spanked me until I collapsed over his lap, sobbing my heart out as a river of tears washed away a tightness in my chest I hadn’t even known was there.
“I dislike vulgarity, love. But you know that.”
It took me a moment to realize Adrian had stopped. His touch was now a gentle caress. My bottom was so sore, even that light stroking made me shudder. Fresh hot tears leaked from my eyes.
“I’m s-sorry, Adrian.” It was hard to catch my breath, but I struggled to choke out the words. I truly regretted taking my annoyance out on him.
“I forgive you,” he said quietly. “Now I believe it’s time for you to forgive yourself, as well.”
I gasped as his hand slid between my legs. My pussy was so hot and slippery, I almost came when his fingers slid into me. Then his thumb was on my clit. I wailed as he teased me to the edge of orgasm—and held me there. My juices were running over his hand, down onto his thigh. He slid his index finger free. As his other hand held my excruciatingly tender bottom cheeks apart, his fingertip pressed against my anus. His erection poked up into my belly. I sobbed out his name, then screamed it as his fingers all moved at once, his thumb circling my clit as the fingers in my pussy pressed into my G-spot and the slippery finger on my anus slid deep.
The pain in my bottom segued into sensation so strong the orgasm exploded through me. I shrieked and bucked, clamping around his torturous fingers, my pussy spurting until even the lightest touch on my oversensitized clit was too much for me to bear. Adrian stilled the fingers resting in me, his other hand stroking my once more noticeably sore bottom. Beneath my belly, a large damp spot covered his softening shaft.
“It appears your husband enjoys spanking you almost as much as he enjoys making you come.”
The disapproval was gone from his voice, replaced by self-deprecating amusement. I groaned as his fingers slid free, then I smiled and settled my face comfortably against the couch. I had no doubt I was going to find myself in the same position many more times in the future. But tonight, I was content to rest in Adrian’s lap and savor the moment.