FIRST SLAP

T.C. Mill

As always, he walked her up to her door, and they kissed good night on the front step. Her arms squeezed tight around him. Lips parted, tongues brushed each other in question. Stroked more certainly in answer. When the kiss finally broke, she invited him inside.

They stretched out on the couch, where the kissing continued, along with his hands moving over her back and then around. Just as he cupped her breasts, her fingers started to slide over the crotch of his jeans.

Behind his closed lids, his eyes seemed to roll back at the rightness of the feeling. She understood exactly how and when to touch. His hips stuttered toward her, letting her know it. Her nipples hardened through her bra. The kiss slowed, broke apart for breath.

“Can I…” she started.

“What?” He almost told her, Anything, just go ahead.

“Can I slap you?”

He was struck by how she asked the question. Clearly, but softly, revealing not shyness but a sort of respect for the request’s significance. It was the same way she had suggested their first kiss, resolving his private uncertainty over the nature of a conversation that had grown steadily warmer and more intimate. Then, in what seemed like a continuation of their exchange, the kisses had gone on, deepening until her lips turned red and his felt swollen and helpless but not numb, not exactly.

He wasn’t sure if that had anything to do with the present discussion. “Have I, um, done anything to deserve it?”

“No…” She leaned back enough that he could see her smile, a small quirk pulling the side of her mouth. “Or yes…”

“Oh. Kinky.”

“Obviously.” Her smile bared teeth.

He was half-hard from making out with her and that didn’t flag, but he couldn’t help thinking of corporal punishment. His parents were believers in it, not harsh or anything but routine and inescapable if they caught him climbing the rain gutter or teasing the neighbor’s dog. It was the indignity of spanking that he’d hated most, that had kept him in line as a kid. For some reason the idea of her slapping him didn’t feel undignified. He wasn’t ready to think about her spanking him.

She pulled back a little and smoothed her hand down her skirt, over her thigh. He thought of her hands as small, but mostly in comparison to his own. Still, he remembered her tight squeeze when they held hands, the way she almost gleefully ripped a baguette into pieces at dinner, the way she cupped his chin as they kissed. Blood rushed at the idea. First under his face, and then lower, and then back to his head in an afterflow of embarrassment. He was getting dizzy. And his cock was pressing uncomfortably against his fly zipper. He knew she knew it and that just made his arousal stronger. Maybe indignity wasn’t the problem, not exactly.

“Okay.” The words sounded almost liquid in his mouth. “Go ahead.”

Her smile became close-lipped, shyer. “Thank you.”

She got up and flipped, straddling his leg. Her knee sank into the cushions right in front of his erection. He found himself shifting his hips closer. She caught him doing it, laughed, and wiggled enough to make him regret it. He bit his lip.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He settled his arm over the back of the couch and let his hand hang limp. Part of him wanted to grip the pillows like the armrests of a dentist’s chair, like he had to brace himself. Not that he thought she was going to hurt him all that much. Maybe subconsciously he wanted her to, wanted to be tough enough to take her worst.

One of her hands settled just above his elbow. The other touched his cheek. She started by stroking, fingers sliding down to his jawline and back up, against the grain of his stubble. His hair began to stand on end. Her lips parted, her breathing growing deeper and brushing across the bridge of his nose.

After a few more strokes, she lifted her hand and swung gently. Her palm was soft, and she didn’t land hard, but neither did she hesitate or pull back at the last instant. She delivered a quiet tap against his sensitized skin. It was a dull blow; it didn’t sting at first. The impact ran to his ear, which he realized was ringing. Not from her strike, but because he wasn’t breathing right. He pulled air in, let it out in a short moan.

“Yeah?” Her fingers rubbed again, making circles in the heat on his skin. Her knee pushed his cock and made him moan more. She grinned.

“Yeah,” he said. Dumb with it. “You can try again.”

This time she rocked into the strike, and he thrust back against her because the friction at his groin was too much to resist. That brought him in to meet her. Their collision traveled through him in a burst not of pain but of warmth. His head turned, not with the blow but toward it. He nuzzled her fingers. When she laughed, he smiled, too.

Her next slap made the smile drop. But the dizzy, happy feeling remained: the urge to throw himself against her, into her, to let her surround him and do what she pleased. The whole-body yes.

It felt like falling in love all over again.

“I like it,” he gasped. “I didn’t know—but I like it.”

She’d bared her teeth again. Her bright eyes danced over him, his quivering shoulders, his face, his chest that wasn’t lifting and falling fast enough, his hips that jerked against her. “Look at you.” Her grip on his arm vanished; instead her fingers started unzipping his fly. “You’ve gone red—scarlet—and you’re trembling.” The word spoken with a reverent hush. “You’re gorgeous.”

“I am?”

“Oh yeah.” She started to stroke his cock, and just as he sank into it her other hand slapped him. Still gentle. A hint of sting beneath the growing heat. A clap like distant thunder, a lightning strike, a line of fire racing toward his core.

Both her hands went to the waist of his jeans and started pulling them down. It was all he could do to lift his hips to help her. Then his briefs—she just tucked them back under his balls. It felt awkward with them wadded up, still partially imprisoning his hips and thighs. A little undignified. But he didn’t care, and she wasn’t making fun of him. She’d started to slide against his leg, her silky panties gliding over his skin.

“Kiss me?” he asked.

A gush of heat and wetness from her cunt as she pulled on his tongue, pushed her own into him, as they stroked each other. He fucked into her fist. She held the nape of his neck tightly, and then her fingers came around to grip his chin, cup his cheek—the heat from her slap still rising there, her touch like velvet—and he loved it; he loved it so much and he never would have known if she hadn’t asked.