I hadn’t meant to gasp, biting off a moan, when Aral slapped me on the ass. But I had.
In all fairness, he had started it, reaching out to steal a cookie from the cooling rack; I’d absentmindedly slapped his hand, still holding the piping bag with my other. But instead of drawing his hand back, like any naughty boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he’d grabbed my wrist.
He still held it firmly, his fingers circling completely around my wrist like a cuff. When I looked up at him he grinned, crooked and full of challenge, then slapped me on the ass. One big open-handed swat, right on my asscheek. He was looking right at me as he did it, could not have missed the gasp, or the soft moan bitten off as I closed my mouth.
His smile was broad, but his eyes were dark in the fading light. I snatched my hand back and continued piping the cookies onto the tray, looking down, cursing the blush I knew was rising on my cheeks, the tips of my ears and probably the bare skin above the low back of my shirt. I usually loved the way it felt, my hair brushing my skin, but I suddenly felt naked, exposed. He disappeared for a moment, and I let go the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
I ignored the slight trembling in my hands and went back to piping. Guests would be arriving soon and I loved the smell of fresh cookies, the delicate crumble against my tongue. And since it was my birthday, I was going to give myself that small pleasure. And the smell of freshly baked deliciousness always added a little something special to the party, so I usually timed the cooking fairly close. Even so, Aral shouldn’t even have been here, but his plane had arrived late so he’d come straight here instead of the hotel. There was a strange and not unwelcome intimacy to being alone with him in my kitchen, in my house.
In truth I barely knew him, had only met him once or twice at other parties, at friends’ houses as he traveled through for work. He had always caught my eye, with his dark hair wild and curling, his skin the color of good caramel and the most wicked smile. So he was a distraction, even before his hand came down on my ass.
When I heard the dull tread of his boots on the tiled floor again I bowed my head farther, willing my body back under control. He came to stand behind me, crowding against me. I looked down and could see his boots, heavy and black, huge beside my bare feet. His breath was on the back of my neck and I felt a shiver rising, felt my breath quicken, my heart hammer. The cookies I piped became erratic as he simply stood behind me, saying nothing. I finished the tray, then stopped. He laughed knowingly, then stepped back, making enough room for me to pull the oven door open without burning myself but not enough to stop my ass pressing against him as I leaned down. I bit down on my tongue and concentrated on sliding the baking tray onto the oven rack, trying to ignore the press of his legs against mine, the hardness of his muscular thighs.
I shut the oven door with a slam, and then spun to face him, pressing back against the bench, feeling the heat from the oven rise against my thighs. He smiled, with his hands curled loosely at his sides; he spread them out, as if in question, and I couldn’t look away from the breadth of them, the promise of power in their size. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“I need to get these out in ten minutes.”
He grinned wickedly and stepped forward again. “Then I’ll have to be quick.” He reached past me and turned the timer dial. “We both know I heard that little gasp—that little moan.” He put his hands either side of me, leaning over with his face close to mine. “I aim to make you moan again, Orya.”
He caught my lips in a kiss, soft and wet, oddly gentle. We stood like that, kissing, with the heat rising around us, for a long moment. I could feel the tension building, and my hands clenched uselessly on the bench. He moved his own hands to cover them, hold them still, and I moaned into his mouth as I felt the press of his fingers against my wrists.
“Ah, there it is, my sweetness.” He spoke with his face close to me, lips brushing mine. “It takes a little bit of roughness, does it? A little bit of domination?” I blushed again as I pulled against his grip. He pulled my hands behind my back and caught them together with one of his own, holding my face still with the other. “Say it. Say it, Orya, or I stop.” There was no smile on his face now, his eyes solidly black in the midafternoon light. He kissed me again, harsh and vicious, and I moaned into his mouth; he pulled back, pulled away and I met his eyes.
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Yes what? Say it properly.” His voice was low and dark, almost a growl.
“Yes, I need roughness. Yes, I need your hands on me.”
He smiled then, crooked and sly. “Good.” He pulled me forward, my hands still clamped together at the small of my back, and then he bent me over the counter and let go of my hands.
“I want you to stay still, hands flat.” He finally pressed himself against me, positioning my hands beside my shoulders, his cock a hard line against my soft flesh. I moaned and wriggled my ass against him, lifting to my toes to try to press my quim against the hardness. He laughed again and stepped back, landing a hard swat on my ass. “I said stay still.” He swatted my other cheek. “I want you to moan, make noise, but do not move.”
I swallowed and dropped my heels to the floor, ready to be still. He made a sharp noise. “I said, still.” He cupped his hand between my legs, lifting me to my toes again, and my hands spasmed, reaching out to brace myself, to hold on to something. He made the noise again and repositioned my hands, then placed his own broad palm on the center of my back.
“If you move once more, it won’t just be your ass that I spank.”
My legs quivered and I could feel my knickers soak. He slapped my ass again, hard, and I let out a low moan. Swiftly he spanked me, first one cheek then the other. I fought to stay still, my calves and thighs aching, my fingertips pressed tightly to the wooden bench beneath me. Embarrassingly quickly I began to beg, the swift swat of his hand on my ass and the careless strength of the hand pinning me to the counter combining to make me wet and quivering, desperate.
“Please, please.” I almost sobbed.
He stopped spanking and gently stroked my ass over my jeans. “Please what?”
“Please Aral, I want to, I need to come.” I couldn’t hold the position anymore and let my heels drop, let my body rest on the counter. He leaned down and looped his arm through mine, holding it tight with his hand, broad and warm on the back of my neck, pressing my cheek against the cool wood.
“You moved.” He nudged my legs apart, not gently but still mindful of my bare feet. He placed his hand over my mouth, cupping it gently. “Three slaps for that. Since you did so well at first. Three slaps, then we’ll see about letting you come.”
I shuddered in his grip, fear sparking along my veins. I braced myself, but he simply stroked me through my jeans for a moment, unbearably lightly. I could hear the ticking of the timer over everything, relentless. I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut. He leaned down, mouth against my ear, crushing my body into the wood.
“Count them.”
He straightened, then his hand rose and fell and I choked out a moan. The tips of his fingers landed over my aching clit and I felt a spasm run through me.
“One,” I gasped.
His hand rose and fell, harder this time and I fought to stay still, to not rise to my toes again.
“Two,” I whimpered.
“Brace yourself.”
I swallowed and squeezed my eyes shut, pressed myself into the wood. His hand rose and fell, the same weight and swing as he’d used on my ass.
“Three,” I sobbed.
“Good.” He let go of my neck and buried his hand in my hair, then hauled me upright, pulling my head back; my arm still looped through his forced me into a graceful arc. “Very good.” He bit my neck and reached down to undo my jeans, my legs still spread wide by his booted feet. “You may come after all…as long as it’s before the timer runs out.”
He dipped his fingers beneath the softness of my belly, beneath my underwear. My breath came in shuddering sobs, erratic moans. When he pushed his fingers into my soaked quim I keened, high and loud. “Yes, fuck Orya, that’s it.” Aral’s voice was rough. “Just like that. God you’re wet.” My hips jerked uncontrollably as he circled my clit with one finger. He bit my neck again. “Moan for me, Orya, come for me.” He plunged two fingers into me, pressing the base of his thumb against my clit, and I arched up, thighs spasming, clenching around his fingers.
I moaned his name, high and loud, as I came.
He drew his fingers out of my jeans, stroking along my clit, and I spasmed against him again. With my head still pulled back he ran one of his fingers over my lips. He let go of my hair and turned me to face him, as he licked my wetness from his hand. When he was finished he spoke.
“Your cookies should be ready.”
I could hear a car pulling up, doors slamming as someone else arrived. He brushed his damp fingers against my lips again, then pulled me into a vicious kiss. I heard the first guest call my name and he let me go and went to meet them, leaving me trembling and spent in the middle of the kitchen. The timer buzzed, loud and harsh, prompting me to move.
I wondered when he would come to take his own pleasure and shivered at the thought.
Throughout the night I would look over at him and he would smile, run his fingers over his lips, wink at me. Each time my heart would skip a beat and my thighs quiver. The anticipation was electric, making the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. I began to avoid the kitchen; each time I entered I could feel myself soak and swell again, the memory making me squirm.
After my third drink I put my glass down on the table and walked to the bathroom, smiling brightly at my friends as I passed. I couldn’t see Aral, and I breathed deeply, not sure if I was disappointed or relieved.
My quim ached and when I pushed my jeans down I saw that I hadn’t just soaked my knickers, but even my jeans were damp. Not enough to totally embarrass myself, but enough that I felt that blush rising again. I turned and flushed, then washed my hands. The water ran cool over my fingers and I heard the click of the lock disengaging on the door; my head flew up and in the mirror I saw Aral slide through the door and shut it behind him, locking it, and putting a sliver of metal back into his pocket.
“My turn.” His eyes locked with mine in the mirror. He came to stand behind me, hands stroking up my waist to my breasts. “I want to fuck you, Orya.”
I felt my breath stutter. “I don’t have protection.”
He smiled at me in the mirror. “After that first swat on your ass, I went and got mine.” He bit down on my neck. “I knew what I wanted to do. I’ve known that from the first moment I met you, but it never seemed like the right time. Or place.”
“But the kitchen and the bathroom, at a party, are the right time and place?” My voice was breathy, too high.
“No, but I couldn’t pass up that little moan, that little gasp.” His hand moved beneath my shirt, pulling at my nipples through the thin fabric of my bra. “And I can’t wait for all these people to leave. Not knowing how wet you are, how fucking responsive you are.” His hand clenched on my hip, on my breast, and I moaned. “Just like that. Fuck.”
He began to undo my jeans again, pushing them over my ass. “Hold on to the counter,” he murmured. He spanked my bare ass a few times, then pulled the condom from his pocket and opened it with his teeth. “Bend over more, Orya.” I heard him undo his zip and watched in the mirror as he pulled his cock through the opening, his jeans blue against the dark skin and hair, his hand fisted around himself.
I leaned over the sink, bending over my arms, legs held together by my jeans; as Aral rolled the condom over his hard cock he ran his hand over my ass, then slipped his thumb inside my quim.
“Still so fucking wet.” He landed a swat on my ass. “Up on your toes again.”
I pushed up to my toes and felt his hands grab my ass, kneading it, spreading me wide, then the first touch of his cock, huge against the slickness of my quim. I let out a soft moan as he pushed in, his cock hard and thick, sliding into me. His fingers clenched hard, and I knew I would have bruises.
“Fuck. Fuck.” Aral’s voice was raw, rough. “Touch yourself, Orya, I want to see you make yourself come.” His eyes were still locked on mine in the mirror. “I want to see your face when you come while I fuck you.”
He withdrew and snapped his hips forward and I closed my eyes, moaning, then pushed one hand between my legs. At the first touch on my clit I dropped my head to rest on my other arm. Aral growled and pulled my head up by my hair.
“No, keep your head up, your eyes open. I want to see you come apart.” He thrust again, pushing me forward onto my fingers. I moaned, mouth open, red and wanting. Aral snarled. “That’s it. Fuck. I can’t, I can’t wait any longer.” He let go of my hair and grabbed my hips, slamming into me over and over. I rode my own fingers, trying to keep my eyes open, watching Aral’s face as he thrust. His hips hammered into me, shoving my hips against the sink. I bit down on my lips, my tongue, trying to be quiet, the sounds of the party filtering through the open window, the door, a murmur of noise beneath the sound of his flesh slamming into mine. He watched me and I watched him and I felt the burn rising from my feet and up my trembling thighs to burst between my legs; I curled up and he hissed, low, then wrenched my head up by my hair again.
“I want to watch you.” He punctuated each word with a vicious thrust, my quim clenching and gripping him as I whimpered through my orgasm. The tremble sent him over the edge and I watched as he came, snarling through his teeth, fierce and beautiful in the harsh light.
He let go of my hair, lazily thrusting a few times before he pulled out, spanking me once then tying the condom in a knot and dropping it into the trash. I pushed myself upright and pulled my jeans over my slightly stinging ass; Aral tucked himself back into his pants and did them up, then pressed himself against my back, nuzzling my neck as he zipped my pants back up and buttoned them.
“Next time, Orya? I will take my time with you.” He turned me around and caught my lips in a kiss, then lifted my still-damp fingers to his mouth, sucking gently at the tips. I shivered. He slapped my ass and turned away; I unlocked the door and slipped back into the party, the sting of his hand on my ass tingling.