CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN
Emilie Paris

Dress yourself up for me,” Cameron said on Monday night. “You know what I like, Charlotte.”

I did of course. After nearly a year together, I know exactly what turns on my man.

I have high-class tastes. That’s the way I like to put it. My boyfriend says I bask in the lap of luxury. But when he says that, all thoughts of diamonds and expensive footwear disappear from my mind. Because even if I do like to doll myself up like some Parisian runway model, the lap Cameron’s referring to is his own.

I looked at the clothes in my closet, the fur-trimmed cardigan, the red-soled heels, and all I could see was me over Cameron’s lap, my panty-clad ass in the air, my stockinged feet kicking.

“I’m waiting,” Cameron said in a tone of voice that let me know he wouldn’t wait for very much longer. He was sitting behind me on the edge of the bed. I could feel his eyes on me. At the moment, I only had on a pair of scarlet knickers and a matching satin bra. If I wasn’t careful, he’d start before I was ready. And satin doesn’t offer much protection when a spanking’s on the menu.

The clothes blurred in front of my eyes. I keep my closet in color-coded order, from midnight on the left through all the rainbow colors, ending with pristine white on the right. But nothing called out to me. Nothing screamed spanking.

“Charlotte…” his tone was growing more menacing by the second.

Frantic, I stuck my hand into the closet and reached for the first thing my fingers landed on. I had to laugh as I pulled out the hanger. I’d chosen a navy-blue suit, formfitting, but cut in a man’s style. I turned around and held the outfit in front of me. Cameron’s lips curled in a half smile.

“Wasn’t exactly what I was thinking.”

“I know.”

When he has spanking on the brain, he generally likes to see me in something more schoolgirl kicky. A little plaid skirt or a navy-blue jumper. High-heeled Mary Janes and white kneesocks.

“But we could make that work,” Cameron continued.

He left the room while I got dressed, giving me privacy. I worked as fast as I could. Nearly in a trance, I began to set the stage. I lit rows of candles on the windowsill and on the edge of the dresser. I dragged the heavy-backed chair to the center of the room, my fingers on the leather, my heart starting to pound. I wanted to be over Cameron’s lap already, wanted to be experiencing the scene in which I was so deeply entrenched. But anticipation is an important part of our games. Absence doesn’t necessarily make the heart grow fonder, but waiting definitely makes my pussy pulse.

Then I got dressed. Crisp white shirt. The navy suit. A red tie. Black Oxford-style shoes. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over our dresser, and then (at the very last minute, hearing Cameron’s steps out in the hallway), I had an idea.

“Wait…” I called out.

His footsteps halted. I could imagine him standing outside the door.

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

I could feel him there, interest piqued, cock hard. I went to my dresser and pulled out a toy, fixed the rest of the scene, then opened the door.

“Bad girl,” he said softly, “making me wait.”

“Bad boy,” I responded, just as soft, watching as Cameron tilted his head at me. I saw confusion in his deep-blue eyes, and I acted immediately. Before he could grab me, before he could say a word, I sat down in the leather chair. “Bend over, baby,” I said, patting my thighs. “Time for your spanking.”

“Charlotte…”

“Don’t make me ask twice.”

How many times had he spoken to me like that? How many ways had I found myself positioned for his firm hand, or his leather belt, or his paddle? Why had I never thought to respond in kind? What had the suit brought out in me?

Of course, Cameron didn’t have to obey. He could have told me to get my ass out of the chair. He could have refused to take even one step forward. But he didn’t. Instead, he walked toward me and bent himself over my lap.

I grinned to myself. I couldn’t believe the rush of power that flared through me. Without hesitation, I slapped my hand against his ass. I knew I hadn’t hurt him. My palm met the resistance of his blue jeans, and I know from many past experiences that a hand spanking through denim doesn’t do much harm. But I wanted to see how far he’d let me go.

I smacked him again, and then I said, “Stand up and take down those jeans.”

When he stood, I saw the look in his eyes, a look I recognized from so many times seeing the same expression in the mirror. He was loving this. He was needing it.

Cameron pulled down his jeans and bent back over my lap. He even raised his hips, begging with his body for me to continue.

I smacked my hand against his boxers, and I could feel how hard his cock was. I gave him five strokes like this before pulling the waistband of those striped boxers down to his thighs. Now, I took a moment to admire his naked ass. God, he has a beautiful body. I thought of how many times he’s admired my curves from the same position of power. Then I let my hand land on his bare skin. The rush of pleasure was amazing. My palm meeting his naked ass sent an electrifying jolt through my whole body. Why had we never done this before? Why had we never even tried?

I spanked him over and over, delighting in the handprint-shaped marks I was leaving on his previously pale skin. Cameron took the spanking like a pro. He didn’t squirm. He didn’t beg. He didn’t make any sound at all. But I could feel his cock against my thigh, and I knew he was turned on. Maybe he was as surprised as I was by this new facet of our relationship. Maybe he was stunned into silence.

I wanted to help him make noise.

Deftly, I reached behind the chair and gripped the paddle from the floor. The one I’d hidden right before he walked in the door. I didn’t tell him to steel himself. I didn’t warn him what was coming. I simply slapped that glossy weapon against his ass and waited for his response.

The tremor that ran through him was immediate and intense. But he didn’t tell me to stop and he didn’t try to get up. That gave me all the information I craved. I spanked him again and again. Each time I let the paddle land on his naked ass, I imagined what the pain was like for me, when I was in a similar submissive position. My pussy grew wetter with every blow, and I could tell that Cameron was growing even harder. His cock was a solid pole against my leg.

“Such a bad boy,” I murmured. “Getting hard from a spanking. Clearly, it’s been far too long since your last punishment.”

Who knew I could talk like that? That there were words like those in my head, words that came easily to my tongue? I’d never even fantasized about a scenario like this one, and yet disciplining Cameron felt surprisingly natural.

I heated his ass good and proper for him, and when I was right on the verge of coming from the thrill alone, I pushed him off my lap. Cameron stared up at me, waiting. He looked like a puppy dog, his golden hair messy, his cheeks flushed. Sure, I understood what he wanted. I’d taken the front seat. He expected me to drive us to the finish line.

Quickly, I kicked off my shoes, then unzipped my slacks and pulled them off along with my knickers. I positioned myself on the edge of the bed, my thighs spread wide.

“Eat me,” I told him, and he crawled forward immediately, kicking off his jeans and boxers, so that he was now half-naked, wearing only his white T-shirt. Pressing his face to the split of my body, licking my clit in delicious, dreamy circles.

Oh god that felt good. I leaned back on my arms and pushed my pussy right into his handsome face. I locked my legs around him, holding him as close as I possibly could. And then I let myself come. Bucking hard against his lips and tongue. Taking every last bit of pleasure from the ministrations of his mouth.

I couldn’t remember ever coming so quickly, but spanking him had brought me right up to the brink.

When I was done, I looked down at Cameron. His lips shone with my juices, and his eyes had that hungry glow in them. He wanted his own release. I wasn’t ready to let him get there yet.

“On the bed,” I told him, as I slipped my slacks back on, naked now underneath them. Cameron looked horrified. I think he believed I was going to let him fuck me. But we weren’t there yet. We weren’t even close.

While he spread himself out on the bed, I pulled his leather belt from the loops of his discarded jeans.

“Wrong way,” I told him. He was faceup on the bed. I wanted him facedown.

Meekly, humbly, my sweet boy rolled over. I could only imagine how the mattress felt against a cock so hard.

“We’ll start with ten,” I said, and Cameron groaned. The noise twisted something deep inside of me. I was getting to like this new partnership. The new me.

Easily, I doubled up the leather and slapped the belt against Cameron’s ass. His cheeks were already rosy from the paddle. Now, I wanted to see the welts bloom. Cameron kept himself entirely still, but that wasn’t enough.

“I didn’t think I’d have to say,” I began, “that I expect you to count.”

“One,” he said.

“Good try. We’re going to call the first one a practice blow.”

I struck him again.

This time, when he said, “One,” I said, “Now, ask me for another.”

There was silence from the bed. He didn’t want to ask. But from the way his hips were shifting on the mattress, I could tell he craved more pain.

“Ask me, Cameron, or I’ll put a ball gag in your mouth, and then I’ll determine exactly how many strokes you’ll take. Let me warn you that what you think you can take and what I think you can take may be wildly differing numbers.”

“May I please have another?” he murmured.

“Louder.”

“May I please have another?”

I hit him again.

“Two,” he said, and then, without being prompted this time, “May I please have another?”

“Mistress.”

Silence.

“Ball gag,” I threatened.

“May I please have another, Mistress?”

I hit him a third time. This was fun. I could do it all night. Together, we made our way up to ten, and then I saw Cameron’s body relax. He thought we were done. He thought he’d made it to the end.

“Did I tell you to stop asking?”

“But…”

“Did I tell you to stop asking?”

“You said…”

God, he was slower than I’d thought.

“Did I tell you to stop asking?”

A deep sigh, then, “May I have another, Mistress?”

I hit him fiercely. He didn’t hesitate to say, “Eleven. May I please have another, Mistress?”

We went to twenty. So that his ass was crisscrossed with plum-colored lines from the belt. I don’t think I’d ever seen something so beautiful before. I’d created those lines. I’d done this to him. I’d given him something he needed.

I made sure the last stroke hurt. He cried out, for the first time, and then I knew he was done.

“Roll over.”

Grateful, with tears in his eyes, Cameron rolled over on the bed. His cock was hard, and my pussy was so wet.

Quickly, I stripped off my clothes once more—all of them—the suit jacket, white shirt, slacks. I was me once more when I climbed onto the bed, and Cameron seemed to know that. He gripped my hips and pulled me down onto him, and then he let me ride him. I fucked him as hard as I could, swiveling my body, getting his cock so deep inside of me, then pushing up with my thighs before sliding down once more.

At least, I was almost me. A remnant of the Mistress side remained.

“Next time,” I said, “I’m going to get a strap-on. Next time, I’m going to be the one who fucks you.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Cam? You’d like me to split apart your asscheeks, pour on some lube and fuck the daylights out of you.”

“God, yes.”

Cameron didn’t seem to even feel the pain from his recent whipping. He drove up inside me with such fierce force, and when he came, I came with him, reaching down to touch my clit as the shivering pleasure flickered through us both.

Afterward, Cameron pulled out of me, and then held me in his arms. He seemed to want to know that I was his girlfriend once more. That I’d shed my skin. That we were equals. Partners. He stroked my hair from my face, kissed my lips, kissed my palms and my wrists.

“How’d you know?” he asked softly.

“I didn’t.”

“Then what made you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

His mouth to my ear, his voice a whisper: “Will you do that again?”

“Whenever you need,” I told him. “Whenever you want.”

“But how will you know?”

I smiled at him and looked down at the crumpled suit on the floor. “You just leave my suit on the bed,” I said. “I’ll do the rest. Because you know what they say? Clothes make the man…”