Well that was an
easily-sorted-out row. It turned out all I had to do was arrive
unannounced at James' flat bearing pineapple upside down cake, bang on
the window and noisily demand sex. James, being a practical sort of
chap, opted for cake. I could see D had more of a crisis of indecision,
because he's very keen on both cake and sex. In the end we reached a
compromise whereby D would sit in an armchair and stickily eat cake off
a blue and white china plate, while I knelt on the floor and sucked on
his balls while I stroked his cock. Having gone out for a brisk and
gentlemanly walk while we sorted out our differences, James suggested
on his return - by calling a taxi - that it might be time for us to go
home now.
It was in the taxi that D looked at me sternly and
said, "Frankly Lucy, I think it's going to take more than cake to show
me you're sorry."
In the bedroom, with his belt wrapped around
his hand, he cupped my face and kissed my eyelids, the leather pressing
warmly against my cheek. He brushed my hair back and whispered in my
ear, "I want to thrash you until you cry and fuck you with hot tears on
your cheeks." My belly fluttered and my clit pulsed hotly as I licked
my lips, my mouth too dry to answer him.
Bent over my dressing
table stool, my toes and fingertips splayed against the floor, I yelped
as his belt cut across the tops of my thighs, just below the fold of my
buttocks, landing in the same spot until I was squealing. As I
squirmed, slipping off the stool, he smacked his belt across every inch
of my buttocks until they throbbed hot and pink. An occasional stroke
sliced across the backs of my thighs or curled around my hip. I began
to gasp with each stroke, barely able to catch my breath before the
next one landed, a thudding pulse throbbing heavily in my temples and
in my clit.
He paused, pressing two fingers between the folds
of my cunt. I peered over my shoulder and watched him draw them slowly
out and suck them. Then I squeaked with shock as he suddenly wrapped
one arm around my waist and the other between my thighs and hoisted me
up, thrusting me further forwards over the stool, resting on my elbows
with my feet kicking in the air. He straddled me, sitting on my bum,
pressing my belly into the edge of the stool. Then, gripping my thigh,
his fingertips digging into its flesh, he spread my legs and the belt
slashed across them, each stroke working its way closer to my cunt.
My
face was hot with temper and my breathing ragged and shallow as he
crushed me against the stool but I was determined not to cry, not even
when the last three strokes smacked loudly and firmly across my cunt.
He stood up and I tumbled onto the floor, panting and scowling up at
him. He stretched himself out, lying half on top of me, nuzzling my
neck and shoulder and kissing my breasts while his fingers teased their
way into me, stroking me and lightly brushing the underside of my clit.
I threw one arm across my face and arched slightly, my bladder achingly
full as he pressed the heel of his hand against it, circling my clit
faster now with his fingertip. He slid his other hand under the back of
my head, lifting it to kiss my bottom lip and I wrapped my arms tightly
round his neck, shuddering out tiny, piercing gasps as a sharp orgasm
stung my nerve endings.
He lay me back on the floor and I closed
my eyes, squeezing a tear from the corner of my eye. He licked it from
my cheek, murmured, "Good girl" and, my eyes still shut, I rubbed my
cheek against his chin as his weight rolled on top of me, the hot, hard
tip of his cock splitting me open.
I probably would, in any
case, have worn a thong with this skirt to work. But it was still nice
to catch him in the mirror, watching me getting dressed, my buttocks
still pink and framed in black lace.