Caught in the heat, I squirmed and rubbed my slick lips against my lace panties. I wanted to order everyone else away, strip off JT’s jeans and continue spanking her properly, catching the sweet spot where thighs curved up into ass, lingering after each stroke to let the pain morph to pleasure, then pinching the reddened, tender flesh to morph pleasure back to pain. Wanted to fuck her senseless once she’d been thoroughly spanked, or perch on the table, thighs open, fist my hands in her hair and force her—not because she’d need to be forced but because it would be fun for both of us—to lick me to orgasm.
The gathering grew more raucous as the guests cheered and laughed and counted loudly, even though the count had long since exceeded JT’s possible age.
Some of the other guests must have noticed how she trembled and gasped, how her hands clenched and unclenched on the table, how she cocked her ass toward the spanking hands.
But she was still turned toward me, so only I got to watch as her face flushed and her eyes widened. Got to see the astonished need blossom on her handsome face.
Got to see her mouth at me, “Please.”
I nodded almost curtly, though I melted on the inside from a combination of lust and tenderness. I doubt anyone noticed. But JT did.
Her eyes closed, then opened again in astonishment. She screamed in perfect silence as the orgasm unleashed itself. Her gaze locked into mine and I shared an echo of every tremor she felt.
Even though it was presumptuous, given that nothing had happened other than some significant eye contact, I yielded to the impulse to mouth, “Mine.”
This time she couldn’t hide the gasp or the convulsion.
Most of her friends began to chuckle, except for the ones who were too busy kissing and groping their dates, turned on by the unexpected show.
I’m 99 percent sure the instigators would have been happy to have their wickedly fun way with her, either later or right there in the middle of the party. And under other circumstances, JT might have let them—they were a good-looking pair, both lean and leggy with small, perky breasts and short, sexily messy hair. Instead, she laughed and let the couple engulf her in a hug. Then she smacked both their asses with all the strength in her body. JT’s not a small girl, so they both yelped and jumped back. “Let’s see,” JT said loudly, in a voice that sounded only slightly shaky and maybe only because I was listening for that telltale postorgasmic quiver, “Mackenzie’s birthday’s in June and Laura’s is in October. Lots of time to plot and scheme. Wait for it, guys. Just wait for it.”
A number of the guests chimed in, offering to help with the plot—evidently Mackenzie and Laura instigated all kinds of amusing trouble for their friends. It’s possible the tables could have turned right then, if JT hadn’t proclaimed loudly, “After that, I need a drink,” shook off her friends, and headed to the bar.
She moved with a sexy butch swagger, but her face was soft and eager as she approached me. She ordered a dirty martini, so I could take a little time fussing over it. “Dirty martini for a dirty girl,” I whispered as I pretended to look for the jar of olives. “You came, didn’t you?”
She nodded, her face once again flushed. “Twice. But only because I was looking at you. Playing rough makes me wet, but it’s never enough to get me off. Not until you told me to come tonight.” Her voice, already soft, dropped even lower, to a quiet burr that vibrated my clit.
“Do you have plans for after the party?” Before she could answer, before she could even open her mouth again, I said, “Change them. I can give you a birthday treat you’ll really like. But only if you’re good.”
She nodded, her face gone vacant with desire.
“One dirty martini for the birthday girl,” I said teasingly loudly, handing her the drink and shooing her away with a wink and a mouthed “later.”
I don’t know if she’d planned to hook up with one of the other guests. But she managed to encourage everyone out the door just after midnight, although a number of the guests had drifted off in twos and threes right after the spanking, in search of privacy or maybe opportunities for their own bit of exhibitionism.
JT was at the bar as soon as the last women were out the door. “You’ll still have to pay me until two o’clock,” I said as dryly and calmly as I could.
“You’re worth it.” She chuckled throatily.
She stopped when I stalked around the bar and sidled up close to her.
Even with my four-inch heels, she was a few inches taller than I am—so I grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her down to me.
“First order,” I breathed. “Kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it. You may hug me, but no touching me otherwise yet. Right now, I’m interested in a good kiss.”
Those strong, muscled arms were around me before I finished talking, and her lips closed on mine.
I didn’t taste gin and olives—I don’t think she ever drank that dirty martini. I tasted a little butter-and-sugar goodness from the birthday-cake frosting that lingered at the corners of her mouth.
Then I tasted only her, and that was headier than any drink.
JT held me close, almost lifting me off the floor. It was more forceful than I’d normally want a sub to be until we knew each other well, but forceful or not, she was trembling with need and nerves and being so close to her let me enjoy that. She kissed me like she meant it, all right, but stayed one nanosecond behind me, letting me set the pace. Her body was fire hot and her hands shook and I could tell she wanted to grind against my thigh, caress the bounty of my breasts, raise my satin skirt to check out my garter belt and tiny (and very wet) lace panties.
She didn’t, though.
Nor did she hesitate when I pulled away and told her to strip. In fact, her clothes came off so fast I’m surprised she didn’t break her bootlaces or rip the buttons off her shirt.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
Her body was so beautiful I had to look away and bark, “Fold your clothes and put them on the chair. I can’t abide slobs,” so I didn’t abandon all my lovely kinky notions and start exploring every inch of that strong, curvy lusciousness. (I hoped to do that at some point, because I’d enjoy it—I’m a greedy domme and I like to play with my girls in every possible way. Just not yet.)
Her eyes widened, but she obeyed without saying anything but “Yes… Ma’am.” She hesitated then, “Should I call you Ma’am? Mistress?”
I smiled then, a predatory smile that should have showed fangs. “Tina will do—but I like the way you think. Now turn for me. Let me look at you.”
“Yes, Tina.”
She didn’t know what to do with her hands and stumbled over her own feet turning around. But she was grinning like she was high, and moisture glistened on her strong thighs, and her ass, formerly concealed by comfortably loose jeans, was round and perfect enough to make Jennifer Lopez green with envy—and still slightly pink from the earlier spanking.
I stalked over and dug my short, elegantly red nails into that perfect curve. She flinched, then sighed with pleasure. I nudged her thighs apart, stroked at her wet sex until her hips began to work of their own accord and her breath came in little gasps. Then I said, “No. Not until I tell you. And don’t say a word, not unless it’s to say ‘red’ because you want me to stop.”
I felt her body stiffen, but she obeyed.
Obeyed as I continued to stroke her slick, swollen clit and insinuate my fingers into the drenched pussy.
Obeyed as I bent her over the couch and spanked her ass just as I’d imagined earlier, until it was so red it was almost glowing. Tears of excitement flowed down her thighs, and tears of frustration hung in her eyes when I pulled her up for a rough kiss, but she still obeyed. Obeyed when I grabbed her abandoned belt and snapped it against that beautiful reddened ass.