DeeDee grinned. “I think I’m ready to let you be the one with the power for a change.”
He leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were soft and full of promise; her breath caught in her throat. “I’ll see what I can do to vary our routine.”
“Whatever you say…Master.”
“Oh, are we back to that now?”
“Well, it’s been two months. I’m hoping now that your arm is better, you might want to experiment a little.”
Carl had expected this. While their lovemaking had been very satisfying, he’d felt there was something missing, something adventurous and naughty. “Hmm. I have an idea. To celebrate the removal of the cast, I’ll take you out to dinner.” He watched her face brighten. “Naturally,” he continued, “you’ll want to wear undergarments.”
She silently shook her head.
He opened his eyes wide. “You’re refusing?”
“It’s just so damn hot, I hate to wear them. They pinch me and ride up.”
“Only Naughty Girls refuse to wear underwear.”
He watched her eyes grow large, luminous. “What—” She licked her lips. “What would happen if I refused to wear them?”
“Well, you’d have to be punished, of course. We can’t have you refusing orders, now can we?”
“What k-kind of punishments…Master?”
“For starters, I’d have you remove all your clothes and assume the position. If you continued to refuse, I’d have to get out the ruler.”
“And, if that didn’t work?”
“Then I’d have to assume you liked parading around half-dressed like a Naughty Girl. Perhaps you’d learn your lesson if you went out to dinner in a short skirt, flashing the waiters.”
DeeDee opened her mouth then closed it again. Carl could sense the heat building up in her. Her neck flushed pink.
“Well?”
“Whatever you say, Master. Just please don’t make me wear underwear.”
Carl pretended to look disappointed, yet he enjoyed the rush of sexual energy the little exchange had created. This woman was a pistol! Even after her ordeal, she still liked the games they played.
“Go get the ruler,” he said. “And when you come back, you’d better be prepared to assume the position!”
She smiled, rose gracefully and left the room.
Carl felt his cock press against his pants. He looked down. “Aren’t you the naughty one?” he smiled.
About the author
J.W. McKenna is a former journalist who took up penning erotic romance stories after years of trying to ignore an overly dramatic—and often overheated—imagination. McKenna is married and lives in the Midwest, where polite people would be shocked if they knew what kind of writing was being done in their town.
J.W. McKenna welcomes mail from readers. You can write to J.W. c/o Ellora’s Cave