Beth Kery - Because We Belong

“That’s right,” he said gruffly. He swept her long hair around the shoulder furthest from him, fully exposing her backside. Her clit throbbed dully as he stroked her from flank to hip with his hand, pausing to squeeze a buttock in his palm. Then he did the same with the folded belt, running the sleek leather over her spine and caressing her ass and the back of her thighs. She moaned softly.

“I’ll prepare you with my hand,” she heard him say. She bit her lip when he spanked her bottom, that quick, expert slap achingly familiar. He spanked her again. It stung, but it aroused her almost unbearably. The flash of sensation as her nerves were awakened, the erotic sound of flesh against flesh, the sharp knowledge that she was allowing it . . . that she wanted it. He continued to enliven her flesh, spanking her by hand, escalating her arousal. At one point, she turned to look at him, hungry for the image of him standing there, his eyes hot and possessive as he watched his hand striking her ass with a tight focus. He glanced up and made a rough sound in his throat.

Francesca turned her head and closed her eyes, overwhelmed with a potent mixture of shame and desire.

He dropped his hand. Her bottom prickled and tingled, not unpleasantly. Her pussy felt hot and wet. She kept her eyes clamped closed, her ears pitched for signs of what he was doing in the silence. Then the folded leather strap touched her ass. He ran it over the smarting flesh in circles. Her clit pinched in anticipation. She clamped her teeth.

It was going to hurt. She dreaded it. She needed it.

“Hold steady,” Ian said. He lifted the leather and struck gently several times. She knew from having done this with him before they were just test strokes as he got the feel for the instrument he used. He lifted the belt. Her muscles tensed. Then it came, that quick, bright flash of pain, more concentrated than what came from the paddle or the flogger. She whimpered. Her hips moved, but not to escape another blow. From arousal.

“Shhh,” he murmured, and his hand was there, soothing the stinging flesh, caressing her bottom. “Okay?” he asked after a moment of rubbing her.

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. She waited, her anticipation so sharp it cut at her. Whoosh. He landed the belt again and she gasped. Immediately, his hand was there, easing the pain, mounting her need until all she craved was another strike of the belt. It was unbearable. It was exquisite . . . and just what she needed.

After five strikes, she was moaning uncontrollably in rabid arousal. He paused after landing a blow on the tender area of her buttocks just above her thighs. He palmed her from below tautly, and then abruptly released the stinging flesh, jiggling it, making her moan harder.

“Stand up straight,” Ian said, his voice sounding strained. She backed away from the post. “Put your hands behind your head, elbows out, and face me.”

She did what he said, her breathing erratic. When she turned toward him, the vision of him undid her. She shut her eyes defensively. He looked unbearably beautiful to her in his tuxedo pants with his dress shirt open at the collar, his sleeves rolled back displaying his strong forearms, his masculine hand gripping the belt. He stepped toward her and ran the folded strap of leather along her waist, her ribs, and the outer curve of a breast.

“Open your eyes, Francesca,” he demanded quietly.

“No,” she said shakily, determined to keep some tiny part of herself inviolate. Safe. She’d given all of herself once, and felt the consequence every second of her life. The caressing leather stilled on her breast, and then fell away. She sensed him crossing in front of her. He placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Bend over and spread your thighs. Present your bottom. Keep your hands on your head,” he said sharply when she started to lower them as she bent. “I’ll steady you with my hand.”

The belt struck her ass. She whimpered. Her thighs quivered. She felt very exposed and vulnerable in this position.

“It’s okay,” she heard Ian say roughly, his hand rubbing her stinging ass. “Just two more strokes like that, and then you’ll feel relief.” His hand lowered between her thighs. She cried out in acute pleasure when he burrowed a thick finger between her labia and stimulated her clit. The burn didn’t amplify slowly, it was suddenly full-blown at coming into contact with his rigid finger. She lurched forward at the unexpected, sharp sensation, but he caught her with his hand at her shoulder.

“That’s right,” she heard him say as he rubbed her clit, his voice that familiar rough-gentle paradox. “You’re going to come for me and let it all go. Give all the responsibility to me.”

“Oh,” she moaned uncontrollably, the sting of her ass somehow amplifying the sizzle of her clit. It was delicious. Untenable. Then his hand was gone from her sex and the belt bit again at her ass. She cried out at the jolt of pain, the thrill of peaking ecstasy. He lowered the hand from her shoulder and used it to part her burning buttocks, further exposing her to him. She trembled when he ran the leather over her damp outer sex, and then along the cleft between the cheeks, teasing her asshole. The anticipation was killing her.

He once again put his hand on her shoulder. She heard the leather whooshing in the air. The belt struck her ass, cracking in her ears like a gunshot. She was keening uncontrollably, on the very edge of orgasm. She felt the leather fall past the back of her thighs to the floor and he was pulling her against him, the front of his pants pressing tightly against her, grinding her hip and buttock against his furious erection, his hand plunging between her thighs.

“Come . . . and keep it coming.”

She ignited at his touch, exploding in orgasm. His harsh words echoed distantly in her ears as pleasure shook her in intense waves. Come and keep it coming. His hand moved between her thighs, the tension snapping back into her muscles each time after she shuddered in release. Why wasn’t it stopping? Oh God, it’d never felt so good. So awful. So divine.

By the time her orgasm finally did begin to wane, he had to hold her tightly against his body, still supporting her at the shoulder in order to keep her from slithering to the floor. Her legs had gone weak; her flesh transformed to quivering mush. She panted for air as he encouraged her to straighten, then he was lifting her feet off the floor. The front of her body pressed against him, her belly heaving against his abdomen, her pussy quivering against his erection. His hand opened at the side of her face, cupping her cheek and jaw.

“I’m sorry. It was necessary. But I’m still sorry.”

She blinked and brought his handsome face into focus. He looked rigid with need.

“I’m not. It was why I came,” she rasped, her tongue and lips moving with extreme effort.

His jaw tightened; his gaze grew wild. “Come here,” he said, even though he was carrying her and she really had no other choice to go wherever he took her.

He set her down before an upholstered, cushiony chair and immediately went to retrieve the sleek, padded armchair that sat before his desk. He placed it just behind her, so that she was between the two chairs. Francesca stood there panting, still a little dazed from her intense orgasm. The next thing she knew, Ian was sitting in the cushiony chair, long legs bent and thighs slightly spread, and reaching for her. He turned her before he pulled her into his lap, so that her bottom faced him.

“Put your knees in the cushion next to my legs and your hands on the seat of the desk chair in front of you,” he said, his voice sounding rough. “I can’t take it a second longer. I have to taste you.”

His tense command penetrated her disorientation. She took the position he desired, guided by his touch. When she’d settled, she was on her hands and knees, her lower half on the cushioned chair where Ian sat, her hands bracing her upper body on the wooden chair. He put his hands on her ass, which was just inches from his face. She sensed his need when he immediately parted her cheeks, opening her molten sex to him.

“Send up your tailbone,” he said gruffly, swatting a buttock.

She moaned, fresh arousal spiking through her, and arched her back, sending up her ass to give him better access to her pussy. She cried out when he slid his tongue between her labia and began to agitate her clit. He lapped at her from the top tip of her clit to her slit. She shook when he pushed his tongue into her pussy and fucked her with it for an electrical moment, massaging her buttocks in his hands while he ladled her juices into his mouth and groaned in harsh appreciation.

After he’d gotten his fill, he sent his tongue back between her labia, lashing at her clit until she bit off a scream. It was sublime. So intense, it was unbearable. She writhed and keened brokenly. His fingers bit into her sore bottom, holding her in place for his marauding mouth. He leaned forward, pushing closer, burying his lower face in her wet, aroused sex. His hold was absolute . . . unwavering. She had to take every bit of the massive pleasure he conferred as he drank his fill of her. When he sucked firmly while he twisted his head back and forth and whipped her clit with his tongue, she broke in orgasm. The pleasure was so intense, her elbows gave way and she grazed her forehead on the hard wood of the seat before she caught herself. He responded by grabbing her waist and ribs firmly and leaning back in the chair, pulling her back against him. She slid onto his thighs, so that her breasts pressed against his knees and her head fell over the edge of them. He continued to eat her relentlessly the whole time, pressing his mouth tightly to her climaxing pussy, squeezing her buttocks and occasionally slapping one, ramping up her orgasm.