House-Sitting

(c)2006 by Josh Cohen. May not be reprinted, except for personal use.

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HOUSE-SITTING

*

The problem with trying to be crafty is that, on occasion, it backfires in a most spectacular fashion. Fortunately, being the top means that I get to be the one who benefits from said backfires.

Our friends have two large dogs. Each one weighs between eighty and one hundred pounds; they’re beautiful black Labrador Retrievers. They’re also very needy dogs. They love to get up on the couch and put their heads in unoccupied laps and look up with soulful brown eyes until the owner of the lap capitulates and makes with the petting.

We, on the other hand, have no pets. Nothing at our townhouse to tie us down if we go on vacation.

Our friends, on the other hand, need someone to watch the dogs. It’s not a hardship for us to house-sit, especially for just a weekend trip. Our friends wanted a weekend away from everything; they bought plane tickets and spirited themselves to Las Vegas.

We live in a townhouse. We have to be careful about making too much noise; we do have an end unit, but when our next-door neighbors are home we need to make sure we don’t do anything that disturbs them. Naturally, I fell in love with a screamer. Naturally, I’m an audiophile. We work well together.

But we also make a lot of noise. And when I’ve got her bent over the arm of the couch, fucking her hard and fast, nothing kills the mood more quickly than a knock on the door from the police.

I’ve been in the scene a long time. I’ve amassed quite a selection of toys and implements. She brought some of her own to the relationship. Between the two of us, we fill an entire three-drawer bureau with what could be called marital aids, if one was feeling generous. Some of them actually are marital aids, come to think of it; Kelly had been going through quite a drought before she started seeing me, and there’s one blue vibrator that lives on our bedside table except for when we have guests.

I do worry a little when we go on trips; I worry that we’re going to leave behind a particularly-valuable – monetary or sentimental – toy and never see it again. So we have to be careful. Kelly gets one vibrator, one plug, and one set of clamps. We also only bring one obvious implement. Bondage is accomplished using ties and belts – of which I always bring extra – and there’s plenty of items in both our suitcases that can be used for punishment: the aforementioned belts, flip-flop shoes, slippers, her large plastic hairbrush, my smaller wooden one… and that’s just what I can think of off the top of my head.

We’re only forty-five minutes from home; it’s not like we couldn’t go back and fetch something. But just as it’s a vacation for our friends, it’s a vacation for us. They have a huge house, a pool surrounded by stucco fencing and thick bushes, and no neighbors within a tenth of a mile. And a master bathroom more opulent than anything I’ve seen anywhere else. I wonder if they haven’t already figured out why we’re so quick to hustle them on their way.

I hadn’t been in the mood to make a decision, so I told Kelly that the last implement I punished her with before we left would be the implement she was punished with all weekend. She was very good on Wednesday and Thursday; just a couple of hand-spankings for being a brat – as cliché as it sounds, I believe in returning the favor when someone becomes a pain in my ass.

But then she was late coming home on Friday.

I’m not an unreasonable person; if she calls ahead of time and tells me she’s going to be late, I know it’s not her fault and I know when to expect her. We are expected at our friends’ house by six that evening, and Kelly was to be home by four.

When she bursts through the door at five minutes past five, I am already on the living-room sofa, the Paddle in my hand.

She drops her purse, shocked. She drops to her knees, shocked. She pleads for me to use something else, anything else. She tells me we’ll be even later.

I point to the kitchen chair I’d placed in the center of the living room.

Her eyes fill with tears.

That never works.

Kelly doesn’t actually like being spanked; she enjoys the endorphins released by the pain, she enjoys the submission, she enjoys the personal dynamic, she especially enjoys being comforted afterward. But she hates the actual receiving of the spankings, perhaps less than the anticipation, but she hates it nonetheless.

When I use the Paddle on her, she has to be gagged; the noise is simply too loud. Lucky for us – and for them – our next-door neighbors don’t come home until six, so any spankings she needs can be provided before they get home. But with the Paddle, she sometimes screams loudly enough to wake the dead. Better safe.

She’s trembling when I get to her, but she stills when I place my hand on her lower back. I hear a sniff and then a muffled gulp, and I know she’s putting the gag into her mouth. I move her hair – long, somewhat wavy, a brown she calls “boring” – and buckle the gag behind her head.

Kelly has narrow wrists and slender fingers. When she grips the seat of the chair, the skin over her knuckles goes white. I can see her bones shift under her flesh. But only for a moment. I move behind her, lift up her long black skirt, revealing muscular legs – she’d been a gymnast, an alternate for a championship team, once upon a time – that flared out into wide hips. Kelly is slender, no question about it, but her hips are the hips of a much larger woman. Her bottom – displayed slowly as I slide down plain black cotton panties – is very soft, and I resist the urge to nip at it or caress it. This is, after all, punishment.

All this time, the Paddle has been leaning against the side of the kitchen chair, quietly menacing, and I’ve noticed Kelly not looking at it, consciously avoiding it. It’s kind of cute. But when I take the handle in my hand I see the pale flesh of her bottom and thighs tighten, and I place my free hand on her lower back once more to still her.

“Six strokes,” I say, my voice quietly firm.

She knows by now not to beg for me to change my mind. Her grip shifts on the bottom of the chair as I place the cool, polished wood gently against the undercurve of her bottom cheeks. I hear her gasp when I draw the Paddle back and slowly, softly tap the place where all six strokes will land.

And yet, despite herself, she’s aroused enough by the power play that I can taste a hint of it when I breathe.

Kelly’s eyes were still puffy and she was still sniffling when we finally got into the car. Being only slightly over five feet tall meant that she could stretch out on the backseat with her bottom exposed and still be comfortable, rather than having to sit on it the whole ride over. Of course, that also meant I could occasionally look back while we waited at red lights, watching the bullseye-shaped marks change by the minute. One large circle on the lower part of each cheek.

I would’ve held her longer, but we really did have to go. Of course, at half-past-four, I’d called our friends, told them we were running late, reminded them I had a copy of their key on my keychain, and wished them well. I’d also loaded our two suitcases into the trunk, set the timers on the lights, and packed up my laptop; Kelly’s was in her trunk, and it was but a moment’s work to move it to mine. But five minutes of feeling her compact form shaking against me as I held her tightly, her tears soaking the front of my shirt, as much as we both needed it, was almost too long to wait. We were already late.

Halfway into the ride, I asked her if she understood why she’d been punished.

“Yes.”

I don’t make her call me Sir or Master; that’s always made me a little uncomfortable, perhaps because I haven’t quite hit thirty yet.

“Do you have a reason for not calling me?”

“No.”

“You have a phone. Your office has a phone. Would it have been so difficult to take five minutes to let me know you were running late?”

“No.” I could hear her voice quivering. She dislikes being scolded, but she knows it’s part of her punishment. I dislike scolding her, but I know she needs it.

“Are you going to apologize for making us late?”

“I… I’m s-sorry for making us… l-late.”

At that point, I reached back and found her hand with one of mine; her fingers curled around mine and squeezed tightly.

“I forgive you.”

She let out a long, slow exhalation of breath.

“That really hurt.”

I laughed. “Of course it did. If it felt good, it wouldn’t be much of a punishment, would it?”

“Well, no.” I can hear the smile in her voice, even though her cheek is still pressed against the cushioned seat. “But did you have to use the Paddle?”

“To punish you for something you’d been warned about numerous times?” I moved the car into the right lane, the transition ramp to the next expressway. “Especially since we were expected somewhere at a certain time? You bet I did.”

On a straight part of the ramp, I glanced quickly over my shoulder; Kelly’s face was contrite.

“Of course,” I continued, accelerating onto the highway, “you realize this means you’ll be getting the Paddle every time you misbehave this weekend.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know her face had gone white. And I didn’t have to hear her to know she was making a promise to herself to behave like an angel for the next two-and-a-half days.

The dogs had been walked – they were more than overjoyed, in their own doggy way, to see us; they know we love animals despite not having any of our own – and dinner had been ordered from the same Chinese delivery we always ordered from when we were over here. Kelly’d gone out to the pool and set the Jacuzzi; I couldn’t begrudge her that, given the condition her bottom was in.

Still, we had half an hour before the food arrived, plenty of time to obtain photographic evidence of her paddling. As uncomfortable as the scolding made her, as much as the punishments made her cry, she was never shy about showing off to me. She didn’t mind when I told her to take off her clothes, and I thoroughly enjoyed watching her skirt and panties puddle around her ankles, her nimble fingers unbuttoning her dark-blue blouse and shrugging it off, then unhooking the front clasp of her bra and shrugging it off as well. She bent to remove the ankle-high boots she’d been wearing, but I held up a hand. “Leave them on for now.”

There was quite a lot of promise in the smile she gave me for that one.

Arranging her was simple; our friends have a large, high-backed leather couch, black and supple. I helped Kelly drape herself over the back, and slid a footstool under her toes; she still had to stretch up onto them, but at least she had some support. I stood behind her, running my fingers over the marks, scratching gently at the bright redness around them, listening to Kelly’s gasps of what she meant to be pain but, judging from the warmth between her legs, actually were gasps of repressed delight.

I took about two dozen pictures from several angles, the digital camera beeping sedately each time I hit the shutter button. My favorite from that stash is still straight-on behind Kelly, her legs closed, the circular bruises from her paddling in sharp relief to the uniform red everywhere else on her bottom. It was that one I left on the camera’s display screen as I set it in front of her, on the seat of the couch, then moved behind her again, resting my slacks against her rear.

“Do we have enough time?” she asked, her voice dripping with arousal.

“Probably.” I unbuckled my pants and pushed them and my shorts down past my thighs. “We’ll just have to find out.”

Kelly pushed back against me, hissing as her bottom bumped my lower stomach, the object of her desire a few inches too low, but not so low that I couldn’t feel the heat coming from her.

“What do you say?”

It was a low moan. “Please?”

I positioned the head against her, my thumb just touching the bullseye on her cheek, keeping her from bucking backward. “Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

I’d like to say I could’ve spent the rest of the evening without punishing Kelly again, but the girl has a bratty streak that surprises me more often than not, especially given the fact that she knows what comes after she misbehaves. But even after the long, mutually-satisfying fuck – mutually-satisfying even though it was interrupted by a cold nose pressed to the back of my left calf halfway through, mutually-satisfying even though I had to stop and hurriedly pull up my pants so I could meet the Chinese food deliveryman at the door – and the relaxed dinner on the patio, she evidently still had some of the devil in her.

Dinner had been so nice, too. The dogs laid at our feet, and we occasionally would pass them bits of chicken or beef or pork. Despite the cushioned patio chairs, Kelly had been shifting uncomfortably – understandable, given the condition her bottom was in – but it hadn’t much affected her conversation.

After dinner, I tapped a pre-rolled joint out of my cigarette case – I do smoke cigarettes on occasion, though not as frequently as I used to – and lit it, drawing the first lungful of smoke before handing it to Kelly, who did the same. Three hits later, I decided to stand up and stand by the pool. One of the dogs brought me a battered tennis ball, and I tossed it across the large yard; the dog bounded off after it.

Kelly moved to stand beside me and handed me the joint; I took another hit and passed it back as the dog trotted back and dropped the now-sodden ball at my feet.

“I’m not picking that up,” I said slowly. The dog sat and stared up at me, blinking huge mahogany eyes. I reached down to ruffle the fur behind his ears and his tail started waving over the pool, just over the water’s surface.

“He won’t leave you alone,” Kelly informed me. “Whenever Susan and I are out here, one of us has to throw that disgusting thing.”

“Then you throw it.”

She sighed theatrically and bent over to retrieve the ball; the dog shuffled to his feet and, after she threw it – the girl has a hell of a fastball; I’m better with a football – streaked away in pursuit.

Together, taking turns finishing off the last of the joint, we watched the last of the sunset reflecting off the surface of the pool. “It must cost a fortune to get this thing cleaned all the time.” My voice was becoming lazier.

“Probably.” Kelly leaned against me, and I draped my arm over her shoulder. Following our intimate activities inside, she’d only put back on her blouse and skirt – and I’d only pulled up my pants, leaving my shirt off – so when the side of my hand brushed the side of her breast, I had the distinct pleasure of feeling her twitch beside me.

Which was immediately followed by the not-so-pleasurable feeling of being shoved into the pool.

I break the surface, spitting water, and pull off my glasses, shaking them in the still-warm night air. When I put them back on, Kelly is smiling, her lips pressed together. But when I lever myself up onto the side of the pool and out of the water, I see her repressed laughter evaporate before my eyes. “You’d think you’d remember the deal.”

“Deal?” Her pupils are larger than normal, but her brown eyes are so dark that it would be impossible to see that fact unless one were standing directly in front of her. Which I am.

“The last implement you get punished with is the one you get it with all weekend.”

Her face goes white and she reaches up to hug me, but I catch her wrists in my hands and even though she tries to writhe away at first, the look on my face ends her struggles far more quickly than anything else I could have done.

“You have one minute,” I say, my voice low and dark, “to go into the house and get a towel for each of us. And the Paddle. Your clothes can stay inside.”

“But… but…”

“Fifty-five seconds,” I say idly, unbuckling my slacks and pushing them down, shucking the soaked garment. Lucky for Kelly, my shoes are still inside the house.

She hasn’t moved. “Forty-five seconds.”

Now she moves. The dogs trot inside after her and I close the door behind them.

Amazingly, Kelly returns with about five seconds to spare; she sets the towels on one of the patio chairs and then plods toward me, feet moving like they’re made of lead, the Paddle resting on both her palms. Her head is bowed, eyes staring at the white cool-concrete patio floor, presenting the Paddle to me as if she was serving me a dish.

I take the Paddle from her hands and swing it through the air a couple of times. She cringes.

“In the pool,” I say.

Kelly looks up. “Excuse me?” It’s not said rudely, it’s an honest question.

“In. The. Pool.” We’re close enough to the edge that I can lift her up and toss her in.

She surfaces and slaps the surface of the water. “It’s cold!”

“I can see that.” While she was inside, I turned on the pool lights, and in the rippling blue-whiteness her nipples are visibly peaked.

With strong motions, Kelly swims to the steps and stands on the second one; she gathers up her mass of hair in both hands and twists it, wicking out the water. I step down into the pool, moving past her, and pat the tiled edge. “Over.”

Her face, when she turns to me, is full of worry. “I… I…”

I cup her right cheek with my free hand; she nuzzles against me. “What?”

“Please… it’s outside… and…”

“And you’ll scream. I know.” I point to the tile again. “Figure something out.”

“Please… I’m still sore…”

“You’ve earned yourself two extra strokes already,” I say mildly, tapping the Paddle against my palm. “Any more dissent and you’ll earn ten.”

That works. She shuffles along the second step, which turns into a bench along this side of the pool, and bends over the edge, her face resting on her crossed arms. In the diffuse coming from the pool, I examine her bottom: she has a lovely bruise, not livid but still easy to see, forming on the underside of each cheek. Mentally I adjust what I’m going to do to her, to ensure that I don’t break the skin; there’s no way she’s getting out of this, but there’s also no way I’m going to smack her as hard as I did back at our house two hours ago.

Was it really only two hours? I have to guess; my watch is on the table, with the remnants of dinner. Kelly is shaking, a fine trembling in her shoulders. I sit on the edge of the pool and rub her back, her smooth skin damp and cool under my fingers. “Sorry you pushed me in the pool?”

“Very,” I hear, her voice muffled; I know her lips are pressed firmly against her forearm.

“I was planning to go swimming with you tonight regardless. Among other things.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is very small now.

“Twelve strokes,” I say. “Do you want the worst of it at the beginning or at the end?”

“The end,” she whispers.

I lean forward and slap the end of the Paddle against the top of her left cheek, and her smothered yelp is nonetheless louder than I think she expected. It doesn’t stop me, though; doesn’t slow my pace, doesn’t change the intensity. The next nine strokes are delivered the same way, with the end of the Paddle, right above her existing bruises. I know she won’t have more bruises, but that part of each cheek will be an alarming shade of crimson.

For the last two, I slip into the pool, tapping the undersides of her cheeks with the length of the Paddle. She starts, nearly gets up, but she knows that would only result in more. Still, I can hear her crying intensify, her sobs choked off as she presses her mouth to her arm.

I deliver the last two strokes quickly, the doubled echo of wood smacking flesh quite loud, even as the solid, high sound of a scream into Kelly’s arm reaches my ears. Immediately I set the Paddle on the concrete and stand up on the step, helping Kelly to her feet. She knows that rubbing or touching her bottom in any way would bring a fresh explosion of pain, so she puts her arms around me, short nails nonetheless digging into my lower back as she holds on, fighting the urge to touch.

I would say that the feeling of her body full-length against mine caused me to grow hard against her stomach, but that would be a lie; punishing Kelly turns me on, and when she hugged me, it pressed my erection between our bodies. She knows about this, and she accepts it; I know it doesn’t turn her on, and I accept that. When she’s ready, she’ll do something so obvious that I won’t be able to miss it.

“If I have a bruise on my arm,” she murmurs between sobs, her lips on my chest, “it’s your fault.”

“Let me see.”

She brings her left arm around – she’s left-handed, so it would only make sense that she’d go for her primary side – and shows it to me. In the flesh of her forearm, I find a perfectly-matched set of bite marks. I draw her arm to my mouth and kiss it gently, running the flat of my tongue over the small depressions.

Kelly’s right arm drops to the base of my spine and pulls me more tightly against her. I can feel her heart thundering in her chest as her breasts shift between our bodies, her nipples hard enough to actually cause me a tiny bit of discomfort.

This is the obvious thing.

I stepped out of the pool and held out my hand to Kelly, “helping” her out of the water and escorting her to the Jacuzzi. It’s not part of the pool; it’s a separate entity, large enough to hold ten people comfortably or twice that many if there’s an orgy being planned – that latter bit is a guess; I’ve never been in an orgy. The sides are wood-paneled, and inside, every surface is smooth but for the tiny indentations of air bubblers or the larger circles of the water jets. I touched the controls on the side of the Jacuzzi, setting everything to low, and gently escorted Kelly into the warm water. She hissed as it touched her bruised bottom, but allowed herself to submerge up to her neck, her knees bent.

I followed her in, moving behind her, sitting on one of the submerged bucket seats. “Come here,” I said softly over the bubbling; she turned around and started to move in my direction, but I held up a hand. “Turn around.”

Her brown eyes went wide. “Why?”

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Not even if I want you to?” Her voice was light as she turned back around and scooted up onto my lap, my erection hard as it pressed between the cheeks of her sore bottom. She moaned and, despite what I knew had to be quite a large amount of pain, ground herself into me.

I put my arms around Kelly and, with my left hand, tipped her head back; her hair was a living thing as it swirled over my shoulder, but it left the side of her neck bare, and I leaned my head forward to run my lips over her.

She pushed against me more insistently, but I was still trapped between her cheeks, and despite both of us being well under the water, she was definitely not lubricated enough for me to take her ass.

When my teeth dug into her, into the junction of her neck and shoulder, she made a valiant effort nonetheless, and to both our immense surprise, the head popped past her opening and into her ass.

I took my mouth away from her neck. “Are you all right?”

“Just don’t move,” she whispered, barely audible.

“At all? Or just that?”

Kelly actually laughed. “Do I have to spell everything out for you?”

“Only because it’s so hot when you do.”

Another laugh. “Don’t move your cock any deeper into my ass. Otherwise, you can move.”

“Good,” I murmured, my arms floating in front of Kelly’s chest. “Because I’m thinking about what you said, about maybe you wanting me to hurt you.”

“Maybe?”

My hands closed on her breasts, then found the tight points of her nipples and pinched. Hard. She moaned, loud enough to be heard three blocks away – or so it seemed – and pressed back against me again. For a brief instant I considered letting her do it, knowing how wonderful it would feel, but I didn’t want to hurt her that way, especially since I had plans of exploring this opening in detail later on.

“What?” Her voice was quavery and a little confused.

“It would hurt too much.”

“You sure?”

I nodded and kissed the curve of her ear, the edge of the shell. “I’m sure.”

“I could get off.”

“You will be getting off, don’t you worry.”

She laughed again and I felt her shift, felt her brace herself and pull off me.

“Let me go clean up,” I said, “and then we can do this right.”

“All right.” She floated forward.

As I got up and climbed out of the Jacuzzi, I turned back and said, “by the way, I expect to find you using these jets when I get back. But don’t come.”

Kelly pouted at me, and I smiled before walking toward the bathroom door; the house has two bathrooms that connect to the patio, as well as the living room door, and I’d made sure to unlock the one that went to the bathroom we’d be using.
Inside, I ran some water on a washcloth and squirted soap into it, then ran the rough-feeling cloth over my length. Out of habit, I soaped my hands and washed them too, then stole away to the guest bedroom and returned with the plug Kelly had chosen to bring. It was one of the smaller ones, tapered, with a wide circular flange at the base. I took the lubricant out of our toiletry bag and slathered plenty on the toy, then carried both items out to the patio.

Kelly was on her knees, her breasts visible over the edge of the Jacuzzi; from where she’d chosen to kneel, I knew there was a jet pointed directly at her sex. “Up and over,” I said, and as she stood up and obeyed – without question, since she knew this wouldn’t be a punishment – I caught the obvious expression of need on her face.

I climbed into the pool behind her and touched my lips to each of the mottled bruises on her bottom. She shivered, but not with fear, only a little discomfort and a lot of pleasant anticipation. I coated two fingers with the lubricant, then dribbled more of it between her cheeks, my free hand spreading them, the plug on the edge of the Jacuzzi. She pressed backward, and my fingers slipped easily into her. They didn’t always; in the beginning, Kelly had been leery about so much time spent on her ass, but over several months, she came to realize that if I enjoyed doing it and she enjoyed having it done, what was the reason to worry?

With her insides coated and slick, it was easy for her to take the plug in one smooth motion; she tried to get up, but I rested my palm on her lower back. “What is it?”

I leaned down and ran my lips along the edge of her sex, and she shuddered, letting out a low moan that, had I not already been hard, would have brought me there in mere moments. As it was, I had to stop anyway; the water jet was insistently pressing between my legs, and I definitely didn’t want to be coming any time soon.

We ended up with me sitting in the same bucket seat, Kelly standing with one foot in the Jacuzzi, one foot on the edge, my hands holding her thighs, my mouth working between her legs. I never minded this; in fact, I rather enjoyed it. But in this particular position, I had to fight the urge to sneeze from Kelly’s damp hairs pressing against my nose.

I didn’t end up tasting her for long; she warned me she was close, asked me for permission to come, but I shook my head, nipping at her clit before easing her back into the water.

The moans of pleasure changed very quickly into the moans of annoyance. But only for a moment, only until I settled her into my lap and pulled her down, sheathing myself inside her in one quick movement. Her answering yelp of delight nearly deafened me, as her mouth was next to my ear, but I didn’t mind. I was used to it, and to the growling moans as I took her nipples between my fingers again and squeezed them tightly. Her body went rigid and she begged me to let her come.

I shook my head. I knew she was close – very close – but this was all part of the power play.

She shook her head back at me, but I didn’t think she knew she was doing it; it was her way of trying to keep from coming as I applied pressure to her nipples, something I knew she loved. I bent my head and took her left one in my mouth, laving it gently with my tongue, my fingers tight on the other, and she writhed, grinding against me, little gasping moans saying “please” each time her bottom bumped my thighs under the water.

It was bringing me close. But I knew she was closer. As long as I wanted this to last, I also wanted us to come together. I released Kelly’s nipples and carried us across the Jacuzzi, to the seat where she’d been taking full advantage of the high-powered water jet.

It was still turned on.

I adjusted our positions so that it was aimed at the place where we joined; each time she shifted downward, it blew past me, finding the sensitive place behind my balls, and I shuddered and thrust up into Kelly, taking her head in my hands and pulling her face to mine. “Now come,” I whispered before pressing my lips to her mouth. They parted easily and our tongues found each other as the water churned around us, her escalating moans sharpening as I swallowed them, her sex pulsing around me each time I drove into her.

It was luck, nothing more, that on that final stroke, at the moment she clamped down and came, a sharp scream echoing inside my mouth as I caressed her tongue, I slipped, and the jet’s position changed, shooting between my cheeks. I jumped, grabbing Kelly around the waist and breaking our kiss, crying out once as I spurted rope after rope of come into her and she dug her heels into my lower back, grinding her clit against me, the throbbing of her sex in time with the throbbing of my flesh, her arms around my shoulders, mouth at my neck, tongue flickering over my pulse as the last of my orgasm dribbled its way into her.

We floated in the center of the Jacuzzi, locked together for several minutes, kissing each others lips and necks and shoulders with a soft passion, until she had the presence of mind to suggest that we not separate until we got out.

“Why?” My voice was low and heavy.

“Do you want to be the one to have to drain this thing and clean it?”

“There is,” I said, standing up as straight as I could on wobbly legs, “a certain logic to your position.” Kelly tightened her legs around me as I stepped up onto the bench and sat on the edge. “This okay?”

“Should be,” she said quietly. I leaned back and Kelly rolled quickly off me and onto the concrete floor, a tight grip on my hand the only thing keeping her from falling. I heard water splattering on the flooring and looked over. “Are you waiting for something?”

I shook my head. “Want to take a shower?”

“Want to take one with me?”

I had to smile. “I would love to, but I don’t think I can handle you just yet. You go on ahead. I’ll let the dogs out and clean up out here.”

Kelly nodded and leaned down to kiss my damp forehead. “I’ll see you inside.” I watched her compact form, bruised bottom shifting, as she walked down the patio, into the bathroom.

The first thing I did after letting the dogs out was to retrieve the Paddle and make sure it wasn’t damaged. Not as though the lacquered surface could be harmed by water, but still, I liked to make sure. But it was fine; the length of dark wood, as long as my forearm and at least a quarter that wide, a half-inch thick tool of what could only be called torture, had survived yet another application.

And, I was sure, would survive plenty more.

The sound I heard through the closed bathroom door as I gathered up the detritus of dinner assured that.

My job is an early-morning one; I work from five to one. As such, even when on vacation, I wake up early, although not usually before the sun is up. The early morning rays, though, were just sliding through the guest-room window when my eyes opened. I pulled on my glasses and looked over at Kelly, who was mostly on her stomach, one knee pulled up, the other leg straight down. Though she was a blanket hog at night, she more often than not discarded them by morning, and I had leave to simply look at her.

Subjectively, Kelly was the loveliest woman I’d ever seen. Objectively, I could see where her complaints stemmed from: she had a pretty, delicate face, although her nose was slightly larger than expected; she had a compact, well-muscled form, although her complaints about her breasts being too small were understood – they were less than a handful, although they fit her frame well and had intensely-sensitive nipples; she had a wide, soft bottom, and although it didn’t fit her size, I most definitely enjoyed it. Especially when it had mottled dark-purple bruises where they would do the most good – the unasked-for orgasm had earned her another two swats, which had earned me a scream of pain that bounced around the tiled bathroom.

But I would never complain about the way Kelly looked: her face, her body, her bottom, all of it was perfect to me. The dark-brown hair she complained was too plain, the dark-brown eyes she complained were too boring, the wide mouth that twitched with hidden smiles; I loved all of it. All of her.

I turned onto my side and moved against her, my erection pressed down to nestle between the cheeks of her bottom, the smooth flange of the plug rubbing against me. With one hand, I reached down to tease the end of the toy, moving it from side to side inside her. I knew it probably wasn’t fair that I was waking her up, but this house-sitting trip was definitely a vacation, and if I couldn’t wake the woman I loved to make love to her, then it wasn’t worth calling a vacation.

Kelly shifted and her body tensed; I knew she was awake. “Hi,” she mumbled.

“Hi yourself.” I pressed a kiss to her shoulder and caressed the bruises on her bottom with one hand.

She practically purred. She didn’t much care for the process of being punished, but she certainly enjoyed the remnants. “You want something, don’t you.” It was not a question.

“I think there’s only one thing we didn’t do last night.” My lips pressed against her collarbone, then her neck. I nipped at the skin there and she pressed backward, into my hand, hissing in a pleased fashion as I compressed the skin around her bruises.

“I certainly can’t reach it in this position.”

“I suppose not.” I rolled onto my back and she rose to her knees, stretching; I could almost see the lines of her ribs as she bent backward easily, knees still bent, feet tucked under her, until her back was flat on the bed. “That’s always impressive, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She clenched her stomach muscles and shifted to a kneeling position, then leaned over and took me into her mouth in one deep, long swallow. I’m not overly well-endowed – nothing to write home about in the length or thickness departments – but nonetheless I both heard and felt Kelly gag slightly as the head brushed her throat. Her hand cupped her hair and rubbed silkily between my legs, over my inner thighs and the spaces between. I made a small sound of pleasure deep in my throat and she answered with one of her own that almost made me sit up with delighted surprise.

“I think you’re wet enough now,” she whispered after pulling away, her breath warm over me. I watched her back as she moved to straddle my thighs, then reached back and slowly extracted the plug from her bottom. I scrabbled around with my right arm and found the lubricant, squirting a bit of it onto my fingers and then pressing those fingers into her bottom. She moaned and pressed back against me; I could feel how slick she still was on the inside.

I took my hand away and pushed up on my elbows so I could watch as Kelly lowered her bottom onto me, her hands spreading her cheeks so I could see my length disappear into her, inch by inch, until the tight ring of muscle between her cheeks gripped the base of my shaft. Then, even more slowly, she rose upward, and in the morning sunlight I could see the glistening flesh, eventually all but the head.

When she let go of her cheeks I wasn’t surprised at what happened next, but feeling her drive her hips downward and engulf me in one scalding wave is never anything to complain about. Nor was watching her bend backward, feet still planted on either side of my thighs, until her back was against my chest.

I found her hands, encircled each slender wrist with my fingers, and held her arms over her head. She tried to writhe away, but I made a small, negative noise, and instantly she was passive. The dynamic of our relationship is like that: she knows when to be a sub and when not to.

With deliberate movements, I tucked Kelly’s arms under mine, her elbows bent around my upper arms. The position left her open and vulnerable. Not that I was planning to do anything to her, but the vulnerability itself had her dripping. I could feel it.

Twitching my hips upward and thrusting into her bottom from underneath had her dripping even more.

Kelly moves with me, slams her hips backward to meet every thrust, her moans becoming more guttural. She doesn’t often come this way, and without either my fingers or hers between her legs, odds are good she won’t. But she knows she will come later, and in spades. That’s probably why she doesn’t mind it now. That, and thinking she knows what’s to come.

I move my hips faster, slamming into her bruised bottom, her moans interspersed with mewls of pain – the bruises are very tender, almost twenty-four hours removed. Her body is locked against mine; from the waist up, she isn’t even trying to move. My mouth is close to her ear.

“Tell me what you want,” I whisper.

She moans the word “come”, over and over, the sound almost hiccupped by the force I’m using as I plunge into her.

“Where do you want it?” Another whisper, harsher; we both know I’m getting close.

“A… any… anywhere!” She has to force the word out.

I drive into her again and hold her to me. “Do you want my come in your ass?”

She moans. She knows I’m purposely tormenting her now, and she plays along, squeezing my entire length as I rest sheathed inside her.

“Or do you want me to come all over you?”

This moan is different. I’m not sure what it means.

“I can wait here all day, Kelly, until you tell me exactly how you want it.”

She hisses between her teeth. “Hold me down,” she murmurs, grinding her bottom against me. “Hold me down and make me yours.”

I nip at her neck before sitting up and turning onto my side, then onto my stomach, her compact body beneath mine. “Like this?”

She nods, pressing her face into the sheet.

I begin moving, slowly and languidly, but it’s a farce. I’m too close to the edge to stop at this point. “Beg for it,” I whisper as I quicken the pace.

“Please,” she whispers, obedient to the last.

“Louder, Kelly. I know you can be louder.”

My hands are caged over her upper arms; she can’t move. Each time I thrust into her, she rubs against the bed, trying to get herself closer. “Please,” she says, this time loud enough, but barely coherent, “please come, please come, my ass, fuck, please, please, make me yours, please come!” That last is almost a cry as I slam into her, hitting all of her bruises, and press her harder into the bed as I come, bursting into her ass with thick stream after thick stream. I pull her arms over her head, hold her wrists in one hand, and pull us onto our sides so that with my free hand I can touch her clit.

She yowls. “Please!”

“Come,” I tell her, my thumb caressing her clit.

The tightness of her ass as she comes on my hand is almost painful, wringing every last bit of my come out of me, but it’s a good kind of pain, the kind that means my love is getting what she wants as well.

Kelly came down slowly, breath hitching in little gasps; her entire lower body throbbed for several minutes. It was sheer force of will for me to keep from slipping out of her, but I didn’t want to leave the hot tightness of her bottom, not just yet.

She took my right hand in hers and brought it to her mouth, then, one by one, licked clean each of my slippery fingers. Despite myself, I felt a sharp pulsation, and she answered it with a throb of her own.

“I love you,” I whispered, my lips touching the edge of her ear.

“I love you.” Her voice was slow and lazy, early morning mixed with post-orgasmic haze. “Can you stay there?”

“Why?”

“I want to feel you inside me a little longer.”

I swept her hair out of the way and kissed the back of her neck. She shivered against me. “How much longer?”

“Until you can go again, if you want.”

We snuggled together and I know at least one of us – me – was close to dozing off when a sharp bark jerked us awake. I was so shocked that I pulled out of Kelly’s bottom in one quick stroke, and she wasn’t able to turn onto her stomach in time to keep a substantial amount of come from sliding out of her relaxed bottom and down her left cheek, onto the sheets.

“Shit,” I whispered.

“Yeah.” Kelly finally managed to turn onto her stomach; I dipped my finger into the slick come and then dipped it between her cheeks, feeling how loose she was now. It wouldn’t last more than an hour or so – it never did – but it was fun to play with her while she was like this.

“I’ll let them out if you put the sheets in the washer.”

I’d like to say there were even more interesting stories to tell about that weekend, but aside from renewing those bruises at least twenty-five more times – not all at once, but a few strokes here and there – and having so much sex that my last orgasm on Sunday morning was barely a dribble, the next thirty hours passed much like the first sixteen. Our friends returned on time – five in the evening on Sunday night – and after loading our suitcases into my car, we went out to dinner.

If Susan or Charles noticed Kelly’s fidgeting on the hard wooden bench at the restaurant, they didn’t make mention of it.

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A/N: Kelly is based on a real person with whom I went to high school, but never had any romantic or lustful feelings toward. In fact, when I started writing this, I didn't even know who she'd be. The real Kelly is basically like what I said here, at least physically -- pretty, but not in an idealized fashion. And she does have quite a nice smile.

Your reviews on this and any of my other works are always welcome.