Her eyes dance at me as she sips her drink, or what is left of it after she more or less downed it in a single nervous gulp. I get a sense of disobedient mischief about her yet again. What I said to her is true, and I think she knows as much. But she is resisting giving me the response that I want. Charlie is a tough little nut—one I would love to crack.
I want to make this woman tremble before me. At first I thought she was forward, bold, and cute. But the longer I spend in her presence, the more I realize she has an intellect and a spark that I don’t often encounter. I am surrounded by smart women, of course, but the ones I usually tolerate working for me have a proper sort of glaze over them.
They are wives, mothers. They are women who want to work hard and achieve great things. I provide them with ample opportunities for both. The younger women employed in my organization are kept at an appropriately professional distance. I do not screw the crew, as the saying goes.
But this young lady is not one of the crew. I’ve selected her because she is different. There is a pointedness to her curiosity, and something sharp about her wit. She tried to hide it at first, but there is an acerbic tang to so much of what she says. Even when her tone is neutral, I can practically taste the acid.
“If you were a math teacher, you might teach me something,” she smirks.
I think the alcohol is giving her more confidence and bravado than is really safe for her.
“I can teach you a lot of things,” I reply, reaching out to take her glass from her. “Moderation, for starters.”
Her pout is instant. Her eyes narrow at me.
“Excuse me,” she says. “I think I am capable of deciding how much to drink.”
She reaches for her glass, an act of impudent resistance that I have absolutely no interest in entertaining. It is easy to hold it out of her reach, but I shouldn’t have to. The sight of a young woman swinging her grasping fingers for a glass like a spoiled brat is all too much for me to tolerate. I place the glass down and catch her by the wrist.
It is a simple matter to haul her out of her chair, move my own seat back, and tip her shapely body right over my lap. This, she did not see coming. Outrage is in every line of her body as she twists in a hapless and helpless attempt to escape.
I hold her in place easily, and I let her fight herself out. The sensation of a woman’s soft curves wriggling against my body is very enjoyable. The slight irritation I felt at her attitude has melted as I regain the upper hand with little in the way of effort.
“What are you doing!?”
“I think you already know,” I purr, soothing her by rubbing her upper back. “You know why naughty girls find themselves in this position, don’t you?”
She makes a little squeak that functions as an admission that she very much does know why girls find themselves over the knee.
“When I give an order, I expect it to be followed. When I tell you that you have had enough to drink, that means you’re done drinking. It’s very simple, Charlie.”
“You’ve got no right to tell me what to do. You barely know me.”
I arch a brow as she starts arguing from this very unfortunate position. Usually the women I play with are more cooperative. Usually they beg to be in a position like this… or would be absolutely mortified to find themselves being punished.
I’m not used to women like Charlie. She comes from a simpler world. She wasn’t raised in the circles in which I have always moved, and it shows. She looks good in her dress, and she’s groomed neatly, but there are still so many rough edges to be smoothed.
I start by spanking her ass. It is presented tantalizingly in that tight skirt that has pulled very snugly over her hips. I like her curves. They are generous. Her thighs are nice and thick as well. There is a fullness to her figure that contrasts with my much harder, muscled body beautifully.
“Ow!” Her cry is plaintive and very real. “Mr. Waterstone! You’re hurting me!”
“Spankings hurt, Miss Crown,” I reply. “You might want to remember this next time you are tempted to open your mouth in response to something I tell you.”
“You cannot do this… You cannot…”
She whimpers those words as I continue to spank her. It truly is the most tame of punishments. It is chaste and rather innocent, which seems to fit her very well.
“What are you doing!?”
“Teaching you the lesson you so terribly need.”
I spank her ass again, very much enjoying the firm flesh and softer curve beneath my palm. There is something so very satisfying about spanking a girl who deserves it. I know I am doing her a favor right now. If I was to never see her again after this moment, it would be good for her to have experienced this.
Charlotte Crown has not been spanked enough.
“Ow! Stop! Stop it now! You’re not allowed to do this! You’re just a man. You’re nothing special. You’re just some guy! And you’re going to regret this!”
“This is not how a good girl takes her spanking, Charlie,” I chide her. “You’re supposed to behave better, not worse.”
I take a moment to smooth my palm over her ass. I know she’s not going to submit easily, but she is going to submit. I have no intention of letting her get away with her attitude.
“Let me go,” she repeats.
“Apologize for your rudeness and your bad behavior. Show me that you’ve learned something rather than speaking to me in that spoiled, entitled tone.”
“A billionaire calls me spoiled and entitled? Ow!”
I’m smirking as I smack her ass again. She certainly knows how to give me an attitude. But an attitude isn’t what I want right now. What I want is to feel the tension in her body start to melt away as she begins to understand she will not get away with anything where I am concerned.
That revelation might be quite soothing to her. But she’s not going to understand that until she experiences it. Which means she’s going to get spanked a lot longer and a lot harder.
“Settle down, or I’ll take my belt off.”
“Go to hell!” she hisses back, ensuring that I do indeed shuffle her around on my lap so I can unbuckle my belt. A hand spanking isn’t going to cut it with this one. She needs more sting.
And she needs her skirt pulled up.
And her panties taken down.
The sound of my leather belt sliding out of my belt loops is immensely satisfying. But what is even more satisfying is the way she wriggles and squeals when she feels her skirt being pulled up over her waist. She is wearing very cute underwear, white with pink strawberries. Not quite the apparel I would have picked. Most women I encounter wear thongs, or lace. But I don’t think Charlie intended on me seeing her undergarments today, and that makes this moment all the more delicious.
She’s quite an innocent little thing underneath it all. She talks a big game, and she makes references to terrible, dark things. But she does not understand the significance of them. Not really. They’re all academic and conceptual to her. That’s why she dared ask the questions she asked earlier. If she understood any of the ramifications of the things she so flippantly threw accusations about, she would have never set foot in my presence, and especially not come alone to a rooftop bar with me.
This little girl has no idea how much danger she could potentially be in if I were even a slightly worse man than I am. She deserves this spanking, and a great many more punishments just like it.
I double the belt over in my hand, secure her in place over my lap, and set about painting the seat of her underwear with hard swats of the leather loop.
Her response is immediate and dramatic. She lets out a helpless wail that echoes through the city air. It is taken up by the wind and the traffic and the indifference of the average person. She could scream to her heart’s content up here and nothing would happen.
I expect that this thrashing will break her. That snotty attitude will go by the wayside, and she’ll start to beg for mercy.
But that’s not what happens. I snap the belt across her behind a good dozen times and there’s no response from her besides kicking, cursing, and threats.
“You’re going to regret this! I’m going to tell everyone what a horrible man you are!”
“Everybody already knows that I am a horrible man,” I laugh. “They like it. They need someone to be horrible. The worse, the better. Try another threat.”
“I… ow! I hate you!”
“You don’t know me well enough to begin to hate me,” I chuckle.
I am used to a higher caliber of threats, but this is rather cute, I have to admit.
She is squirming ferociously, trying to get off my lap. That is not going to happen. I am a great deal stronger than she is, and her flailing isn’t the kind that would work even if I weren’t. It’s really more a grinding than…
Wait…
I smack her with the belt, wait for her to inevitably kick her legs, and then push the outside leg open and down off my lap. This parts her thighs in a lewd manner, stretching the gusset of her panties tight over her lips.
She’s soaked.
The revelation shifts my chemistry instantly. I was punishing her because she is a rude, careless little brat who desperately needs her butt spanked. Now, I find myself with the same careless little brat, whose body is begging for mine.
I could fuck her right here and right now, and I want nothing more than to do that. There’s a part of me that wants to use her like she’s disposable, take her flesh for my pleasure and just fucking rut her until I’m done.
But that’s the rash action of a man with short-term goals, and I have already decided that this girl is going to be mine in every single way. The hole that is drenched for me is far from the only one I intend to take. She will give them all up for me. She will purr for me. She will beg for me to defile her.
I give her one last chance.
“Are you learning your lesson, young lady?”
“Fuck you.”
I feel the last vestiges of self-control fall away. All she had to do was offer me the slightest bit of submission and acknowledgement. But she doesn’t want to do that. She wants to fight, in a manner of speaking. Her resistance is a challenge to me, and not an accidental one. From the moment we first met, she has initiated clumsy attempts to enter into a battle of wits. I’ve felt her taunt and tease me, and I’ve risen above it. But right now my cock is rock hard and my willpower is at an all-time low.
I slide her off my lap and stand her in front of me. She’s disheveled from all the squirming she’s been doing, and the pout on her face is worthy of a portrait all of its own. She’s beautiful like this, wild and resistant and completely out of her depth.
I am getting more turned on by the second. When I speak, my voice is thick with barely-veiled lust.
“I’m going to give you a choice,” I say. “Leave this bar right now, and never contact me again. Or stay, and face the full brunt of the consequences you just earned, you filthy little animal.”
“I’m not an animal.”
“No? Pity. I am.”
[divider]
Charlie
Holy shit. I can’t believe this is happening. My ass is so damn sore. I feel as though I’ve been whipped to the point of not being able to take anymore. I never imagined being handled this way, but there’s a reason Marcus has the reputation he does.
He’s right about one thing, too. He is an animal. He is sitting in front of me in his shirtsleeves, a few buttons undone at the top of his shirt, his hair slightly messy. When did this all happen? How did he go from being a completely put together billionaire to a sexy-as-hell, roughed up criminal mastermind?
I can see the change in his eyes and in his face. It’s not just about messy hair. It’s more like he took a mask off and he’s letting me see a part of him he usually hides.
“Last chance to walk away.”
“Before what?”
“Before this.”
He reaches for me, snatches me by the wrist, and pulls me between his legs. This time, instead of putting me over his knee, he kisses me roughly, standing as he does, making me tip my head back as his mouth plunders mine.
I shouldn’t react to him with arousal, but it’s too late to stop myself. He’s a handsome man, and he’s a dominant brute, and I didn’t leave when he told me to. I stayed, because I want to see what he’ll do to me. I want to be able to make a full report of all the torrid, terrible things he does to me while he thinks I am a helpless girl with no friends in high places.
Kissing me senseless is his first port of call, but it is only the beginning. I half expect him to strip me naked, but he doesn’t do that. That would be a civilized thing to do, and just as he said, he is all animal.
He doesn’t undress me. He doesn’t take the time to do that. He turns me around on the bar, and he presses me face down across it. My skirt is already up and it takes less than a fraction of a second for him to pull my panties to the side. Not down. Not off. Just out of the way.
I feel a cock, his cock, pressing against my wet slit.
This is too much. This is too fast.
Or is it? I am wet, and that is the purpose of foreplay. It’s not like I could get any more physically ready for him to fuck me.
We’re not using protection. He’s not asking me if I’m on birth control. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. He’s doing precisely what he said he’d do. He’s using me like a filthy animal.
“Whipping your hot little ass didn’t improve your attitude,” he grunts. “Maybe you needed a fucking instead.”
A billionaire’s thick, hot cock is deep inside me. It’s been a while since I had sex, but he’s already making me feel as though I’ve never had sex before. I feel like a virgin, my tight inner walls stretched around his big rod. He’s an absolute monster, and it feels as though he can go deeper and deeper and…
I let out a whine of complaint as he pulls out, unexpectedly leaving me bereft.
“You like that cock, don’t you,” he says, satisfied. “You’re a hungry girl. You need to be fucked properly. You need to learn respect, and I think you’ll learn it on the end of my cock.”
He pushes back inside me, just a little, just the tip. It is a maddening intrusion, spreading me wide in a way that makes me want more, and that makes me whimper and have to potentially admit that I want this.
I was hoping I’d be able to tell the world that Marcus took me against my will, but my will has become absolutely twisted by him. I want him to fuck me. I want him to push that cock back inside me, and I want him to make me take it.
As if reading my mind, he pushes me firmly down on the bar, his hand twisting in the hair at the back of my head. He has full control of me as he starts to fuck me again, giving me exactly what I want, even when his suited hips meet my sore, welted ass.
I know what is happening to me now has probably happened to dozens, if not hundreds, of other women. Marcus doesn’t have a reputation as a rake, but he’s rich, handsome, and powerful. I am quite literally being used as a sexual amusement, punished for being an irritant. This is how he deals with women. He beats and he fucks them, and I am getting the same treatment as everybody else.
That’s what I tell myself as his cock makes me feel as though I’m being stretched wider than I can take. I don’t want to get attached. I don’t want to think this means anything. He’s just another rich man taking what he wants.
And what he wants is me. My body. My interior. My most sensitive, internal, vulnerable places. He wants to conquer me, and he wants me to know I have been conquered.
Being fucked by Marcus is a deeper, more thorough experience than I have ever had before. Men are often selfish lovers, but that’s not what he is. His self-interest is more sophisticated. He wants more than just physical pleasure. He wants to teach me a lesson. He wants to not only demonstrate his dominance, but force me into submission. And he is getting his way.
With every stroke, I feel myself softening to him. There’s no point fighting him. I don’t want to. I don’t want to resist. I want to take his powerful, hard body inside mine. I want to feel all the pleasure I can. He is bringing out my greedy little animal side—a part of me only he can see.
“This could have been a nice, pleasant little drink,” he growls down at me. “You could have asked me some more questions, gathered material for the little article you were going to write. The one that was going to join thousands of others and drift into inevitable obscurity. But you didn’t want to play it safe. You wanted to taunt me, you wanted to make me teach you a lesson.”
Did I? I don’t know anymore. I know I was curious as to what would happen if I kept pushing him, and I know I felt attraction. How could I not? Everything about Marcus is designed to make my animal self flush with desire. I have no choice but to want him.
I can feel the marks of his belt and the aftermath of his palm flaring into repeated life. Sometimes it is a deep ache, other times, a hot sting. Now and then he slaps my ass to make it that little bit worse. Each and every time he does that, my pussy clenches him tighter, gripping him with primal affection.
“You’re going to come for me,” he says in a commanding tone. “You’re going to give me your orgasm.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me feel as though my climax will seal something between us. It will be some kind of acknowledgement that I’ve given in to him fully. I take a deep breath and I try to hold back, but nothing about this situation is conducive to self-control. All of that has been taken from me. Now I am nothing but feeling, sexual desire, and a receptacle for his lust.
Marcus does not intend to wait. He makes me come, forcing the orgasm from me by fucking me hard and toying with my clit between agile fingers. He fucks me through it as I start to wail, extending the peak of pleasure for what seems like torturously long minutes. I squirm beneath him, my hips bucking my ass and pussy up to his cock, giving him everything he wants. There’s a brief moment of madness where I don’t even care if he comes inside me.
There is no protective barrier between us. There is nothing to stop him from filling me all the way up. As his breath turns into deeper grunts and growls, I almost feel as though he is going to, but in the middle of my writhing orgasm, he pulls free and spends himself on my ass cheeks, covering the material of my underwear and what exposed skin there is with hot splashes of his seed.
Holy fuck.
The moment my orgasm subsides, I am absolutely suffused with shame. I just allowed myself to be used like a cheap, disposable slut. All semblance of being an intelligent journalist has been stripped from me.
I can feel his come on my ass, being rubbed into my reddened skin like some kind of twisted salve. I don’t think he’s trying to make me feel better. I think he’s trying to mark me. That’s what this whole evening has been about, taking me down a peg, turning me into his little whore.
I can’t bring myself to look at him. I can’t even bring myself to look at myself. Suddenly, I am surrounded by shiny surfaces, glassware, polished chrome, or whatever it is. I see my face and his reflected back at me over and over. I see my flushed features and his triumphant gaze.