Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

potent sex cocktail I’d ever encountered. I was losing it, and the belt and strap and paddle had all been foreplay, and I was so close to coming. The only thing that held me off was the desire to have more of this, more of him and his amazing touch.
    Next time , he had said. There was going to be a next time, and he was going to tie me up, and God knew what he’d do to me then, but if it was half as hot as this...
    More spanks, more ridiculously skilled manipulations, and my pussy’s figurative fist-pumping reached a fever pitch. I gave up the fight and let the orgasm take me. It was a monumental climax, way better than any non-spanking orgasm I’d ever had. My ass still hurt, but my pussy was like yes, yes, yes, YES...
    I drooped over the couch as I drifted through the aftershocks. I would have liked his cock too, sure, but he apparently didn’t fuck on the first date.
    If my pussy was a gay male Marine, his cock was a virtuous Catholic schoolgirl. Damn.
    “That’s it. I’m dead,” I said, so he could go ahead and call the coroner and get on with his life.
    He gave a contented sigh instead, and smacked my tender ass.
    “You’re amazing, baby. That was hot as fuck.” He helped me straighten up and pushed my hair back out of my eyes. “Now, where’s that tiramisu?”
    Chapter Three: More To Teach You
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    M ateo left after dessert. I was kind of glad. It would have been nice to fall asleep in his arms, but I needed some private time to pull myself together. He was so tall, so hot, so fucking skilled at making my body go haywire. But he’d declined to fuck me, so...what did that mean? I was no supermodel, but when I invited guys to fuck me, they usually did.
    But he hadn’t.
    I had to be careful here. I couldn’t fall head over heels, even if he’d talked about a next time...with bondage. I wondered how far we would go before he got tired of tutoring me and moved on to some more experienced girl. My fantasies were ramping up, and my surly pussy was grumbling about lack of penetration. My ass stayed nice and flushed and faintly bruised the first couple days, but by the third night all trace of our encounter was gone. That was the night I got a new text from Slab Hands.
    How’s my angel?
    Being angelic , I texted back. You really taught me a lesson on Sunday.
    I have more to teach you.
    Just like that, my pussy started striking muscle poses. And my ass...well...it reminded me gently that his spankings fucking hurt , but that didn’t matter. I wanted them to hurt. I wanted the stuff he did to me to feel intense and real.
    Are you busy this Sunday? I texted. Maybe you could teach me then.
    My place , he wrote back. You bring the food.
    *****
    I took Italian food for my Italian stallion, wine and bread, mozzarella and capicola, but it wasn’t about the food when we got together. It wasn’t even about his dauntingly masculine apartment, which, it turned out, wasn’t much bigger than mine.
    No, it was about the hot attraction between us, the desire we had in common. When I was near him, I was very aware of his hands and his stern expressions. I wanted to bend over. I needed to bend over.
    Good thing he had a spanking bench in his living room.
    I didn’t realize that’s what it was, at first. It looked like an upholstered coffee table until we cleared away the dinner plates, and then he reached underneath it and popped up the middle section. Then it looked like a kinky picnic table, with two side benches and a raised middle platform about three-quarters of a foot wide.
    He showed me how the spankee could either kneel on one side and bend over the raised middle, bracing their hands on the other side, or lie face down along the center platform. Either way, there was hardware in place to keep the victim from moving. There were cuffs and straps, and eyebolts in case he preferred to use rope. I was both impressed and terrified by the ingenuity of this contraption, and the fact that it looked