from his chair. The soft clink of his glass on a table. The bare swish of his shoes brushing the hard floor. His scent came with him—something spicy and a little musky and warm.
Then something slender and cool on her back… The riding crop. Jane tensed as he traced the short, stiff whip along her spine, then brushed it lightly over her arse crack. She felt the thick, hard vee of its tip, where it spread like a Y and had those pea-sized knobs on each end. She imagined them sliding down over her…
Jane’s skin prickled, her hair lifting everywhere. Her breathing became shorter and rougher. Moisture gathered between her legs, slick and hot, and when he slipped the tip of the crop down along her crack, she shuddered. The little knobs bumped along her arsehole and down, sliding through the juices of her quim, and then over her tight, pulsing clit.
A tiny ball caressed her sensitive, turgid little pearl, and Jane squeezed her eyes closed tightly as pleasure and need traveled through her. Darkdale laughed softly and slipped the crop’s tip over her again, up and down, gently caressing her hot little pip, teasing it with those hard little knobs. Up and down, side to side, slick and slow and firm.
She smothered a soft cry and felt herself gathering up, tightening as lust roared through her. Pleasure grew, rose, hot and sleek, and she tensed, trying to blank her mind as she curled her fingers into the hard wooden floor. He stroked her over and over, slowly and languidly. As if he had all night. She swelled and throbbed, and sweat trickled down her cheeks, heat flushed over her skin. She was wet, dripping and slick, full and ready, and still he played with her…tapping and stroking her with those little knobs, slowly sliding along her arse and quim and bumping deliciously, tortuously, over the center of her sex.
No , she moaned inside. Jane bit her lip, struggling to fight off the blazing pleasure. It was even worse knowing she couldn’t. She couldn’t give in…she dared not give in to the sensations, the insistent strokes.
Her knees and elbows trembled as she held herself perfectly still. Her belly shuddered. Her breasts dangled, quivering as she fought to keep her breathing steady, to war with the desire lashing through her.
“My gad, you are easy,” Darkdale murmured. His voice was so deep and rough with desire it sent even harder and sharper waves of lust through her. “Beg me, Jane. All you need do is ask.”
No.
She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t!
The crop slipped up along her crack, and Jane relaxed a little as the intense pleasure eased. Then… Thwack!
She screamed in shock and surprise as the thin strip of pain radiated over her buttocks. Before she could collect herself, those nasty little knobs were back, poking and prying and sliding down into her quim, dancing around her thick, swollen lips as he moved the crop up and down, using the whip like a v-shaped tongue to stroke and tease.
Oh…oh…no, no…
She couldn’t hold it off any longer. The lust was so hot and bold and strong, and the little black balls were so dirty and mean, slick and hard and insistent…and they went right where she needed them, right where—
“Ah!” she cried as the blaze of pleasure exploded over her, blossoming into heat and relief in a long, undulating orgasm.
Thwack!
Jane cried out as another streak of pain seared across her buttocks, and then a second and a third, even as she still quivered and trembled and throbbed from the peak of her desire. The thin, hot stripes over her buttocks mingled with the last licks of sharp, hard-won pleasure.
Thwack! Thwack!
“You must learn to control yourself, darling Jane,” Darkdale muttered as he wielded the whip. “Not that I mind punishing you in the least.”
She collapsed on the floor, shuddering from an unsettling combination of pleasure and pain, warmth and searing heat. Tears mingled with sweat, and her arms and legs trembled.
Suddenly, the whipping stopped and the