A Wild Night On the Island & Other Stories Page 2

  I haven't found the right woman, and I'm getting finicky. I may have dated a lot of women, but that doesn't mean I've found one I want to keep around."

  "I see." That piece of information was interesting, but I still couldn't believe he'd renewed his interest in me.

  "You've always intrigued me, Samantha."

  "Intrigued? Is that suppose to be a compliment, or something you say to your dutiful but dowdy assistant?"

  "Dowdy? Where'd you get an idea like that?" He was looking really surprised by my comments. "I'd never think you're dowdy. You have the freshest most fascinating face I know. You're gutsy and a little wicked. I guess I'd call you an unconscious libertine."

  "You've noticed that?" I was shocked.

  "We've been working together for five years," he enunciated, as if it hadn't quite dawned on me. "I haven't been working in a vacuum."

  "Funny. It's felt like that to me." There was something tender coming from him to me, but I was still backing away from it. "I don't know how to love you, Peter, if that's what you thinking. I don't even think I know you."

  He smiled. "Well, you know me better than you did yesterday."

  Yes. We'd just screwed like two maniacs. And now his eyes were so luscious surrounding me with such sensuous charm, I was wondering if I was going to melt.

  "Are you really suggesting a relationship?" I asked.

  "I think we should keep our minds open," he replied. "Besides you're the first woman I've had the pleasure of spanking, and if I read that situation right, you begged for it and loved every minute of it." A sharp spark replaced the sensuality in his eye, as if he knew even more about me than he was letting on.

  And good god! He was right about my loving every minute of being spanked. I did love it, and he knew it! What was I getting myself into?

  I went a little crazy hearing his pronouncement, and bolted from the kitchen just to get away from his physical closeness. I almost thought he was going to descend on me again and I would have fainted from too much trauma all at once. I categorically refused to talk to him for the next two hours, rebuffing any of his kind attempts. But Peter was quite patient cooling his heels, busily occupying himself editing a script while I stewed over my life. His last remarks to me were brief and succinct, quite like Peter was all the time, like he knew he'd have his way with me, "We will talk about this more, Sam," he said. "About you and me. I won't let it slide. And just in case you were considering doing something else stupid in this storm, don't even think about leaving here. I'll blister your ass if you so much as try to leave the hotel."

  He said it with finality, then flashed me one of his warm ingratiating smiles, and went back to working leaving me sitting in an astonished stupor.

  I couldn't think of anything worse than being locked in this grimy hell-hole, forced to face feelings I just wasn't ready to look at. It had been three long years of squashing every thought of Peter Britain from my mind. I wonder if I hadn't made myself a little crazy existing in such a duplicitous life, working with Peter day in and day out, only to hide away anything personal in some dark recess of my demented psyche. I couldn't stand the idea that things might change between us. I didn't trust him, and I could hardly stand sitting in the same room with him, thinking he was waiting for me to come to my senses and give our relationship another try.

  When I finally spied Peter leaning back in his chair closing his eyes to rest, I decided it was my chance to escape from his ever watchful protection. Taking a quick journey down one lonely corridor in the hotel, I found a back door that Peter wouldn't hear creaking open. Just a little fresh air was what I needed, so I stole out into the night, relishing the wild air that greeted my nostrils.

  On finding this little piece of heaven in the out-of-doors, I discovered that the worst of the raging tempest was over, and there was just fresh, brisk, windy air to clear my muddled head. I didn't go far, but managed to feel some of myself return to me, as I tried to make sense of this weird night.

  I was certain that it was just our mutually provoked emotions exploding in an accidental clash—nothing more than a moment to wash away tensions that sometimes require a monumental brouhaha. In the past, and it had only happened a handful of times in all our years together, we'd have a donnybrook of a war over something minuscule. Our difference over some minor business detail would ignite tensions that mounted easily in our stressful job. We'd be like two fighting cats, snarling and biting at each other—Peter's wicked sarcasm usually winning out. But our rows were usually over quickly. Deciding to avoid each other for the remainder of the day, the two of us would return the next to say with some reasoned calm, "I lost my head, I'm sorry, let's just compromise." And we always did.

  This night could be nothing more than another stress inspired argument, I was certain, as I gazed into the inky black of the sky, happy to find that the clouds were breaking up. No, this was just another small war of tense and anxious business associates that ended with a bang so to speak. Because the time was right and there was noxious storm raging out side, and this strange island had taken away our sense of reason and good judgment.

  I decided all this in my excursion into the wild night air, and when I finally went back inside, I was feeling so much better. However, on closing my out-of-the-way door behind me, I found myself looking at Peter, his eyes fixed on me in a lethal stare. Certainly, our time apart had not helped his reason return, even if it had done so much for mine.

  "Peter, you'd be surprised out there. The storm's nearly gone. Oh, there's a little wind, but it is refreshing. If we were lucky we might even see a few stars before dawn, or at least the sun in the morning."

  "Really," he replied, still looking at me sternly.

  "And I did a little thinking while I was drinking it all in."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, I don't think our little . . . you know, um, incident is about a relationship at all."

  "Is that so?" he asked.

  "Yes. I have it completely figured out." My! I was sounding reasonable and I was very proud of myself, in spite of the strange look he was giving me.

  "I see."

  "It's tension, Peter. We get this way sometimes, and I think this place, this creaky old hotel . . .." I looked up into the high ceiling, noting the cobwebs and dust. "We just exploded in a different way this time. Is it really that unusual?" I started to make my way back to the lobby, with Peter following close behind.

  "That's very interesting, Samantha, but I think you have it figured all wrong."

  "Really?" Of course he had it figured differently, and he had to be right.

  "In the first place we don't go screwing each other on some whim, even if this setting is kind of weird. It's not like either of us. In the second place, it seems you pretty quickly forgot my promise to you."

  "Promise?" Oh! that promise, I suddenly remembered his vow to spank me again. He couldn't really mean that.

  "Come here," he said, and it was an order, his voice lowering to a sensuous baritone.

  "You're not going to spank me again?" I asked him. I could already feel the sexual heat building in me. The passion for Peter I'd squelched was rising to the surface once again, much to my distress. And it was leaking out all over the place. The thought of him spanking me made my bottom tingle, the idea of his cock planted between my legs again was making my sex juice. Strange how my fancy figuring and conclusions were out the window, swept away by something much bigger than logic and sane thinking.

  "I think blister your ass was the term I used," Peter replied to my question.

  "I don't know about this . . . " I hedged.

  "I do," he replied firmly. "If you gave me the time, I could think of a hundred things to spank you for, but none is so important as the sheer joy I'm going to feel seeing your naked end bobbing before my eyes, red as a beet. I guess I didn't get enough of it before."

  "God god! You're going to lift my skirt too?"

  "No. You are."

  "You're kidding?" But by then, I knew h
e wasn't. The way our eyes locked, I could see nothing but sincerity in his expression. I was transfixed, as if I was dreaming it. And everything that followed seemed to happen in slow motion.

  Peter was ordering me. His authoritative voice, the dictator in him rose up to draw me into him for another certain battle. And I was complying as if I was putty in his authoritative hands. So much fantasy was being lived in that incomparable moment. Could it really be happening?

  Oh, yes, it certainly was!

  By his command, my skirt went up, I went over his lap, my panties came down, and so did my hairbrush that Peter had decided to use. The repeated smacks took me to oblivion: harsh, fierce and unrelenting, they seemed to go on forever.

  This time, methodical, purposeful and lasting, I found myself yielding to him, when I'd protested so mightily before. My mind was taking sudden leaps, bounding over all my reluctance, as I realized how serious Peter was about his treatment of me, and even our potential relationship.

  My whole backside burned, the spanking going on for nearly a half hour. After all, we had all the time in the world. He lay into me with a brisk smack of the brush, then paused for a moment until I quieted. Then he started again. Three times, I thought he was about to quit, only to have him make my bottom burn all the more.

  I cried, I wailed, and at the end, because it was getting so painful, I protested too, though it was not the vicious complaint of the first time. By that time, I think he actually had some sympathy for me, the way he slowed down considerably, and each final stroke was more arousing than it was painful.

  When Peter finally finished, he let go the hairbrush, and placed his warm hand on my hot bottom. Caressing me, we were both aroused so I knew exactly how this scene would end, and I welcomed it gratefully.

  It felt like slow motion again, the way he moved me into his surrounding arms, our clothes falling away until there was none remaining. There was just two very naked souls cozying into each other for a long and satisfying moment of sexual release.

  This time before the warming fire, we didn't just fuck, we made love.

  I didn't bolt the room, I didn't even try. We were lying side by side naked hearing the crackling flames, and shooing sparks away. I suspect we were both wondering what to say.

  "How did you know I'd like getting spanked?" I finally asked him.

  He chuckled softly. "Actually, I saw some of your reading material once. You left a magazine wide open on your desk, a spanking publication, so the contents suggested."

  "How long ago was that?" I asked, remembering back to the time when I subscribed to all kinds of nasty literature to whet my sexual appetites.

  "Two years, at least. And you now what?"

  "What?"

  "I've been thinking of paddling you behind ever since."

  "Really?" I was in awe. "You mean to tell me that you've been fantasizing..."

  "I've been undressing your derriere for years, imagining my hand raising a nasty crimson blush, and your poor struggling, furious body, finally relenting to me. Just like tonight."

  "Oh, my god!" I gasped. I was so embarrassed by the idea, I had to put it out of my head, for fear of running away from him again.

  "Surprise you?" Peter asked. He turned over and made me do the same so we were face to face, chest to chest, crotch to crotch. He reached out and cupped my ass cheek in his palm and squeezed.

  "Surprise! I'm shocked, mortified, astounded, flabbergasted . . ."

  I would have gone on, but he was laughing at me. "Yep. For as long as you've been a saucy brat, I've been plotting this night."

  "You mean . . ." My mind raced to his answer.

  "No. I didn't plan the storm," he said. "That was a pleasant coincidence, though I do think when you want something bad enough, nature cooperates."

  "I don't believe this," I told him.

  But then he was kissing me, and I was responding again; and I spent the remainder of our reckless ride that turbulent night in a pleasant state of amazed oblivion in the arms of the man I'd been loving for five, long unrequited years.

  ***

  It wasn't all so rosy getting back to real life. But the relationship didn't end, just as Peter promised it wouldn't the day he dropped me at my apartment door, dead tired from our strange adventure.

  When I flew nervously into the office the next day, he was already there, a normal occurrence; and he was typically annoyed with my late arrival. I think I'd been late every day for five years. I considered it my one small infraction he wouldn't dare hold against me with all the late nights I willingly worked for him.

  "I see you're not planning any changes right off," Peter said to me sarcastically, when I brought the production schedule to his desk.

  "What changes would that be?" I asked him, looking at him rather nervously, wondering if this was really the same man that had kept my ass perpetually spanked and my cunt perpetually fucked for nearly twenty-four blissful hours.

  "You know how I hate you're being late," he said.

  "But that's how I stay in control," I answered smugly.

  "Is that so?" he answered and he dropped the conversation, preferring to bury himself in work that was really quite pressing.

  I could hardly expect a personal conversation so early in the morning and with so much work to do. Though I vowed that Peter would declare himself to me before noon, or I'd be confronting him with the promises that lingered in my mind the whole night before.

  About midday, actually it was eleven thirty-five when he called me into his office. I remembered because I'd been watching the clock wondering when something would happen.

  "So, we have a relationship now?" he said in the clear clipped tones of his usual business talk.

  "That's what I'm told," I answered, suddenly feeling a wicked rush of sexual memory take charge of my loins. Oh, they were still sore, as was my bottom from all the vigorous activity our marooned night on the island had brought it.

  "Then let's get this over with," he said, still refraining from any kind of defining emotion that would telegraph his feelings. Just like Peter Britain, I thought.

  "Get what over with?" I asked him.

  "Your first office spanking," he said.

  "Whatever for?" I asked.

  "Isn't being late a good enough reason?"

  "But I'm always late," I protested.

  "And that's going to stop," he told me flatly.

  "Why should that stop, when I'm working late, burning your mid-night oil for you!" I was incensed and righteously so.

  "Well, since you're going to be spending your evenings with me, I think you'd better get an earlier start on the day. And just to remind you how serious I am, you can get spanked now."

  I didn't know whether to be livid or happy. He was saying things I wanted to hear. But I don't suppose I'll ever go willingly to a spanking. The very thought is ridiculous.

  "Now, come here," he said, that now familiar command in his voice.

  I was obliged to comply. Just looking at Peter's handsome face, thinking of Peter's firm lap, and even firmer hand, his stiff cock, his luscious welcoming arms, I was hooked.

  He took me over his knees that morning, just as he's done just about every other day since our grand revelations to each other. He pulled up my dress, and down on my panties, and spanked me with a lusty fervor that drove me wild in an instant. He wasn't easy on me either. I guess he never will be. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember that these offices were soundproof, and I was glad. Oh! How I struggled and wailed against the treatment, knowing that his accusations were truly bogus. But I didn't mind that much.

  When it was over, after my poor bottom was the color of my scarlet blouse, and there were tears starting to streak my eye make-up, and my clothes were all a mess because he didn't seem to care how much I struggled with him, Peter lifted me up and smacked my aching ass cheeks against his hard oak desk. Laying me back against it, he planted himself inside me. My god! It was heaven again.

  And that was the per
fect beginning to our first real day together, and a perfect beginning to a whole new life.

  I don't know what I've done to deserve this best-of-all-worlds happiness. Sometimes I still pinch myself wondering if it's really happening or just another of my Peter daydreams. But when my boss, my lover, my husband, my dearest dominant master, Peter, takes me across his lap and gives me what for, I know it's real. How could I not, as much as it hurts?

  I also know beyond a doubt how much he loves me, and how sweet the battle of our feisty partnership is to our satisfied souls.

  How I managed to deserve this? I haven't a clue. How two incompatible people like Peter and me could find such rapture? It beats me. Peter tells me our love was always destined to be. He said he had it figured out from day we first started working together. I sure wish he'd told me then, I could have saved myself a whole lot of grief.

  But I guess my finally accepting this weird union just needed some divine intervention, and a raucous night, and a bold and daring Peter to initiate a necessary spanking. I never expected that my kinky fixation could brew so much happy passion. But what began in a tempest of a hellish storm, on a raggedy island, in a rickety hotel, has become one fine love affair to last forever.

  Hell To Pay

  "Out of the car, miss," Officer Kenny Martins ordered.

  "No," the sassy redhead snapped at him.

  "I beg pardon your pardon, Melody Blue. You're getting out of the car."

  The handsome dark hair officer stared kindly at the angry young woman. His eyes were the droopy sexy kind that she found hard to look at, though she had no problem looking at his body. She remembered seeing him once on the beach. He had one of those hot bodies with huge arm muscles, a firm tight chest, and a small trim waist. She wouldn't mind seeing his flesh right now, though at the moment, he was just a cop in a spiffy blue uniform. That wasn't so bad either, the uniform was kinda sexy.

  Melody flashed him her best seductive green eyes, thinking of devilish things. "I don't care how you sweet talk me, Policeman Kenny, I ain't movin," she told him with a haughty singsong. "I ain't done anything wrong."