Driftwood Deeds(11)

“What a good, eager little learner we are...” he whispered and it hit me that this was exactly what I craved, ever since I could remember. He just had to say it, gently and condescending, and I moaned and then licked harder just to hear it again.

“Good puppy, that’s enough, thank you.” He smiled, touched my still lips and brought a finger to his mouth for a taste. I only realized now that his hand was still firmly placed on my rear where I couldn’t feel the sting anymore. The warmth his hand projected seemed to radiate all the way through skin and tissue instead. But again, all I could think about was the next moment and the next—aching for more.

“You liked that,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “And you did so well.” Already his fingers were sneaking under my skirt again but this time, without any hesitation, he hooked them into the elastic of my panties and tights and pulled them down. There was no question in whether he had a right to do so, no careful testing or shy probing. He just took what he wanted and told me to lift my ass so that he could bring them down to my knees but no further.

“My, my... someone wet their panties good, didn’t they?”





VII





Where I had expected to feel shame or humiliation, the only sensation comparable to those was the dizzying heat in my face. And that, I hardly noticed at all against the overwhelming pumping in my clit and the shower of tingling need he had sent all over my body. I whimpered and stared at the silver tape recorder that soaked up each sound like a sponge does water. Traitorous, evil, beautiful little device.

“What was that?” Paul asked fingers running slowly between the elastic of my panties and the sensitive back of my knees.

“Yes...” I breathed on the exhale of another moan. My fingers curled against the carpet. Everything smelled like him—rugged and sea-worthy and I felt like I was drowning, deliciously, sweetly drowning. “Yes, Sir!”

The tape proved it, he didn’t even have to tell me. I seemed so eager to be his, to shout it out with each sound he drew from me. From that moment on, he was Sir and I had sunk one rung deeper into a game, into a body, into a life I had hardly dared to dream of.

“That’s my girl,” he answered, then pulled at my underwear to untangle my tights and panties from my legs. But still he didn’t touch me even as I was all but wriggling my wanton arse at him. Instead, he leaned to his side again, petting my hair. I could smell myself on his wrist, and before I could think about that, he held my panties in front of my face. The soaked panel hung there, right in front of me, then flapped against my nose and my lips. I closed my eyes and all I saw was red heat.

It was in that moment that he decided to touch me again; easily reaching between my legs, he held my sex in his hand—thumb in the crack of my arse and the rest of his palm and fingers pressing against my labia. I wanted to cry, I was so aroused all I could utter were desperate whines and whimpers.

“Will you look at these panties?” He let them swing against my face again. They were so drenched, I could feel all the places where they left juices on my nose, my lips and my chin. I can’t lie. I adored that sharp smell then. It, too, was salty and overwhelming, and it went so perfectly with the way his middle finger was stirring against my painfully swollen clit.

“Yes, Sir.” I inhaled deeply through my nose, all of that cunt filtered air.

“Did you make them so terribly wet?”

I nodded first, torn between shame and pride as he forced my nose to rub against the moist panel.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Explain yourself.” As he said so, another finger slipped between my labia and he trapped my sopping clit between the two, squeezing and rubbing until I had curled my fists against the carpet, wriggling like a fish on his lap. And suddenly his fingers stilled. “Answer me, Iris.”

“I made them wet because... because I’m so... I need…”

My voice petered out into silence and hung heavy for several seconds until I tried again. “It got wet because I want you so much, Sir.”

He hummed in agreement and his fingers moved again, stirring just a little against my nerve endings.

“And... do you think that deserves punishment or reward?”

I could tell from the sound of his voice that he was smiling but that helped little in finding an answer. Bent over like that, my hamstrings were pulled tight and each time I lost control, each time I moaned, my toes rose from the ground, swaying in the air. He didn’t push them back down, but I had a feeling he stopped touching as long as they weren’t settled on the ground.

“I don’t know...” I finally admitted when I realized I couldn’t even attempt to concentrate on the question. Again, he seemed to know and squeezed my clit so hard I yelped out loud. And yet, I wanted to thank him, wanted him to do it again and again.