“A pair of kings. Pretty good,” he nodded.
Following her custom, he slowly, deliberately put down his cards, holding her eyes the whole time. First there was one ace, then another – having beat her with that – and then, just for good measure, a last ace, giving him three aces.
She’d lost.
The enormity of what she’d bet came rushing into her head, crowding out her booze-emboldened surety that she was going to win. The idea of losing hadn’t even occurred to her until this moment.
She was his for the weekend, to do with as he pleased, with no holds – or holes – barred.
What had she gotten herself into? Was she crazy? She should have gotten something in writing at the very least! How the hell could she possibly have agreed to something so stupid! She barely knew the man!
In her panic, she allowed every emotion to play across her face, the foremost of which was fear - while Rod’s first impulse was to comfort her, he held himself back. A little fear wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in a submissive.
He didn’t gloat at all, but busied himself at first cleaning up a bit, putting the cards away in one of the drawers under the table, then brushing it off a bit before standing to help her up.
His hand was surprisingly warm against her cold fingers as she leaned on him a bit to stand, eventually coming out of her pure panic mode and more to her senses to stand stock still in front of him. She wasn’t sure whether panicked was better, though, since she immediately found her senses overwhelmed with his nearness.
Rod guided her to the middle of the room, moved a comfortable looking Queen Anne upholstered chair to one side and took a seat, commanding with alarming alacrity, “Strip.”
The longer he stared at her and she couldn’t find it within herself to obey, the more thoroughly flustered she became, fidgeting with her fingers and dancing from one foot to the other. She had the fleeting thought that she must look like some of the underlings at work, and she made a mental note to be nicer to them from now on. This situation was a thousand times worse.
When he stood and caught her hand, she assumed he was bringing her to his lap to cuddle and talk about the situation, to explain himself to her and calm her fears; she couldn’t have been more wrong.
She didn’t end up on his lap; she was, instead, guided quite expertly over it. Her short skirt worked against her, immediately riding almost all the way up to her waist and leaving her mostly bare cheeks completely exposed.
Sunny could hear him clucking his tongue at her disapprovingly as he relieved her of panties that weren’t much help anyway, although she loudly protested being divested of them, as if they were the last barrier between herself and the fate he had in store for her.
She was entirely unprepared for the barrage of swats he administered to her now completely naked backside; a horrible, intolerable sting erupting in her flesh and filling her mind as the only important thing there, and indeed, it was.
Chapter II
No one had ever treated her this way. No one. Her parents were the touchy-feely kind she could play like a kazoo, and, in her relationships with men, she had always been the one in control, the one on top, the one calling the shots. In fact, she’d never hooked up with a man she couldn’t control, one way or the other. The artistic types needed money, and that was their Achilles heel. Young, brash, overachievers were eager to climb the corporate ladder and to use her name and her connections. The nerds, well, she’d always just had a soft spot for them, and in a lot of cases, they were embarrassingly happy just to get some sex.
But Rod was acting as if she should have expected this, bringing that board-like palm of his down across both cheeks at once, again and again, until he’d set her backside on fire. Just at the point that she was going to ratchet up her howls of protest to full-on screams, he stopped and stood her up, pointing to the same spot on the carpet where he’d put her in the first place.
He didn’t repeat his command.
There was no denying the way he’d singed her behind or the fact that, as he’d been doing it, her body had been busily christening his jeans, despite her very real protestations. Off kilter physically and emotionally, flooded with sensations she had never experienced before, Sunny shuffled towards the spot at which he was pointing, but not quickly enough for him, apparently, because before she moved out of range, he managed to reach out and deliver several “come along” smacks that had her hopping – like a well-spanked bunny – to stand in that very vulnerable, very exposed spot, although she was not nearly as exposed as she was going to be.
As if she was put out with him she let her hands creep to the neckline of her blouse and she began to unbutton it excruciatingly slowly, expecting he would nudge her – one way or the other – into moving more quickly.