Tempo

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Bent over and spanked...for an anonymous audience.
5.5k words
4.25
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Frank_Lee
Frank_Lee
25 Followers

They rode in silence.

Macy was wearing oversized shades even though it was night. The tiny red constellation of the dashboard gave her porcelain skin the look of being lit from inside. Her head was half turned to the window while her fingers drummed the armrest, only her reflection staring back.

The hidden gravel road twisted upward until it finally ended on a broad clearing. He pulled the car to a stop just past the center, keeping a spacious distance from the tree line. He shut off the engine but kept the lights on. She kept her silence a little longer, slowly removing the shades, folding them neatly and placing them on the console.

"What is this place?" she asked. Dim curiosity.

"Just a place. What's the difference?"

She paused. He lowered all the windows and the car filled with the tepid night air.

"Just wondering," she said. "It seems nice here. Quiet." Her posture was straight as she scanned the edges of the headlight beams, imagining beyond the glow.

"It is. Go take a look around. Get used to it. We could be here a while." His voice was placid as a choir of cellos but the tone was redolent with suggestion.

The delicate muscles in her face seemed to wrestle an involuntary grin. She opened the door and floated out of her seat.

The tight, pink sheath she was wearing corkscrewed around her body as she turned. She was almost too lean and waif-like – legs too sinewy and slender, ass too small and taut, breasts too perky to be real and a coy, bratty look that never seemed to leave her face.

They were both inappropriately dressed for the party they'd been to. In jeans and a tight black T shirt, he looked like an employee, there to carry out the patio furniture, except for a gleaming black pair of Italian designer shoes. And Macy, in white spikes and a strapless sheath that fit more like spray paint than fabric, looked more like a bored pole dancer on break.

Everyone else was in black ties or gowns.

She swung the door shut and walked around the car through manicured grass. When she came to the front, she stood facing the tree line and craned her neck to look up at the thumbnail moon pasted onto the sky. He suddenly flipped on the high beams and she turned. There was the slimmest hint of a smirk on her face as she placed a hand on her hip and cocked it to the side.

"Jesus," he whispered. "What the fuck are we doing here?"

She stared into the harsh glare as if she were looking him straight in the eye and touched the insides of her bare thighs, just beneath the miserly hemline of her dress. Her breasts bunched together like fruit poised to fall off a tree limb. Her hips began a lazy rock as her palms slid down and then back up her thighs.

She blew him a kiss, threw her head back and laughed.

"Fuck," he muttered. His right hand moved onto the crotch of his faded jeans.

He could almost hear music to go with the way she was moving, with the way her hips rolled and her hands teased the scant hem of her dress. Something Brazilian. Something serpentine and full of raw suggestion. He squeezed the buzzing coil of flesh inside his jeans.

As she moved, he thought of how she'd drifted through the crowded party with a smirk of jaded disinterest on her lips as so many heads turned to notice her. For a few seconds, moving as she was in the harsh glow of the high beams, he saw her swaying and grinding on that broad verandah in the midst of the party, commanding the derision and lust of the self-important frauds surrounding them.

He felt worse than the worst of them. The party was supposed to have been an elegant night for her, but it had really been a well-timed chance to show her off. But then, she'd wanted to be shown, paraded past disapproving eyes, as proud to be his as he was to have her.

He sighed and watched her arms lift above her head, raising her scant dress. Her body slithered like an echo skirting between light and darkness. Macy didn't know it yet, but the end was coming down on them like a train derailing.

She began to turn, and her dress began to lift above the curl of her impudent ass cheeks as she rolled her hips and her hands caressed disembodied shapes in the air.

His cock prickled with flooding warmth as he got out of the car. When she heard the door close, she turned back and faced the light, squinting again in the general direction of his broad silhouette. She wasn't moving now, but waiting, expecting something unknown.

"Lean over the car," he instructed. Calm. Words measured. He worked at not hating the sound of his own voice, or feeling embarrassed by cartoon sound of his words.

She walked toward the car, taking short, careful strides on those pumps in the grass. It almost hurt to watch her walk in those shoes, but the way they brought the sinuous muscles of her calves and thighs into play was almost enough to make him forget his own name. She planted her feet at a wide stance and bent forward, until her breasts pillowed against the warm metal of the hood. Her sinuous thighs trembled slightly as the dress hem lifted and her ass turned up and spread like a pair of wet gourds.

He moved close behind her and pushed the dress up over her hips. Then he touched the inside of her thigh. Her slender muscle was taut to the touch, sinews stretched tight as violin strings.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"Yes...sir," she replied softly. It was almost a purr. Her cheek was pressed against the hood, and a faint smile graced her lightly glossed lips.

"Don't call me 'sir'," he told her. His tone was somber, almost paternal with suffering patience.

"Then what should I...?"

"I have a name," he reminded her, touching the inside of her tautly stretched thigh. "If you can't remember how to use it I can always leave you here to think about it."

"That won't be necessary..." she answered softly. Her eyes were closed and there was a faint smile on her lips. "...Sir."

His palm slid up to the shaven mound gnashed against the car hood. Her lips felt thick and humid under the pads of his fingers. He stroked the length of her slit with firm care, letting a fingertip glide upward along her cleft to slowly pass across the tightly puckered bud of her ass. Then his hand swiftly cocked backward and swung back firmly across her right cheek.

"What did I just tell you?"

"Not to call you sir. That you have a name. That I need to remember." It was nearly a purr, her voice cloudy with opium smoke.

He brought his fingers back to her simmering pussy and massaged her flushed lips until they were slick with her own nectar.

"You'll feel stiff before long," he pointed out, "but think of how you become a living celebration of human form. A shining example. Can you do that?"

"I...I think so."

He leaned over her body, forming himself onto the right angle she made and spoke softly, his lips lightly brushing her silken cheek. "There's no room left for doubt," he advised. "If you have any misgivings, you'd better tell me now."

The warmth of her bare ass against his jeans seemed to spread through his body. She was slow to reply. He knew she was considering his capabilities as much as her own. Despite being considerably younger, she seemed to know them better than he did. He placed his wet fingers against her lips and smeared them with the honey from her core.

"I can do this," she said finally, her tongue darting between his fingers.

"I know you can." He kissed the corner of her mouth and pushed himself upright.

His palm grazed her thigh and passed across her pussy again, stroking her lips while kneading the lean sphere of her ass with the other hand. His middle and ring fingers made their way through her thickened sex lips, sliding into her core, holding still a moment or two and then turning. Her hips rolled again, harder this time, and he slowly drew his fingers back out.

He stepped back and tasted his fingers as he admired her.

"Sometimes," he started, almost as if he were talking to himself, "I wonder how it's possible to ever look at anything or anyone else."

He skimmed his T shirt up and off, then walked to the driver's side and tossed it inside. When he returned to her, he knelt between her widely planted feet and kissed the inside of her thigh. His tongue slid a wet trail along her tightly stretched muscle toward her pussy, slithering over the wet lips and moving in a slow swipe across her rim.

She mewled and her hips rolled against the car. Her knuckles went white as she clutched the edge of the hood, her fingers barely fitting under the gap between metal and glass. His face was close enough for his breath to warm her cleft as he spoke.

"I find myself saying your name out loud sometimes when I'm driving...by myself, of course...and then it feels a little like you're there, sitting beside me. I see your face in the trees and clouds. I hear your voice, even when you're far away."

She sighed but remained silent. Waiting. He kissed her rimhole again, briefly teasing the taut ring with his tongue tip before standing back up.

"Sometimes," he went on, running his palm back and forth over the inverted V of her thighs, "I see women. Beautiful women. Even spectacular. But for some reason, they just seem like imitations. Nothing to be taken seriously. But you..."

He paused, teased his finger into her sheath and sighed.

"Ohhh...Sssssir," she sighed dreamily.

Suddenly his hand reared back and smacked her right cheek again. He gave her a second swat a little stronger than the first. The force was just firm enough to make a sharp noise and bring a light flush of blood rushing to her silken skin.

"I have a name," he reminded her.

"I remember." It sounded like a lazy rush of breath.

"Not very well." A mere statement of fact. His hand swung across her ass from the right side three times in quick succession.

"I love you," she claimed weakly.

"I know." He wanted to say it back, but it struck him as a bad idea. She might get used to hearing it. He might get used to saying it. It might turn the sky inside out and make a mess of the entire universe.

He walked around to the passenger's side and reached inside to the glove box.

He went back and touched the cool metal handle to her ass cheek. As much as he dreaded everything about to occur, his cock was pulsing for her, pushing against the confining front of his jeans. He pressed the bulge against her ass and started to work the scissors lengthwise through the fabric of her dress.

"Tonight you pay me nothing but honor, while all I have to repay you is shame."

The dress fell open like a neon rag. He tugged at the edge and she lifted enough to let him yank the fabric out from under her. When she settled back into place, he smacked her ass twice.

"Only an attention whore would wear a dress like this to a party like that without panties."

"Yes...Sir..."

Then he slapped her cheeks again, at least three more strikes to each side. Her flesh was beginning to take on a pale rose pallor. Each smack brought an explosion of feeling to their tingling nerves, a rush to their heartbeats as if the same pulse coursed through both their bodies. Every smack plunged him into an abyss of shame and only seemed to exalt her even more.

He hated every moment – every sharp strike – but he thought he was finally beginning to understand what those tiny bursts of sparks under her skin meant to her – where they took her.

He hated it, but he loved her so much.

"I have a name," he reminded her again.

"I love you," she claimed again, even more weakly than before.

"I know," he repeated with a sad sincerity.

She loved him in ways he wasn't used to and didn't know if he could ever get used to. He loved her until he was sure it would never fit inside him. But he knew it was only a matter of time.

She'd be ready to move on before long. Someone younger or richer. It didn't matter. Someone else. He'd broached his forties while she was still in her twenties, and he was severely aware their stars were simply crossing and would never collide. She didn't know it yet, but she would. Eventually. She'd have to.

It didn't matter. He was going to love her forever anyway, and it was practically none of her business. It was nothing she ever needed to know.

Some day, a few months or years from now, he'd be sitting somewhere - maybe even with someone new, someone better "suited" to him, maybe even in the midst of an interesting conversation – and his mind would take a sudden turn to the way her voice curled around the edges whenever she said his name, or the way she'd make a sour face look heartbreakingly pretty whenever he said something she took for silly.

The first pair of headlights broke into the clearing just as he took the scissors to her ruined dress and started cutting it into long strips. He paused to watch the long, black limo rock onto the grass. It was followed by three more gleaming, elegant sedans.

Her eyes opened wide, and while she resisted lifting her head to look, she craned her neck and attempted to see what was going on.

"Someone's coming," she breathed. "Aren't you going to let me up?"

"Relax. Those cars and whoever's in them are not your concern. They've been invited," he told her, returning to the task of cutting her dress into strips.

The cars followed a path around the edge of the clearing and came to a stop in a crescent facing the little 318. All four left their lights on, casting them in a stark, halogen sphere of light. He looked briefly over his shoulder, acknowledging their arrival without a nod.

When he looked back at Macy, bent naked over the hood of his car, her body was heaving visibly with short, excited breath. His heart started to feel like a spastic fist as he whipped the scissors. They stabbed into the grass a few feet away with a barely audible snick. He stepped between her feet again and leaned over her with his palms against the hood.

"This is where you say yes or no. Whichever you say - you just say it once."

Her ass moved against his throbbing bulge as she attempted to crane her neck toward his face. There was a housefire in each of her eyes while her breathing grew audible as the rasp of a hand held saw.

"Is anybody else gonna wanna fuck me?"

"The day they celebrate Christmas in Hell," he said.

Her ass slowly rocked against his imprisoned cock and she haltingly told him, "Yes...sir."

He pushed off the hood and smacked her ass with a broad sweep of his arm. "What did I tell you?"

"That you have a name." The words seemed to come out in a series of huffs.

It felt strange not knowing exactly how many people were in the cars behind them, even stranger not know exactly who was there. He knew there would be the small group he'd talked to at the party, but there was no way to know who else might have been invited.

Still, the simple gesture of swinging his open palm across her naked ass felt oddly mundane yet arrogant at the same time, as if their unseen audience changed everything yet nothing. Her body was heaving more deeply since the row of cars had arrived. When he moved aside to allow the blast of headlights to illuminate her folded body, there was a growing sheen of moisture across her upper thighs.

He slipped his fingers over her honey-smeared skin and kneaded slowly toward her oozing slit. He stroked her lips and gripped the straining trunk of his cock through his jeans. He wished he hadn't arranged the surprise audience. He ached to liberate his pulsing erection and feel it drown in her core with nothing touching them but the tepid night air and the light of a shame faced moon.

Then he cocked his arm back and smacked her across both cheeks.

"Hands behind your back. Wrists together."

"Oh...kay." Breathless purr.

Her hands went back as instructed. He took one of the pink strips that used to be her party dress and looped it around both wrists three times before tying it off. He leaned his ass against the hood beside her, facing the semi-circle of cars. He lifted one foot onto the bumper and finger massaged her dripping pussy. She arched her spine and mewled as his eyes gradually adjusted to the glare of headlights. He placed the other hand atop his throbbing bulge and massaged himself at the same time.

"You realize they're just sitting there in their overpriced ego-mobiles staring at the way my fingers are spreading you open like some kind of cactus flower."

"Yes...sir..."

His hand lifted and smacked her cheek hard enough to bring out a rose silhouette in the shape of his hand.

"Jesus, I hate that," he muttered, almost absently. He started massaging her slit again, and just as soon as she started to grind back against his fingers he gave her another hard, impulsive smack.

"I have a fucking name," he reminded her for umpteenth time.

"I know what it is." Her tone became this heady swirl of whimpering and defiance, too elusive to be either one.

"I'm not even sure how many are out there," he continued musing aloud. "One of us could be walking down the street one day and pass one of them and we'd never know."

His cock was dripping so hard there was a stain spreading on the front of his jeans. His ring and middle finger ground into her pussy while she gnashed her mound against the car.

"Know what I wish more than anything right now?" he asked almost wistfully.

"Nhhhh."

"I wish those motherfuckers would just leave and let us fuck in peace, without having to think about anything or anyone else. But I guess you know this is all for you."

"Sh...show them...how you own me. I want them all to know."

He threw his head back and laughed, briefly but hard, keeping his fingers slipping and sliding steadily into her sheath.

"Do I..." punctuated with a sighing moan, "...amuse you?"

He paused and turned pensive. "It's just funny how everything is always upside down. Like the fact that the second I tied your wrists together you took flight like a bird of prey. Or the fact that now, more than ever, if anyone owns anyone else, you own me."

"Riddles," she sighed dreamily.

"Yeah, riddles. But you know the answers to all of them." He paused a beat. "They're watching you fuck my driving fingers like craven little slut, you know. And their pampered trophy whores are in there jerking their tired old pricks with a wad of tissue in their left hands so they don't get spunk all over their designer suit pants."

She giggled and mewled and fucked back against his fingers.

"You're a nasty man...sir."

He yanked his fingers swiftly from her pussy, raised his hand and smacked her ass again. His fingers were soaked with her honey now, making a sharper sounding slap as his hand came down.

Then one of the limo doors opened and a statuesque blonde calmly walked into the broad circle of bluish light. He remembered her from the party. She wore simple, black gown with a steeply plunging V between her pneumatically pumped breasts. She had a pampered yet quietly put upon look.

He reached for Macy's ass and lazily smeared his wet fingertips around the tight ring of her rim as they waited in silence for the blonde to approach.

"They want to see your cock," the blonde stated simply.

He snickered. "I'll bet they do."

Macy giggled.

The blonde nodded at the bulging front of his jeans. "May I?" He knew she'd been sent out with instructions of her own.

He replied with a grin and continued languidly massaging his lover's bud while the elegant blonde unbuckled his thick, black belt and carefully slid it free from the loops. She placed it neatly across the car hood next to Macy, then knelt in the wet grass at his feet. She untied his shoes and he stepped out of them. She opened his pants and pushed them down, along with his briefs. His rigid cock snapped out and upward at her face.

The blonde hesitated as she faced his strutting. He could tell she was expected to return, but was indulging a brief curiosity over new and fascinating territory. If not monstrous, he was impressive by any standard, and the tip of his dome was swimming with seepage.

Frank_Lee
Frank_Lee
25 Followers
12