Lexi's Summer Fantasy

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"Lexi? We're back! You want some lunch?" Mom's voice from downstairs broke into my fantasy and I plummeted down from my almost-climax.

I snarled in frustration and fixed my clothes. Just once, could I finish myself off before someone interrupted me? "Yeah, Mom, be right there!" I called.

They'd brought sandwiches from some local deli, and Mom and Molly went off to shower and change while Aunt Jen, who looked like she hadn't as much as set foot in the sand, brought out the food and bottles of juice and soda.

"Did you have a nice nap?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh. Nap. Yes. How was the beach?"

"A bit chilly for July, actually. Your sister has her eye on some boy who's visiting from—where'd she say? Arizona, I think. Your mom's not too happy. That's why we're back so soon."

"Oh? Really?" Shit, I hoped Mom's prudish mood didn't extend to me. I had to at least let her know I planned to go out. Maybe I could avoid saying with whom. Oh, fuck, what if she tried to send Molly along with me or something? "Sounds like it would be pretty harmless. We're leaving soon anyway."

"I know flirting when I see it, Lex. He was trying to get her to go out with him tonight, and I don't think he meant dinner."

"You think he's dangerous? Molly wouldn't do anything stupid." Not like her big sister.

"I don't, but your mom's another story. The girl's seventeen. Let her enjoy herself a little. But that's why I'm the fun aunt." She grinned. My cousin, her daughter, was off backpacking in Europe. I couldn't in a million years see my mom letting me or Molly do that!

Mom and Molly reappeared, and we tore into the sandwiches. They chattered about the beach, and the seagull that had almost made off with Mom's hat, and the guys playing volleyball, and the family whose kids built an awesome sand castle, and I decided I really hadn't missed out on much. The only question now was whether it would be better to tell Mom about my date now or in private.

Maybe Aunt Jen's more liberal style would be to my advantage if I broached the subject here. "So, um, Mom, you remember Liam? Across the street?"

"Of course."

"He's around this weekend, and we were chatting a bit."

"How's he doing?"

"He's, uh, he's good." Maybe if it didn't sound like a date, Mom would be okay with it. "He asked if I'd like to hang out with him tomorrow night."

"Hang out? Where?"

"I think at his place?" I would try to lie, but I was terrible at it, and I hadn't put together a good story in advance. Which was stupid, upon reflection.

"Alone?"

"I don't think so." I kept my face smooth and took a long drink of Coke.

"He's a few years older than you. Do you really want to hang with a bunch of 20-somethings you don't know?"

She'd bought it. Whew. "He's nice. It'll be fun."

Aunt Jen raised an eyebrow at me. She knew I was lying, but she smiled. "He's a good kid, Karen. I've known him since he was, what, eleven?"

Molly was staring at me, her expression somewhere between annoyed and fascinated. She could sabotage this whole thing in any of several ways. I shouldn't have done this in front of her. "He's really cute," she commented.

"You are not going," Mom said to her. Thank God. I'd half expected her to suggest Molly accompany me.

"I didn't want to anyway," she said, pouting.

"Mom, I'm an adult. Please?"

She and Aunt Jen exchanged long, knowing glances, and Mom sighed. "All right. But don't stay out too late. Midnight?"

That couldn't possibly be enough time if he was only picking me up at 9:30! "Can we make it 2?" I asked, aiming high. I didn't have a curfew back home. But I didn't have anywhere to go, either.

"Oh, let her do it, Mom." Molly grinned, and I realized she was hoping to set a precedent for herself. Smart.

"All right. All right, you're an adult. That's true. Just ... be safe. No drinking."

"Thanks, Mom!"

****

I spent the entire day on Saturday so nervous I could hardly eat, and Molly taunted me every chance she got. Liam's parents had invited all of us to their barbecue, and Molly and I had managed to squirm out of it, given that it was going to be mostly people their age, but Uncle Paul and Liam's father were good friends, which actually worked in my favor, since he, too, could vouch for what a "nice kid" Liam was.

I finally broke down and admitted to Molly that it would be just me and Liam alone and that I hoped to have sex with him. She was properly excited and insisted on helping me pick an outfit and do my hair and makeup—two things she was much better at than I was. Sometimes it was really nice having a sister.

When Liam texted at 9:30 that he was waiting for me outside, Molly gave me a quick hug, assessed my outfit one last time, and sent me on my way with an envious grin.

"For a minute there, I wasn't sure I'd be able to get away," he said, opening the passenger door of his car for me. "That mother of yours sure can talk." He looked much hotter now than he had in those stupid track pants he'd been wearing yesterday. Tight, black jeans defined a perfect ass, and a deep green button-down shirt gave him an authoritative air.

"Oh, fuck. I'm sorry." I hadn't thought about her grilling him when she went over there. Now I wished I hadn't skipped it, so I could have kept an eye on her.

"Don't worry. I was my usual charming self, and I think she's reassured that I have no intention of corrupting her daughter." He leaned into the car to whisper in my ear as I buckled my seat belt. "I was lying, of course."

I giggled, about as nervous as I had ever been. I smoothed the skirt of my yellow sundress over my thighs. Molly had loaned it to me. I was taller than her, and the dress barely covered my ass, but she'd insisted I looked great. And as Liam had intimated, he was going to see a whole lot more of me than my legs if everything went according to plan tonight. "So, she wants me back by 2. Is that long enough?"

"Should be. Depends how much you like it." He kissed the top of my head, shut my door, and circled to the driver's side. The engine roared to life, and he zoomed off toward the freeway. "In all seriousness, though," he said, his tone becoming less playful, "I need to know your limits. What are you looking for tonight? What should I not do?"

"I thought you were supposed to decide that stuff. You're a Dom, right?"

"Oh, fuck. You said you've read about this. Yes, I'm a Dom, and I have some thoughts about how I want this to go, but I don't want to do anything to you that will upset you. Are there places you don't like to be touched? Types of sensations you don't like? You're supposed to enjoy this."

"Well, I don't—I don't really know, do I? What—what do you want to do?" I'd thought I couldn't get more nervous, but I'd been wrong. If we weren't already on the freeway, I'd have bailed.

"I was planning to flog you, at least, and maybe some spanking. I know you said you want to have sex. Is that still true?"

"I—yes. That's kind of the point, isn't it?" I had every intention of losing my virginity tonight.

"Not necessarily. You can do a scene without sex. Not that I don't want to, but since it's your first time, maybe you'd like it to be, I don't know, more special. With someone you're in a relationship with."

Wait, was he chickening out now? Oh, hell no. "I want it to be with you," I whispered. "And what you said sounds perfect."

He glanced at me and smiled. "Well, okay then." He returned his attention to the road. "Oh, shit." He revved the engine and squealed across four lanes of traffic to an exit ramp. "Sorry. Almost missed my exit. You have me a little distracted."

"Jesus Christ." I tried to relax my white-knuckled grip on the armrest.

"L.A. traffic. Even on a Saturday night." He laughed. He drove for another few minutes and parked at the curb in front of a small apartment building. "Here we are."

"Oh," I squeaked.

He got out and came around to open my door, helped me out most gallantly, and steadied me with both hands. "Relax. This is supposed to be fun." He touched my cheek with one finger, then bent his head and kissed me quite tenderly. "Come on." He led me by the hand into the building and up to a studio apartment. Somehow, I'd expected something grander. A big TV was mounted on one wall, and a small kitchen showed little evidence of use. He had a queen-sized bed that took up most of the space, made neatly, with a sturdy metal bed frame. "Can I get you anything first? Did you eat?"

Eat? My insides were so tied up in knots that I didn't think food could find its way from my throat to my stomach. "No. I'm—I'm fine."

"Hey, really. You don't have to be so nervous."

"I'm not." I tried to surreptitiously wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. "So, um, what do I do?" Visions of Everett taking Susannah by the hair and throwing her down on their bed seized my imagination, and my breath quickened.

He did something with his phone, and trip hop music suddenly thrummed from speakers all around the room. Then he set the phone down and rolled his sleeves halfway up his forearms. "How intense do you want this to be?" he asked, grabbing my ponytail and tugging my head back—I'd insisted on a ponytail for this reason, though Molly wanted to straighten my hair and leave it loose around my face.

"How intense can you make it?" I aimed for low and sultry and managed a less-than-sexy mumble, but he smiled and kissed me.

"Listen to me, little girl," he snarled near my ear, "if it gets to be too much for you, say so. The easiest thing to do is say yellow. Say it: yellow."

"Yellow," I whispered.

"And if you need me to stop, tell me red. You hear me? What do you say if you need me to stop?"

"Red."

"Good girl." He yanked on my ponytail so that my chin nearly pointed at the ceiling. My mouth dropped open, and I panted for breath. His free hand came up to encircle my throat, holding me in place without constricting my airway. "Take off your panties," he ordered, in that same gravely tone, then let go of me and stepped back.

Oh, fuck, this was even better than my fantasies. I swayed in place as I tried to regain my balance, touched my neck where his fingers had left fleeting depressions, and then reached up under my skirt and rolled my panties down my legs and off. So much for all the agonizing over my underwear! I hadn't brought much with me besides plain cotton anyway, but I did have one thong packed just in case. Molly had more than approved. Now it lay on the carpet of Liam's apartment, a twisted loop of white lace.

Moisture trickled down the inside of my thigh, no longer contained by the flimsy material.

He sat on his bed and scooted back until he was supported by some pillows propped against his headboard. He stretched out his legs, one ankle crossed over the other. I watched, hardly breathing, trying to guess what his next order would be. He patted his thighs. "Come here."

I knelt uncertainly on his bed and crawled toward him. When I was close enough, he captured my ponytail again and dragged me forward until I was lying across his lap, with my ass over his thighs and my forehead on my arms. He rested his left arm on my lower back, keeping me in place, and laid his right hand on my left thigh, just above the knee. Goosebumps broke out on my arms and legs, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

"What are your safewords?" he hissed, making the innocuous question almost menacing.

"Yellow and red?"

"Good girl."

Why did he keep reminding me of that? Couldn't he just get on with it? I shifted slightly, turning my head to the side so I could breathe more comfortably.

Although, I did so like it when he said 'good girl.'

The hand on the back of my leg moved, fingers skimming along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, up, up, up toward my pussy. I held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut, but he didn't finish the journey. He rotated his hand so that his fingers nudged under my dress, pushing it up as his palm caressed the bare skin of my ass.

"Oooooh," I sighed, as I realized what he was building up to. And that he was staring down at my naked ass. Is this how Susannah had felt, bending over and holding the fence while Everett flipped her skirts up?

Liam lifted his hand and brought it down with a sharp crack, his palm shaping to the curve of my left buttock. It took a moment for the sting to register, and then a diffuse burning spread through my butt cheek and faded away. He repeated the action on my right butt cheek, and I kicked involuntarily.

"Hold still, little girl." Liam rubbed both cheeks where he'd struck, the pain already dissipating.

I moaned, low and long, at the words and at his touch.

He raised his hand again and another crack accompanied a bolt of pain that again spread and then dwindled. I curled my toes and squirmed, and another spank made me yelp and then jump.

"Keep still," he warned again.

I almost protested. He was hurting me! How could he expect me not to react?

But I wanted him to hurt me. I wanted him to spank me again, and again, until my ass was on fire and I soaked his lap with my juices.

I settled, nodded. He tapped me with his fingers this time, all four, back and forth on both cheeks, quick little raps that I barely noticed at first, then built into full-armed slaps that left me writhing and shivering.

He stopped, rubbed, soothed, murmuring "shhh, little girl," under his breath. I tossed my head, pushed up on my elbows and tried to look at him, but he used his left hand to shove my head down. "Stay down."

The word 'yellow' filtered into my consciousness. Now I understood why I might need it, and why he'd mentioned it more than once. I'd imagined volleys of spanks that would send me into a euphoric haze of pain and arousal, but the reality of the sensation didn't match my expectation.

And yet, I craved more. My clit was hard and throbbing, my belly tight with anticipation.

Liam resumed, with two more slow, hard slaps, then a series of light, glancing blows to the bottom curve of my buttocks, then two more directly in the middle of each cheek. The pain didn't fade after each strike now, the fire stoked with each new attack, a general warmth radiating through the skin.

He paused, running his fingertips over the tortured flesh. "Had enough, little girl?" Then, slap, slap.

"More," I croaked.

Slap. Slap.

"More." That was a cry.

Slap. Slap.

"Oh, God," I wailed, unable to contain the confusing mix of emotions in my chest, the overwhelming need for release and the desire that still raged in me to throw myself at him and let him have his way with me.

He didn't spank me again. The weight of his left arm on my back vanished, and he stroked my hair, letting his other hand—the spanking hand—return to its starting position just above my knee.

"More?" I whispered.

"You've had enough, little girl. Just relax."

I melted into a puddle of pure contentment as his fingers glided over my scalp, my neck, my shoulders. He pressed harder as he moved back down my spine, until he was scratching me, making deep troughs in my skin with his fingertips and leaving parallel lines of fire in their wake even through the thin fabric of my dress. Then his right hand moved, too, up my thigh, tickling, teasing, and finally making contact with my labia. I gasped.

"You're wet," he announced, trailing his fingers up between my pussy lips and over my ass, my own juices cooling the still-warm flesh.

"Please," I begged, and I didn't even know what I was asking for. Fuck me? Get me off? Spank me more? Do something!

"Up," he ordered, taking hold of my ponytail and hauling me up to my knees. He shifted to his knees, too, and cupped my cheek. "You did so well." His praise made me lightheaded. He kissed me then, as tenderly as the first time, lips soft against mine. He held my face between his hands, deepened the kiss, lips parting, tongue exploring. I responded automatically, meeting his tongue, a whimper sounding in my throat. I touched his hand, trying to figure out what to do with mine, and he nipped at my lower lip and pulled away. "Stand." He slid off the bed to his feet and helped me down. "Arms up." I raised my arms, and he took the hem of my dress in both hands and lifted it up and off so that I stood naked before him. He let the dress fall and kissed me again, this time cradling the back of my head in one hand while the other traced my collarbone, down between my breasts, then circled up to pinch my left nipple.

"Ungh," I grunted, as pain shot through my chest. He didn't release me from the kiss or from his hold on my nipple, just waited until I pressed my body against his and let him support me as my knees weakened. Then, with my hair as a handle yet again—oh, the ponytail had definitely been a good idea—he propelled me forward into the edge of the bed so that I bent over it.

I pillowed my cheek on my forearms, head spinning with the shifts from tender to harsh, pain to pleasure, lover to master. It only now hit me that I was completely naked, and I wasn't even self-conscious about it. He'd made the process so natural that it would have seemed odd if I were still clothed.

I flinched when he touched my ass, expecting him to spank me again, but he only stroked the tenderized skin, then leaned across me. "How you doing?" he asked, his mouth close to my ear, his weight pushing me into the mattress.

I had to think about that. He kissed my cheek, nibbled my earlobe, then waited. I didn't feel bad, so that must mean I was fine. But fine didn't seem right, because I was overwhelmed, stunned, incredibly turned on, and just a little bit terrified of what he might do next. "I'm okay," I answered.

"Good. Ready for more?"

"More?" I echoed weakly.

"Something different." He backed away. "Are you comfortable enough with me to be restrained?"

Fuck, yes. "Yeah. I—I'd like to try that."

"Don't move."

I realized I was humping the side of the bed, trying to channel all the erotic energy into an orgasm, and stopped myself. He was rummaging in his closet, and then he rounded the bed to the other side. I looked up to see him holding a pair of black leather wrist cuffs, with sturdy steel buckles and a D-ring on each.

"Give me your wrists," he instructed, and I stretched my arms out toward him. He kissed the knuckles of my right hand, then my palm, then fastened a cuff around my wrist. He did the same on the left, and it occurred to me to wonder what he was going to tie them to.

The metal frame on his bed that I'd noted when we walked in provided the answer. He used a clasp to connect the cuffs, then ran a length of rope through the D-rings, looped it around a metal bar of the frame, pulled it taut, and knotted it. I tested my range of motion and found my arms were held quite securely, as long as I wanted to keep my feet on the floor.

But Liam wasn't finished. He circled back around behind me and crouched to affix a second set of cuffs to my ankles, then used more rope to tie those cuffs to the legs of the bed, forcing my legs apart. "Oh, fuck," I gasped, aware of how vulnerable I was now, and how exposed. I was sure that if he even just breathed on my clit, I'd cum.

"Comfortable?" he asked, with a hint of irony.

"I don't know."

"Let me know if you need me to untie you."

"Uh huh."

I heard him in his closet again but couldn't see what he was doing, and then he took up a position behind me. Something tickled my back, vanished, tickled again lower, vanished again, then snapped against my right butt cheek. I grunted, but the pain was minimal, especially compared to the spanking. More tickling, then a snap to the left cheek.

"What is that?" I finally asked.

"I promised you a flogging." Two more stinging blows, like a rubber band flicking into me.

A flogging! A spanking I'd been able to imagine, but the stories I read rarely had erotic flogging. The occasional punishment whipping, sure, but those weren't meant to be arousing for the recipient.