Second Time Around Read online

  Oh God, how long have I been so turned on? They’re saturated with juice, stained dark, revealing. He crumples them in his long fingers, wafts them quickly in front of his face, his eyes closing a moment. Then he stuffs them into the pocket of his leather jacket and returns his attention to me, only me.

  “Have you been with a man since me?”

  Regret sluices through me, even though it shouldn’t. We weren’t married. I was lonely. I took a man home, a work colleague who seemed nice. Who was nice, but not James. We fooled around and it was okay, just okay. But I couldn’t go through with it and fuck him when the moment came.

  “You can answer, sweetheart. I’m not going to punish you.” His eyes are level and inquisitive. I wonder why I seem to add the word yet to that last sentence. “I’ll only punish you if you lie to me. If you deceive me.”

  Punish? Oh…Oh…

  I’m very, very conscious that I’m standing here without my knickers and my husband is talking about punishing me. It seems strange and surreal to be doing so, but also right in a way I cannot seem to quantify. I love James. I always will. And even though I understand the reasons why we parted, I want that parting to be over. To make things right.

  And it’s right and good and exciting and fitting that my pussy should be naked, beneath my skirt, to suit his will.

  “There was one guy…I didn’t fuck him. But we…we kissed and played around a bit.”

  James tips his head to one side, eyeing me. That smile’s back, flirting around his lips. Is he pleased I didn’t fuck someone else, or pleased I allowed some liberties? I really can’t tell.

  “Did you let him touch you there?” he nods toward my crotch “Between your legs?”

  “Yes, sort of…but not much. I thought I wanted it, but when it came to it, I didn’t.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “Now you’re prevaricating, Willa. Keeping the full truth from me.” Standing up suddenly, he’s right in my face, looking down at me. “I don’t mind if he played with your pussy. I just want you to be honest with me.”

  I open my mouth to answer, but his lips come down on mine, hard and fast and unequivocal. Gasping around his tongue, I let him take me with his mouth, possessive and hungry. I put my arms around his neck to hold myself up, to hold myself against him, and as he continues to subdue me with the kiss, I feel his hand on my bottom, working my skirt up quickly and efficiently.

  When the cool air hits my bare skin, I start to struggle, unable to control the automatic urge to cover myself.

  “Someone might come in!” I protest, trying to break the kiss, but he kisses harder, a hand on the back of my head, holding me, while his other cups my bottom cheek, squeezing and massaging it in a way that’s delicious, delicious, delicious…rude but intensely arousing.

  “Ah, Willa, Willa, Willa,” he purrs when he eventually ends the kiss, “Always worrying what people will thinkworrying what other people do.” He’s looking at me, talking to me in a normal way, but as he stares into my eyes, he’s running his fingertips up and down into the cleft of my sex, teasing me, tickling me. “You mustn’t do that, love. It only spoils things for you. Just relax, let things happen, cease to strive and fret.” He’s petting my perineum now, stroking it, his fingers sliding on my juices.

  I let out a little whimper, unable to contain myself. I feel a thick rush of lubrication slither down the inside of my thigh, wetting my stocking top.

  “See how much easier life is when you surrender to pleasure. When you stop forever wanting to do things, and change things, and just let things happen to you.”

  Gasping, I lean against him, still holding on for dear life. My clit’s pulsating with hungry need, but I can’t reach down, can’t touch myself. I haven’t had permission. I must wait for him to give it, or for him to do me himself. All I can do is step from one foot to the other, as if that might surreptitiously stimulate me without him realizing it.

  The minute I think that, though, he murmurs, “Tut-tut…I know what you’re trying to do. And I haven’t given permission. You have to earn your pleasure, my sweet. Give me something, so I’ll give you something.” He presses his mouth to the side of my face, breathing in deeply. “Much as I love you, my dear wife, it’s not all about you anymore. It’s about me too. What I want.”

  Far back in my mind, the old me clamors. I’m not his wife, not really. We’re not together, and even if we are, we don’t have that kind of relationship…or do we?

  But I swallow hard, turn my head, breathe his breath. I don’t want the old relationship anymore. I was never happy, not even when I was getting all my own way. Because beneath the superficial satisfaction I knew I was hurting him. And only he was brave enough to walk away from the mess I was making.

  Walk away, so he could come back. A new man. The one I need and love.

  In a tiny voice, I ask, “What do you want?” I know the answer, I think, but I’m scared, still scared. It’s the ultimate loss of control, a true submission.

  “Well, tonight, for starters. I’d like to see your beautiful breasts again…and your thighs…and your pussy.” His fingers move devilishly, sliding forward, playing around my entrance, but not quite reaching my clit. “And then I think I’d like to spank your bottom. You need to learn to let go, my love. To give in. Cut loose.” He slips a finger into my vagina, and it goes in to the first joint, coasting on my honey. “To let someone other than you control your senses and your body.” He kisses me again, his lips cruising my throat as his finger hooks inside me, making me gasp. “Only then will you really and truly be in charge of what makes you happy.”

  It sounds like New Age mumbo jumbo, but beneath the words I see the wisdom. It makes age-old sense, and my ex-husband is primal. He’s male and he’s alpha and he’s been that way all along. He just made concessions to me, out of love. In error, but because he cared.

  And now, because he still cares, he’s become himself again.

  But I’m afraid. In a way I never have been before. “I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely more than a breath.

  “Don’t be,” he whispers back, stroking my hair in a way that’s gentle and sweet, while his other hand is rude and wicked between my legs. We stand there for long, long moments, him soothing me with small kisses and wordless whispers, while all the while, the finger inside me owns me. Eventually though, he slips it out, and with a last brush of his lips against my hair, he steps away from me. “Undress,” he says quietly.

  It’s a command.

  Heart lurching in my chest, I slide off my jacket and place it on the chair at my side. Everything seems unreal, yet hyper real as if we’re living it in high definition. The sounds of the buttons of my blouse sliding out of the buttonholes are so distinct they seem to reverberate, and the whisper of the cloth as I drop that on the chair rings in my ears too. I know that at any moment someone might find it necessary to revisit this old haunt, but still I unsnap the fastener on my bra, ready to remove it. Cupping myself through the lace, I hesitate. James quirks an eyebrow, his blue eyes steady. I swallow, breathe deeply, bracing myself, then let the garment slip off me, exposing my breasts.

  “Stop.”

  My hands falter on the zip of my skirt and he steps close again, reaching out to fondle my breasts with both hands. He lifts them slightly, cradling them, as if assessing their weight and resilience. I have to close my eyes, the sensations are so intense, and I bite my lips, stopping the moans that spring to them as my pussy ripples, so excited.

  “Look at me.”

  I toss my head, unable to look.

  “Look at me,” he repeats, voice still low and calm, yet full of heat. His eyes are full of heat too, when I meet them. And as they hold mine, he tweaks my nipples, lightly at first, then with more force, plucking and twisting and playing.

  I’m a bottle of sparkling wine and he’s shaking me. I’m ready to explode, to effervesce. My sex aches in a hard, grinding ache, and my clitoris seems to swell between my pussy lips, crying to be touched. And
still he torments my nipples in a way that transcends both pleasure and pain, yet is both.

  “Ah!” I gasp as he squashes them between finger and thumb, and when he glances downward, I realize I’m clasping myself between my legs, my hand squeezing and massaging through my skirt.

  “Uh-oh, now you’ve done it!” he teases, still strumming my nipples, “That will cost you, Willa, my love.” Dipping down, he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks hard on it, sending me beside myself. Unable to control my actions, I rub myself hard, pressing on my clit through the fabric of my skirt, and it jumps suddenly, and hard, and I’m coming. My knees buckle as quick, unexpected pleasure ripples through my sex and my belly and my entire groin. I clench on nothing, the muscles working, working, working as I groan. But James has me, holds me, keeping me aloft while I’m out of my body, yet more in it than I’ve ever, ever been.

  After a few moments, I get it together again. I’ve climaxed, but it wasn’t enough. It was just a taster orgasm. I want more and I want more of this strange new lovemaking James has shown me. As I feel him release me, I know he knows I’m ready.

  “Skirt now, baby,” he urges, but not before he presses a last little kiss on the very tip of my breast.

  I unzip, slide my skirt down, step out of it, taking care not to catch my heels in the hem. I only have to reach for James’s outstretched hand once throughout the process to keep my balance. And then I’m naked, but for my thigh-high stockings and elegant black pumps. I won’t say it doesn’t bother me that I’m so exposed in a public room, but somehow the danger, and the knowledge that anybody might come in and see my breasts and my crotch, only excites me more. In another world, I might have automatically kicked off my shoes too, but somehow, a sharp new instinct tells me that James prefers me with them on.

  I stand, lifting my head as if presenting myself to him, and he walks in a circle around me, his blond head cocked to one side as if grading my posture, the firmness of my breasts, the smoothness of my bottom.

  Should I bow my head? Be the perfect submissive? I decide not. I’m surrendering my will to James now, but I’m still me, still Willa, and he seems to like that. That delicious sexy smile plays around his lips, and as he returns to stand in front of me, looking into my eye, he winks and laughs as if acknowledging my choice and approving it.

  Stepping close again, he holds me against him, one hand around my back, hugging me to his body, while the other one rests lightly on my backside. He presses his face to mine, breathing in deeply as he holds me. His erection is like a rod of iron in his jeans, jammed up against me, owning me with its size and might and hunger.

  “I’m going to smack you now,” he murmurs in my ear, and before I have time to react or respond, he fetches me a hard whack on my bottom cheek, right on its crown. It’s such a shock that I cry out, but he jams his lips against mine, taking the sharp, high sound into his mouth. My bottom is afire instantaneously from the powerful stroke, but there’s no time to absorb the degree of pain and tingling because he repeats the slap immediately, catching me perfectly on the spot he hit before.

  Beyond the control of my mind, which suspects I should be still, my hips begin to circle and move, rubbing my needy crotch against James and massaging his erection with the curve of my belly. I flutter at him with my hands, then slide my arms up to lock them around his neck again.

  “Be still,” he purrs, his lips still on mine and his arm tightening around my back. His hand comes down hard on my rear, again and again and again as I hold on, cleaving to my rock.

  I’m sobbing now, but he’s still kissing me as he spanks my bottom. I part my thighs, trying to rub myself on one of his, and though he permits it, he smacks me harder. In retribution. My clit burns too, just like my bottom, aroused by the thought of different, greater pains and punishments. The target area is blazing now, a mass of furious heat that soaks through my entire groin, centering on my clitoris. He’s starting to mix it up a bit, landing blows higher, lower, spreading the inferno. My head droops onto his neck, and my mouth settles against bare skin, just above his shirt. My lips open and I kiss him messily, wetly.

  How can I like this? How does it arouse me so, even as I’m crying in the midst of my kisses? It hurts, it really hurts, but I can’t stop myself writhing about, enticing and encouraging him.

  “Do you like it?” he murmurs in my ear, catching me with a sharp, devious blow right on the underhang of my bottom.

  “Yes! No! I don’t know!” I gabble, working myself against him furiously. I want to clasp my fingers to my burning bottom, but I know if I let go my arms from around his neck I’ll collapse. He’ll catch me, of course, but I want to stay upright…to continue. He slaps again, the spank falling across the vent of my anus this time…and I go crazy. Orgasm swoops in from left field and I crush my pussy against the denim of his jeans, and the iron-hard muscle beneath. Great wrenching waves of pleasure seem to possess my very soul, they’re so massive, so all consuming, so much more intense in every way than any orgasm I’ve ever had before.

  “James…James…James…,” I sob, and he holds me against him, with both hands this time. One hand clasps my sorely spanked bottom cheek, stirring the inferno, feeding the flames of the pain, and of my pleasure. Tears stream down my face and wet his too as I kiss him again and again in strange gratitude.

  I never realized what I wanted until he showed me.

  He strokes the heat, tantalizes the tender flesh, delicately caresses the rose of my anus and the sensitive area of my perineum. My climax surges again, but it’s a more peaceful wave now, gently cresting then gradually receding. I slump against him, unable to stand, unable to think, and for moment?or is it hours??we hold on to each other, silent but for our breathing, still heavy, and the sobs and sniffs and whimpers I can’t control. But I don’t feel embarrassed or troubled that I can’t contain myself. I feel liberated. Free and happy in a new and magic way.

  “Thank you, my love,” I whisper at last, able to speak.

  “Thank you, Willa,” he answers, kissing me again, even as his fingers curve lightly, teasing my soreness.

  “But…but…” I want to quiz him, ask him if he wants me to do anything about the raging erection that’s still boring into my belly through his jeans. But I know that in good time, he’ll make his desires known to me.

  “Don’t fret, love…” he soothes, stroking my hair.

  “I want to please you,” I admit, then feel a new flush of heat rush through my body, “Because you pleased me.”

  He shrugs, dropping a kiss on my cheek. “Seems reasonable.” He withdraws his hands and rests them on my shoulders, pushing down lightly.

  It seems perfectly sweet and natural to drop to my knees. His eyes are like sapphires, lit from within as he looks down at me, and he fusses with my hair again as I grapple with his belt and button and zipper of his jeans.

  He isn’t wearing any underwear! My neat, conventional, tidy, buttoned-up James has left off his briefs, and I feel a new pang of delicious desire at that, such a wicked excitement. I almost swoon with perverse yearning as his beautiful cock springs out and bounces up, magnificently stiff. He laughs, macho man, pleased with himself, and why not. Cradling my head gently, he edges me toward his shiny, rosy, inviting glans. The skin is taut and wet, awash with luscious pre-come.

  I part my lips and admit him, loving the way he stretches my mouth and doesn’t hesitate, pushing in, making me take his heat and hardness. He holds me in place, thrusting. I know he could go deeper, he’s a big man, but even though he’s dominant, he’s not cruel, not a beast. He possesses my mouth confidently but respects my limits. Just…

  Me, I don’t feel I have limits. I encourage him, grabbing his firm-muscled buttocks, squeezing and caressing, pressing the seam of his jeans against his cleft.

  “Oh Willa, Willa…God, I’ve missed you!” His hips jerk as I press and press. “I’ve wanted this so long…so long. I don’t think I can hold on, love. I’m too excited. I’m going to come!”
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  Silently, I cry out to him to let loose, to come, to flood my mouth with his semen. He can’t hear me, can he? But maybe he can, and I want him to know it’s not an order, never that, just an invitation, extended happily, and with love. As if he has heard, his hips hammer, thrusting wildly now, the hard head of his cock butting at my tongue and the inside of my cheeks. But I don’t gag, I’m so relaxed, so ready for him.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” he shouts prosaically, but to me it’s like music. A sweet song I’ve not heard for over three years. My tears fall again, happy and salt, as he comes, copiously and freely in my mouth.

  Later, I don’t know how much, he helps me to dress, handing me my clothes and offering his arm for me to lean on when I step into my shoes. We do this without many words, but they’re not needed. It’s as if all the distance between us during our marriage has collapsed and we’re soul to soul, closer now than we’ve ever been.

  Clattering through the foyer, I realize I’m going to go with him, wherever he wants me to go. It’s been good to see old school friends, but my place is by James’s side now. We nod to a few folk as we pass through, but we don’t stop.

  “I have a hotel room at the Greybridge,” I offer cautiously, once we’re out on the gravel. At one time, I’d have been bustling him into going there, organizing, controlling, but not now.

  “Sounds great. I just came on spec. I didn’t plan that far.” He leans over and gives me a kiss. “Let’s go there then. Good thinking, love.” He reaches up and ruffles my hair like I’m a dutiful child who’s done well.

  I glow, feeling like a dutiful child who’s done well.

  “You wait here. I’ll get my car. Did you drive here?”

  I shake my head, and he nods approvingly before striding off in the direction of the staff car park. He’ll only be a moment or two, but I’m already missing him. I console myself by surreptitiously pressing my hand against my bottom, and stirring the fading remnants of my pain, and my pleasure.

  Smiling to myself, it’s several seconds before I realize I’m not alone. There’s a figure sitting on a bench, by the entrance. She’s got a glass of wine and seems to be sitting in the twilight, deep in thought, her brow puckered. I think of my own recent epiphany, and sidle over. I won’t push or pry, but she looks as if she might need a sounding board.