Lola Gets

Thought it would be awhile, right, S? Let's just say that your last story was THAT good. Hope you like it, and hope you think of it next time you're at work!

You could barely tell by my walk. If you knew my games, you would say, “That right there? That’s a bad girl. See how behind that cocky smile, there’s the tiniest grimace? She’s trying right now to deny that her backside is aching, bruised.

“If you were to stop her and slide up that short denim skirt, you would see how, from her narrow hips tapering to the backs of her firm thighs, she is fading pink burns and welted ridges from a fierce hand. She doesn’t want you to know, but she can’t deny how it changes her step, how every time her thighs cross, the rough material scrapes against her damaged skin, how her bruises run so deep that she’s been sitting on her hip.

“If you were to slide it up, you would know how comfortable she is in that position, bent double beneath your arm, legs parted, ass taut and overly accessible. That girl has gotten a spanking. Recently. And by the look of it, a thorough one. That girl loved that spanking. She is laughing at you right now, because she thinks you don’t know.

“Watch her mouth when she brushes against the door, the counter. A little gasp, her lips puckered in surprise, eyes wide. Whoever administered that spanking knew what he was doing. She forgets how much that pressure hurts. That spanking was long, but not vicious. Controlled; her bottom meted out pain methodically, wholly.

“Look at her face. She loved every second of it. And she wants to thank him.”

I do. I wanted to thank Him. And so I had made arrangements with my favorite security guard, who led me down into the basement with his hand on my ass the whole way. I didn’t care. It made me wickedly wet to have dirty paws cupped around His work, squeezing me roughly before pointing me toward the hallway. My step slowed when I saw that last door.

He’d be alone in His dungeon. And if He wasn’t, He would send them away when I arrived. I didn’t understand why my hand trembled on the door knob; I took a small breath and ran my fingers through my hair, shoving it away from my face. Shifting on my hip, I could feel his work and the blood began to pound through my ears, loud, churning, nearly able to drown out the gravelly loop that accompanied the ache in my ass: Oh, I'll spank you alright. I'm going to spank you until you are fucking broken. Until you are weak and tired. I will spank you until you can't fucking stand it...

I squared my shoulders, my chin higher, eyes flashing, and entered.

There was someone there; I glanced quickly at him. The gaze was brief; he was appreciative but subtle, locking eyes with Him, tilting his head up the flight of stairs. Two steps, three steps, four—He knew I was there. He shook His head at His coworker, who nodded and disappeared down a corridor, one I had not noticed when I had been to His office in the past.

“What are you doing here, my pet?” He asked, not looking up from the stacks of paper He was managing. I paused, foot stopping on the step, hovering, tickling the concrete slab; I wasn’t ready to cross the room yet. My lip snuck between my teeth and I chewed it absently, tracing the railing grooves and not meeting His eyes.

I shrugged.

He turned, half-turned, glancing back at me from His work, “A social visit then. It’s good to see you.”

His voice was sun-lit honey and I wanted more. Step down; we were level now. Step down; I sunk below Him. Step down; lower. It felt good here, beneath Him as I was.

His back was to me again and it made me angry; it was easier to cross the floor, to stop behind Him, to clear my throat, to tap impatiently, to stomp lightly, waiting. It was easier to grab His shirt sleeve, to pull irritably on it.

His response was quick, covering my fingers and squeezing them between His own, turning slowly, my hand trapped in His.

“What is it then, my pet?” He asked, choosing to ignore my transgression for the time being.

He wasn’t making this easy for me, but then it wouldn’t be Him to do so. I looked up at Him, resigned to surrendering all dignity and composure. My bottom was sore, my cunt polished, lacquered slick. I wanted my thighs around Him, His hands raking my ass, my hips, while He slammed into me. I was salivating with these thoughts, unable to swallow fast enough.

I set my bag down, purposefully, slowly, sweeping my body briefly against His. My pulse electric, my breath caught between parted lips.

“I was trying to think of a way to thank you,” I said, slipping my hand from His and untucking my shirt. His breath was slowing; His eyes were following my hands. I was in my element and it felt good. I would take my time.

One button, at the bottom, in the wrinkled fabric of my blouse. His eyes were there, on my waist. A smile threatened the corner of my mouth, my eyes already laughing at how easily He could be manipulated. But He wasn’t looking at my eyes; two buttons and my belly was exposed, the draft in the room playing across my warm, golden skin. His hands twitched. Three buttons, four buttons and the bottom of my lacy black bra peeked through the curtain of silk. One more.

I stopped, opening my legs a bit wider, closing the gap between us. The smile was broad now, my eyebrow crooked. He saw it before I could rearrange my disposition. Without a word, He scooped me up and dumped me down on an empty table, my tender backside colliding with unforgiving solidness. I groaned loudly, cursing Him under my breath.

“That doesn’t sound like a thank you,” He smirked, pleased with Himself. I sat up straighter, eyes narrowed and breath a low growl. I scooted to the edge of the table, but His hands were on my shoulders, holding me upright and heavily on my sore bottom. I wriggled, trying to turn to the side, get some of the pressure off my bruised skin.

“What’s funny now, my pet?” He whispered wickedly, one hand snaking up my thigh, fingers on the outside of my leg, gripping my flesh, biting at my ass. I gasped hotly, clawing at His hands.

His palm was on top of my leg, higher, thumb clutching my inner thigh, slick and wet. His eyes blazed, “You like this, don’t you?”

He laughed, pushing me back onto my elbows, grabbing the bottom of my shirt with both hands. He stepped between my legs, yanking free the flimsy last button. I was trying to be quiet, trying to compose; He was leaning down between my legs, sliding my skirt up over my thighs, lifting me and yanking up to my waist. His breath was on my lap, on my pussy; I was panting softly, throbbing ass, smoldering cunt.

“No panties,” He noted, grinning at the word, “Good.”

His hand was on my belly, pinning me to the table, my bottom writhing in itchy, scalding pain, my skin hot, flushed, scraping against the tabletop. With a free hand, He slid his belt through the loops of his pants, catching my wrists and tying them together crudely, then affixing the belt to the heavy copier behind me. I was stuck, my beaten ass trapped against the merciless plastic slab. He looked down at me; I twisted to the side, but He was too fast. He grabbed my thigh and held it down, leaning across my body, fingers knotting into my hair, weight crushing me against the table, breath on my neck.

“You wanted to thank me, pet,” He whispered, condescension oozing off His tongue. I loved the feeling of His chest above me, slowing my breath; His lap pressed against my liquid hot cunt, cock thickly nearby. My pussy was howling for Him.

I nodded, and I could feel His mouth on my ear, my neck, sucking hard on my too-responsive skin. I could feel Him let go of my thigh, drag the zipper of His pants down, drop them to His hips. My thighs curled around Him instinctively, my hips bucking up against His cock.

“Shh, shh,” He chided, hands reaching between my bound forearms, caressing my lips, allowing me to suck briefly on His fingertips, melodic mewls in my throat. Moving lower, my throat, my collarbone, my breast, skimming over my nipple through the rutted lace. Moans, more insistent as my cunt dripped. His dick was aching for me, the underside rubbing against my slit as my hips sought Him.

“Please, please,” I begged, composure gone, a twisting mess of raw ache, “I need…you to…. Fuck me. Jesus, fuck!”

My words were erratic like my breath, my pulse. I was groaning, thrashing, pulling hard on the belt. My hair was in my face, my shoulders unable to lie flat. He was pleased.

I felt His hands on my hips first, palms flat against the sides of my ass, raising me up slightly, and then, without a word, felt Him plunge into me, illogically, foolish, irrational. He was holding me snugly, short nails digging into my ass, fucking me fast and deep, solid, grinding furiously into my pleading slit.

I was not quiet; I was not careful. I howled, wailed, and hiccupped moans that silenced the thunder of copiers around me. My ass was grated, scoured; His hands slashing against my skin, as He yanked my sloppywet cunt up and down his cock, slapping me against His lap. I was breathless, glistening.

He fucked me religiously, His thumb brushing my clit so gently, a breath and I came, belly tight, breath caught. He slammed into me, promising with the thrust that he was filling my pussy with liquid heat. His hand was on my neck, fingers pressed beneath my jaw. He climbed up my chest, His voice in my ear, breath scraping past His clenched teeth.

“You’re welcome,” He whispered, scratching into my ass cruelly and licking the smile onto His lips.