Gillian took another bite of ricotta-stuffed pasta before dampening the delectable morsel with what she hoped would be her last glass of Bordeaux. It was always tempting to capitulate to a second bottle–especially when a vendor or business associate offered to treat–but she was determined to walk out of the meeting level-headed. Her real treat was waiting for her at The Mint Hotel, a charming oasis in midtown Manhattan just a halloo away from Bloomingdale’s. Maybe tomorrow she’d buy her lover some cologne, though no scent thrilled her more than the attar of postcoital bliss.
New York was great, but Gillian longed to return to Seattle, where she was greeted by name at her favorite restaurants and she wasn’t forced to choose her wines from an iPad list.
She left her meeting triumphant. She got the idea for a catering outfit shortly after a college rival opened her own cupcake store. Gill had nothing against cupcakes per se, but the damn sugar bombs were everywhere: cookies, doughnuts, cupcakes, and a place in the market where you can drop eight bucks on a candied apple if you were so inclined.
At the opposite end of the spectrum, she didn’t want to emulate anorexic women sipping endless cups of green tea while assiduously chomping on thumb-sized carrot sticks.
Gillian figured busy women like her needed healthy meals and snacks that tasted good, so she tested her first idea out in the University District and called her business Gift to the Belly. There were lots of raised brows when she concocted “Bend-Over Bars,” which she insisted she named in honor of active women who were constantly bending over to pick things up and were limber enough to touch their toes every morning.
The bars contained bee pollen and chocolate derived from fair-trade cacao beans, but Gill and her ever expanding staff believed the best ingredient was love.
After paying her dues in farmers’ markets and food stalls, she finally opened a brick-and-mortar establishment. Within a span of ten years a domino effect had taken place and Gift to the Belly was sustaining vibrant women from Southern California to Bellingham, Washington. She had resisted calls from New York because she saw GTB as having a particular West Coast sensibility, but an investor made her an offer she chose not to refuse.
And now, having shaken hands on that offer, she was barreling out of the posh three-star Michelin-rated Milieu and already the wet crotch of her French-cut panties begged to be rent from her quim.
She could practically feel her man’s hands grazing her rump, the ghost of her last spanking beckoning her like a lush, lucid dream.
As she traipsed through the marble-floored lobby of The Mint she felt like a woman on top of her game. Everything about her reeked of success. And money: from the shiny-as-bling highlights of her auburn hair to the abacus-clicking of her Ferragamo heels. Was it so terrible to want to float into her boudoir and have a man take over for a spell?
For Gillian, spankings weren’t about punishment. She knew she deserved every bit of her good fortune. But Ethan was part of that good luck, too. They had met at a fund-raiser, so right away she knew they had something in common. Success wasn’t about just making money; it was about using your money to make the world a better place. Ethan was compassionate, kind, and loyal. A sensitive lover . . . when she wanted him to be.
Tonight she wanted to feel the flip side of control. Ethan read her mood the minute he saw her walk in, tousle her hair, and throw her Burberry trench coat on the floor.
“Pick that up,” Ethan commanded. “That’s an expensive coat. You don’t want to act like a spoiled brat throwing quality around like it’s nothing to you.”
“You’re right,” Gill cooed, unbuttoning her silk blouse and tossing that on the ground as well. “I don’t want to be spoiled. I need a spanking.”
Ethan rolled up the sleeves of his oxford shirt and pointed to the superfluous garments. “If you neatly fold your clothes and place them on the chair, I’ll give you what you want.”
Gillian obediently did just that. Her boyfriend sat on the sofa with his knees apart and Gillian felt her own legs wobble in anticipation.
“Now,” Ethan said, his intense gaze taking her in like a cool drink. “First off, I didn’t hear you say please.”
Gillian squirmed. She was so wet she could hardly stand. “Darling, I need a spanking. Please.”
Her lover smiled. He liked this game, too. With arms sinewy from flattening countless pastry shells with a rolling pin, he gestured for her to get naked.
“Take off everything but your panties and Ferragamos. I want to see you kick up your heels when I paddle your bum.”
When Gillian stood before him in nothing but her underwear, Ethan twisted the flimsy material barely concealing her pubic hair and yanked. Hard.
“There, you didn’t need those.”
Gill gasped as Ethan twirled her over his lap with one abrupt spin.
“You do need this,” he reminded her as his hard-working hands traveled across her behind. In no time at all her cheeks were ablaze, but she held on.
Ethan’s palms were tuned in to their own erotic glissando and Gill’s hips involuntarily arced to meet the glide of his movements. She bit down on her lower lip and squeezed the sofa cushion to insure a few more good thwacks, but finally she could take no more.
She rolled off him and with all the obsequiousness she could muster knelt at his feet and said, “Please fuck me.”
Ethan pulled her up and fucked her in a standing position before carrying her to the bed where he sweetly–but firmly–suggested she get on her hands and knees.
As Ethan thrust his cock to the very pith of her warm, moist pussy he looked down and saw her ass cheeks were still crimson from the paddling; it was almost more than he could handle. He bore down and pushed into her over and over again until she climaxed, calling out his name.
Even after Ethan came, his hands kept circling her ribs, breasts, and belly as he pumped and pumped before reluctantly releasing her slippery folds.
He took her into his arms and kissed her. The softness of her skin aroused him so much he knew he’d have to fuck her again before the night was through.
“I take it the meeting went well,” he said while caressing her glowing face.
“The world is clamoring for my Bend-Over Bars,” she admitted.
“I hope you never stop bending over for me,” he said with a chuckle while reaching between her legs to fondle her clit, knowing how much she loved that.
She languidly stretched into a supine position and raised a knee to give him better access to where he wanted to play.
No, she would never tire of bending over his lap and handing him the reins to keep her tethered to him. Just as in every healthy relationship, the power balance between Ethan and Gillian would continuously ebb and flow.