"Lance," you say, poking your head around his doorframe.
He looks up from his laptop, squinting through his glasses at you.
"I need you to come with me, please," you continue, turning around and walking back down the hall to your room. You don't have to look back to make sure he's coming; you know he will, if only for the curiosity factor. He doesn't seem to think that you can or will follow through on your promises. You smile a little. That's a fantasy that doesn't have long to live.
Sure enough, he enters the room only a minute or so later. He's smirking a little, but you decide to ignore that for now.
"Is this the part where I apologize for leaving you, uh, high and dry, so to speak, yesterday?" he asks, now almost full out grinning.
You shrug. "If you want to. It won't do you much good," you say, sitting calmly on the chaise lounge. You can tell that your calmness is getting to him, and you grin inwardly. He's used to your spazziness; usually you'd be bouncing off the walls or at least vocally excited. This time? You're deliberately staying quiet and you know it's throwing him off balance.
You stay there a minute longer, idly examining and picking at your cuticles, while Lance grows slightly more agitated.
"You know, you're the one who wanted me to come here," he says finally. "Are we just going to sit here all night?"
You shift your weight so you're sitting up more and face him on the bed. "I know," you say. "Okay. You've figured out by now that I'm not exactly happy, right?"
"Yeah," he says drily. "You're not exactly subtle, you know."
You roll your eyes. "So I've heard. Whatever, man. The fact is, you left me there. In a. . .delicate position."
"One move from orgasm?" he asks bluntly.
"Yes!" You can feel yourself getting worked up, which just played into his hands, and force yourself to calm down. "And Lance? I don't like that."
"I guessed that. Are you going to do something about it?" he asks. "Or just keep telling me?"
You shrug. "I wanted to make sure you got the point. You do, fine, so yes, I am going to do something about it." You continue to sit patiently, and Lance shifts in his seat. It may be going a little too far, but like he said, you're not known for subtlety, and it's too much fun to play with his head like this.
"Does the something involve doing anything but sitting?" he finally asks.
You grin. "Yeah, eventually. I'm not totally ready yet, though, so you have to keep waiting."
He moves to stand, but he stops when he sees you shake your head.
"No," you explain. "You wait here. There, actually," you say, pointing to the corner.
"You're kidding me," he says, disbelief tingeing his voice.
"Nope," you say cheerfully. "Go on." He doesn't move. "Really. Go on."
He stands slowly, as if waiting for you to tell him this is all a joke. You just wait, and he makes his way towards the corner you pointed to. He turns a few feet from it. "I don't think," he begins, but you cut him off.
"Lance, quiet. Stop complaining. Take your jeans off while you're at it," you tell him.
"What? Now come on, don't you think," he tries again, but you shake your head and he quiets.
"Boxers, too, now," you say, and see his face fall. "Well, hell, Lance, you're the one who kept talking," you say defensively. "If you'd just stop challenging me at every step, it'd go smoother. You'd be fully dressed, anyway." He starts to open his mouth, but you stop him. "Lance, have you learned nothing? Do you want to keep your shirt on?" He closes his mouth with a snap and a glare. "Thank you!" you exclaim. "Now, c'mon."
Still glaring, he pulls down his jeans and boxers in one rough yank and kicks them off with a little more force than you feel is necessary.
"Fold them and put them on the bed," you say, and don't blink at the fierceness of his dark look. He's obviously unhappy with this turn of events, but you can't find it anywhere in yourself to be anything but amused. Turn about and fair play and all that jazz, you think. He picks them up and follows your instructions, before looking up at you and folding his arms. "Thank you," you say, more gently. He nods brusquely, lips tightly pinched together. It's gotta be killing him not to speak, you think. He gets pretty far using that voice of his.
"Okay," you say. "Corner now, please." He looks at you mournfully and you start laughing. You don't think that was his intended reaction, but you can't help it. You clap your hands. "Damn, you're so cute. But really. Corner," you grin.
He turns and drops to his knees on the pillow you placed there earlier. His hands automatically go to his head, and you shrug. You hadn't said to do that, hadn't even thought of it, honestly, but why not? It fits, you decide.
"Okay, I'm going to finish getting everything set up," you tell him. "I'll check on you every little bit, so stay just how you are, and we'll all be good." You drop a light kiss onto his hair, pat his ass, and leave the room.
You stop outside the door to see if you can hear him move around. Not even a little shift. You wonder, briefly, if you're taking things too far. You have a tendency to do that, you know. Basically, all he'd done the day before was be a tease; did that really warrant all of this? But then you remember the hardness he'd been trying to conceal by tugging on his shirt hem, and your concerns dissipate somewhat. He got off on spanking you, and all signs pointed to him getting off on being dominated and probably spanked by you, no matter how much he complained.
With that in mind, you head downstairs to collect the items you'll be needing.
Almost an hour later, everything has been collected, Lance has been checked upon several times, and you got a chance to read a few more chapters in a book you've been trying to finish for weeks.
You carry a bundle of objects in your arms, heading back to your room where Lance has been waiting. Making sure he's still tucked into the wall, you hum to yourself as you lay out the items and cover them with linen napkins you found in one of Lance's kitchen drawers.
"Okay, Lance," you sing out. "You can get up now."
He does, slowly, shaking out his arms and rubbing his knees. He walks over to you, and you take a moment to massage his shoulders. He relaxes visibly, melting into your touch, and you smile at him. He smiles back before he remembers and he lets it fall off his face. In response, you give his arms a final pat and step away.
"Okay, Lance," you say, stepping over to the dresser you've set up. "Here's the deal. You did a great job in the corner. You stopped complaining, and you stayed still, from what I could see. I'm impressed. So, you get a reward." You gesture to the covered items. "I have four implements here. They're each inside a Tupperware bowl and then covered in a napkin, so you can't tell which is which. You get to choose which I use for your spanking."
He looks at the four rounded bumps, and then back at you.
"Yes, you can talk now," you say, knowing what he's asking for.
"Will you tell me what the options are?" he asks.
You pause, considering. "Do you really want to know?" you ask. "I will tell you that one of them has a notecard that says handspanking, though."
He looks at them and sighs. "That's probably all I want to know ahead of time," he says. He steps closer and closes his eyes. His hand moves in the air above the boxes before landing on the third one. He opens his eyes, and leaves his hand resting on it. "This one," he says, sounding a little breathless.
You lift the napkin, just as curious about his choice. You had deliberately not watched where each was placed, so you couldn't give anything away. The pink, ridged lid comes off and reveals a wooden spoon lying in it.
Lance lets out a breath, and you can't tell if it's one of relief or not. You're not sure if he knows, either.
"Okay, then," you say. "Shall we proceed?" You sit down on the edge of the bed, spoon in hand, and wait for Lance. He hesitates, but takes the few steps to your side and bends himself over your lap.
You flip the shirttails up and off of his ass. You shimmy it up a little bit more above the small of his back, creating a nice clear space since he'd already had to remove his boxers and jeans. You take a moment to rearrange him more comfortably on both your lap and the bed, allowing his torso to rest on the comforter and not hang into the air. As a precaution, you slide your leg over his in a scissoring position to keep him anchored. You stop to survey the position and feel his hardness digging into your lap. You grin.
You smooth your hands over his ass, which is right now the palest of whites. He tenses, probably involuntarily, and you pat it gently. "I'm not going to start out with the spoon, Lance," you say. "Okay? Here we go," you continue, punctuating the sentence with a handsmack. He gasps, and you follow that with another sharp smack on the other cheek.
You continue to spank only using your hand, watching the marble like skin flush a rosy pink. You pepper a few dozen quick, stinging smacks all over his ass, letting them all blend together. After the first noise, he's been quiet, breathing hard and bouncing slightly to your rhythm. You concentrate a few on his sit spot, a rapid fire smacksmacksmacksmack that causes a low moan from Lance.
Slightly encouraged, you twist your upper body a little so you can aim with both hands. The unexpected double barrage, landing everywhere from the small of his back to the tops of his thighs, makes him cry out and he fights to free himself, but he can't get out from between your legs. He reaches back and you stop spanking with your left hand to catch his and hold it on his back.
"Shhhhh," you soothe, slowly finishing the smacks with your right hand and rubbing his ass. You keep rubbing as his tears slow down and his breathing evens out. "You okay?" you ask, and he nods his head against the bed. You let go of his hand, and he turns his head so you can see his blotchy face. You wipe away some of his tear tracks.
"Okay, sweetie," you say, the endearment slipping out before you can stop it. "Okay. That would have been your warm up, over your jeans or boxers, if you hadn't already had to take them off. Now we're going to start for real, okay?" He nods tensely and fists the comforter tightly. You give his ass cheeks one last run over with your hand before patting it with the wooden spoon.
You glide it over the slick, rosy skin before lifting it and letting it fall with a crisp smack. Lance bucks against your lap, letting out a whimper. You hold back another moment, worried that perhaps this was too much, but you hear him mumble, "Please."
"Please what, Lance?" you ask.
"Please don't stop," he whispers.
You use the spoon to smack lightly but forcefully in acknowledgment of his words before coming down with a very audible SPLAT. Lance lets out a howl as a red oval on his ass shows up. You snap the spoon down again and again, flicking your wrist for maximum effect, and his tears start again in earnest. His intermittent erection falters again as you smack down all over his ass, creating splotches of color in an abstract pattern. Each hit causes a new loud cry and more tears.
It hasn't been a dozen smacks before you taper off and set the wooden spoon aside. You gently lay your hands on his ass, feeling the heat rolling off, and he jumps wildly.
"It's okay," you say softly, knowing he probably isn't hearing you yet, but wanting to reassure him. You just massage his pink and red ass, humming softly, as he slowly gains control again. He's still sniffling after a few minutes, but you sit him up carefully, perching him on the bed next to you. "You okay?" you ask, giving him a hug, and he cracks a small smile.
"You ask that a lot, you know that?" he says.
You laugh. "Yeah, probably. I just want to make sure. Hang on here a moment," you say, and walk quickly to the bathroom. You come back a moment later with two wet washclothes. You had considered him spending some more time in the corner, but there's no way. You reach down and snag the pillow as you pass it, and toss it towards the head of the bed.
You drop one of the damp cloths on the dresser and use the other to mop up his face. It had been sticky with sweat and dried tears, which you knew couldn't be too comfortable. "Better?" you ask. He nods.
"Okay, then just climb into bed," you say. He crawls up the bed and lays flat on his stomach, plumping the pillows under his cheek. He nestles his head into the top pillow with a little sigh, and you watch, amused. "Comfy?" you ask, grabbing the second washcloth.
He smiles a little. "As much as I can be," he says, sounding sleepy.
You take a moment to note how clearly his dusky rose skin contrasts with the cream colored sheets before covering his ass with the wet washcloth. He jumps, startled, and you apologize quickly. "Just trying to cool you down a little," you say, patting the cloth gently. "Okay?"
He laughs. "Yes, okay." You give him one last pat and move to the dresser to pull out a tshirt and shorts. You quickly change before sliding into bed next to him, and cuddling close. You give him a kiss on his forehead, but he's already breathing evenly, sound asleep. You grin, but realize that you're also pretty tired. It's been a long night for both of you, after all, so you settle in for a good night's sleep.
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