Sinful desires{steamiest short stories}

The first time he spanked me, I thought he was a pervert. The second time he did it, I wondered if I was. By the third time, I was certain that both were true.

We met at a concert.

He was with his friends in the row behind Tricia and me. They were acting completely juvenile-using little laser pointers to draw ridiculous spastic spirals on the backs of people standing further down in the theater.

It was a loud rock concert, one of my favorite bands, and while everyone there was yelling and whistling and clapping, I found the antics behind us so annoying.

I turned to face the group of four men and yelled, “Dudes, cut that out, it’s really distracting.” I’d caught the tall one with his laser held in front of his body. I looked down and saw a tiny red dot on my jeans.

While I’d been turned with my back to him, he’d been drawing stupid circles on my ass. “How objectifying,” I thought to myself, and then smiled. I had worn my new jeans and I had to say, my butt looked great in them. Still, this was childish and ridiculous.

I looked up and glared at him. He quickly retracted the laser and stuck it behind his back with a sheepish grin. He had twinkly eyes and straight teeth. I don’t know why I notice those things first, but I always do.

Satisfied that my stare-down had had the desired effect, I turned back to the show. “Stupid boys,” I muttered to Tricia.

Two minutes later, the shirt of the guy in front of me was alive with swirls again. I tried to ignore it. The whirling dervishes of little circles got more and more insane, and finally I spun around and snatched the laser from the tall one’s hand, saying, “Give me that!”

He looked surprised, and then satisfied, knowing that he’d pressed the right button.

I had fallen right into it: the way he looked at me made me feel not superior, as I had planned, but borderline vulnerable and sexy, and in trouble, all at the same time. I put the light in my pocket. Soon after, the group of boys was gone.

We ran into the tall one after the show, standing outside the theater. He saw us and started walking toward us, calling out, “Hey, you stole my laser! Give it back!”

I laughed at him, noticing his build and eyes and teeth again. “You just don’t give up, do you? It’s mine now. I took it away for your own good.”

His eyes softened. “Listen, I’m sorry my friends and I pissed you off. Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you. I promise to behave. I’m Nick.” He stuck out his hand. I took it before I even realized I was doing it, let the surprisingly warm, surprisingly elegant hand envelop my own, and introduced myself. “Colette. And you can buy me a drink, and one for my friend, and if you behave, I’ll give your little toy back.”

“Fair enough. Nice to meet you, Colette.”

We walked to the bar around the corner. I shot a glance at Tricia, that “don’t you dare leave me with this dude” look that girls use with each other.

Nick was, as it turned out, not only endowed with mischievous eyes and perfect teeth, but also, in the absence of his friends, well mannered and nice. As we talked, I was becoming smitten, imagining what it would be like to feel his hands on my face, his lips over mine.

How does that happen, anyway? I tried to stay cool, to keep the conversation light and bouncy, but every time he looked at me I felt naked and exposed, like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

When Tricia got up to go to the ladies’ room after a couple of rounds, I excused myself and followed her. She’d had enough and wanted to leave. i i really didn’t want to go, and I was comfortable staying by myself. “If you’re sure,” she said. “I really need to get to bed; I’ve got work in the morning.”

I assured her that I’d be fine. “Go home to bed,” I said. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“You call me tonight if you need to.”

I returned to the table alone.

Nick and I had another drink, and my heart flipped when our fingers brushed past each other on the table or our feet inadvertently touched.

Eventually, the inevitable happened: Nick said, “You want to get out of here? I live a couple blocks away.” I demurred, saying I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. He replied, “If it makes you feel better, I live right next to the police station, and I promise to behave.”

Well, how could I (and three strong cocktails) argue with that?

He paid the tab and we walked past my building, past the yoga studio on the corner and a block over to his place. He turned the key to the brownstone and led me upstairs.

The place was immaculate, with quality furniture and Buddhist art. Not what I’d typically expect from a frat boy type who behaves badly at concerts.

We sat on the black leather couch and his hand went to my thigh. “These jeans are going to get you into trouble, you know,” he whispered.

“Oh?” I feigned ignorance. “And why is that?”

“Because you look so killer in them. These legs, that ass… and,” he continued, “this front pocket here,” he traced the outline of the laser, “has something that I want.”

“I think you’ve behaved yourself well enough to get it back,” I said. He reached into my pocket as I leaned back into the cushions and pulled it out, using its tip to trace a line from between my legs up to my lips.

I kissed him then, and he pulled my body over his on the couch so that I was straddling his thighs. His hands went to my hips and brought them down to his lap. His cock was hard through his jeans.

“You know,” he said, between kisses, “you shouldn’t take other people’s things without asking. It’s wrong.” I giggled nervously. “It’s not funny,” he continued, his cock getting harder by the second. “It’s very wrong to steal.”

His hand pulled back and smacked my ass, landing firmly and holding its place there for a few seconds. I yelped and laughed, “Hey, that’s not funny! That hurt!” He did it again, this time harder, and moaned softly when his palm hit and I flinched and gasped.

What the hell? I thought. Who is this guy? But the warmth that his hand had produced on my skin felt strangely good, and my pussy squeezed itself involuntarily, throbbing against the tight denim, wanting more.

His cock was straining against his jeans, and I pulled back to look at him. His face was serious; his eyes had lost all mischief. “Do it again,” I whispered. He smacked the other side of my ass, and I moaned with increasing intensity, feeling my pussy getting wet, both of my asscheeks radiating heat.

He growled, “You’re a naughty girl for stealing, aren’t you?”ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

The slaps had stopped, and I realized that if I wanted more, I’d have to play along. “Yes, I am, I’m a naughty girl for stealing.”

“And you need to be punished, don’t you?”

“Mmm, I need you to punish me. I was wrong to steal from you. It was such a bad thing to do.” I wanted this to happen-I wanted to feel vulnerable and sexy and in trouble with this man who had so expertly turned the tables on me from earlier in the night.

“Stand up and take off your jeans.”

I backed off the couch and stood in front of him, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping and sliding the stiff fabric down my legs. My ass burned, and I let the jeans fall to the floor, stepping out of them and running my hands back up to my curves, their coolness a shock to my skin.