Ma Belle

This was something else. It wasn’t happening here, especially not with him.

Non.

It had been a gag gift. She wanted to see him blush, embarrass him like she had been embarrassed after slipping and falling on the ice in front of him. He had laughed his high pitched girly laugh, and she wanted revenge.

He had blushed hard but she swore that there was a glint hidden in his gaze.

Now, this was just way, way too much to handle.

He was kneeling, straddling her body, her shirt was gone and so was her bra. He was quick for a younger man. She still felt the sting of the bite on her right breast, the nibbles on her collarbone, the heat of his body shifting into hers through his pants, his hands, her skirt, her panties.

Fuck, her panties. They were soaking wet.

He was younger and the captain of her brother’s team. Her kid brother who just managed to make an honest woman of his bitchy girlfriend. The one-

“Fuck,” she moaned.

The clamps were tugging her nipples, turning them ridiculously sensitive. He tugged on the chain and she felt the sensation ricochet through her body. One knee was between her legs and she could feel his hard cock through all of their layers of clothes.

He murmured, “Betcha thought that I wouldn’t know what to do with these,” pulling the chain even harder.

She squirmed on the day bed underneath him. The pain turned into pleasure and she wanted more. “Did you,” he insisted, his brown gaze turning from amused to that look he had when he was on the ice. She shivered, turned on even more.

‘No,Kid,” she mocked before closing her eyes. One of his hands ran down her side, over her ribs and down her stomach.

He gritted his teeth as his hand went up her skirt. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma belle.”

Then a twist of the chain between his lips and a press of his palm against her pantie-clad pussy and the pain/pleasure eroded any chance of a reply.