Three and a Half Weeks (53 page)

My feet are killing me. I feel as if I’ve been standing in these dainty yet torturous-as-medieval-contraption heels for a week straight. The thing is, whenever I get a glimpse of my bridegroom in his formal attire, I’m willing to have my feet pinched in these heels for another week, just to see him in these clothes, in this
milieu
—out of the corporate rat maze and having fun.

Luckily we are now boarding the Gulfstream to begin our three-week honeymoon. Just the fact that we can take off for three weeks makes me elated. Another thing that makes me elated is that I can take off these shoes in just a few minutes.

Our wedding was storybook perfect, with nothing to mar it. We got lucky with the weather, getting a beautiful late spring day, with crisp, clean air coming off the sound. Our guests were spectacular and didn’t happen to include Ian’s ex-girlfriends or lovers (that I know of, anyway). I didn’t even have to withstand Diana Benson, treacherous cradle robber extraordinaire, since Mason saw to it that she wouldn’t attend. I gave him a big (and sloppy) kiss for that kindness and Ian didn’t even fight him over it.

“So, Ian, tell me something that I’ve always wondered about: why were you drawn to me in the first place? You know, at Archipelago?”

We’re sitting in the main cabin of the Gulfstream. When we boarded about twenty minutes ago, the crew, headed by Scott, were all at the door awaiting our arrival.

“Congratulations, Mr. Blackmon, and welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, Scott. I think I speak for both myself and my new wife when I say we’re relieved and happy to be on the jet and finished with all the festivities.” He looked at me and I nodded.

“Yes.”

“And congratulations to you too, Mrs. Blackmon. This is Edward Kessler, my co-pilot on this trip, and Nanette McDonald, your attendant. Please make yourselves comfortable; we’ll be taking off shortly.”

Ian glances at both Edward and Nanette and nods to each, and then guides me over to the deep leather chairs in the cabin. When Nanette comes over to serve us, I check her out. She is a pretty redhead, late twenties, I’d guess. She seems friendly enough, I suppose, but I get jealous whenever any female capable of ovulation gets within ten feet of Ian. I just can’t help myself. Not that he’s ever given me reason to be jealous. I just am.

Nanette has just served us a bottle of
Perrier Jouet chilled to perfection, and a platter of chocolate-dipped strawberries with
crème fraiche
. Can life get any better?

“What about you?” Ian brings me back to my question. “Do you really need to ask me that question?”

I nod. “Yes. Let’s examine this scenario objectively: a very wealthy, very eligible young bachelor strolls into a small, pricey boutique one fine evening, needing a birthday gift for his cherished and delightful little sister.”

He snorts at my description of Zoe.

Ignoring his audible commentary, I continue. “A young, nondescript sales clerk waits on him and—”

“Are you really describing yourself as nondescript, Ella?”

“Well, I know I’m unique to people who know me, Ian, but back then you didn’t know me from a hole in the wall…” I gasp. “Is that expression dirty?”

Ian laughs heartily. “I don’t think so but it sure sounds like it right now.”

My face heats up so quickly. Of course it’s an expression that Mariah favors, enough said. I regroup, swallowing a sip of my champagne. “To you, I was a young salesgirl. Right? I mean, there was nothing dramatically eye-catching about me that night, was there?”

“As a matter of fact, there was, baby. You looked up at me with those impossibly blue eyes and called me sir. That’s all the eye-catching I required.”

My mouth drops open—I have to work on that habit. “Because I called you sir, you wanted to get to know me?”

Grinning like a fool, he nods. “To some extent, yes. Look, Ella, here’s what I saw and now that we’re married, I don’t have to mince words.”

He leans in, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “I saw a hot, young brunette with a beautiful face and eyes to get lost in. I saw an innocent angel who was ripe for defrocking.” His voice drops to a deeper register. “I saw a girl with gorgeous fucking tits and a smokin’ ass on killer legs with long, silky dark hair, and lips that could inspire dreams so wet you could backstroke out of them.

“And… perhaps most significantly… a woman who called me
sir
. You brought out the Dominant in me, Ella. Big time. You still do.”

“A kitten can bring out the D
ominant in you,” I grumble good-naturedly.

“Exactly. You’re m
y kitten. Now come here and sit on my lap.”

We still have on our wedding clothes, since neither of us wanted to wait to start our trip. I would have had to do the whole traditional thing with my mother and Mariah helping me change, and I wanted to avoid all of the sentimental crap as much as possible. I’m not the emotional type who cries at weddings or things of that nature, though my mom assures me that will change after I have children. Mom swears that maternal hormones can ruin a good bitch in no time. Something to look forward to, I guess.

So now I obey my new husband and crawl onto his lap—I’m nothing if not obedient. I can feel the heated steel under my butt and I wiggle around to torture him further. Since he used naughty words, I suppose it’s my turn. Let’s see if I can up the ante and shock him. I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning in enthusiastically to whisper in his ear, “How’s about I trip the trigger on that giant, hard cock you’ve got locked and loaded in those trousers? I have a special place to do it. Hot… wet… tight…”

Lazily,
I rear back to look at his expression and yes, he looks somewhat startled but then he tosses his head back and laughs. And right there, right in the cabin where Nanette can possibly see us, he flips me over his knee, pulls up my wedding dress, and spanks me—hard. As promised.

I’m sputtering and gasping. “Ian, stop this moment or I’ll bite your leg!”

“Do it and I’ll spank you harder and then gag you once I’m done.”

“You wouldn’t…”

“Of course I would,” he says, his breathing getting labored. He’s hitting me damn hard. But now, after every slap, he rubs away the sting… to the extent possible. I’m so horrified that Nanette might come in from the galley or wherever she is and see us that the pain barely registers. Of course, I’ll feel it later when I can’t sit down.

“Ian, can we please go into the bedroom? Pleeeease?”

He laughs again and sets me on my feet. “I’ve wanted to do that for hours now, Mrs. Blackmon. Your dirty mouth pushed me over the edge, you know. And now I might just have to take out some of the toys I packed for our destination and use them right… this… minute.”

“Promises, promises.”

Standing up forcefully, he grips me by the wrist and tugging me behind him, leads us to the tiny bedroom… where he has a bed with narrow wood posts of a sort capped by finials, perfect for clipping cuffs to each corner. Ahh, how am I going to suffer this sexual torment on a plane? I can never be quiet, no matter the incentive or how high the ante is. I might just have to
ask
for that gag.

He strips me slowly, taking his time with each piece of clothing. When I’m standing in nothing but my garter belt, stockings, and very skimpy panties, he steps back to appraise me.

“Very nice, Ella. Even nicer,” he says, looking around on the floor and picking up my shoes, “would be if you were still wearing these.” He hands them to me and though my sore feet silently scream in protest, I force them back into the heels.

“Perfect.” He steps back to appraise me, one elbow leaning on his crossed arm, an index finger tapping his lips. His delicious, sultry lips that make me—”

“Math can be fun,” he interrupts my carnal musing. “I’ve been subtracting—now I’ll add something.” He walks behind me and in a moment I’m gagged with a soft leather strap of sorts. “Or things,” he adds in a wicked voice, buckling cuffs on my wrists and links them together behind my back.

“Here’s how we’re going to play it,” he whispers, taking time to nip gently on the outer shell of my ear. “You’re going to be entirely quiet while I do whatever I want to do to my spanking-brand-new wife. Or should I say my spanked brand new wife? Any little sound you make, even with the gag, will be heard by at least Nanette, and maybe even by the whole crew.” He gently tapped the wall behind the bed. “They’re right on the other side of it. Understand, my pr
etty?”

Oh, he’s evil. He knows I can’t be quiet, even at risk of intense nipple pain. But others hearing me? The ante is up, the stakes never being higher than now.

“Oh, almost forgot: if you need me to stop, I can still hear you speak through the gag—you just won’t be quite as loud or articulate.” He pats my cheek. “Now, stand up straight, and widen your stance.”

I
slide my legs wider by about two inches and he slaps my thigh with something he’s holding in his hand. It’s soft but it stings. “Legs open, Ella.”

What is that? He puts it behind his back so I can’t see it. So I open them much wider now… and wait. He circles around me once, and then again, sending my nerves into high alert.
What’s he going to do?

I have my answer in seconds as he drops down to his knees in one fluid motion and buries his face between my legs. I look down and see the straps of my garter trembling with the thighs they’re resting on. How am I supposed to stay vertical when his relentless tongue is going at me? My
whole world becomes just his tongue and what it’s furiously circling right now. But just as I’m moving into my inevitable orgasm, he stops. Cold.

What? Why does he love to torture me? And now he probably feels officially sanctioned by our marriage license. Methinks, perhaps, that I’m in for it.

“Let’s add a few more variables, shall we?” He pulls down the gag, leaving it hanging around my throat. “Do you like math, Ella?”

“No. I hate it.”

“Tonight you’re going to have a change of heart. Close your eyes, baby, and do nothing but feel.”

“Hey, not that I was expecting you to go all
sappy on me, but this
is
our wedding night. At least for tonight couldn’t we be a titch more romantic?”

His mouth drops open in mock surprise. “I am being romantic, Ella. Don’t you think?” He can’t disguise his mirth.

I roll my eyes and he wags his finger at me and says, “Eh, eh, eh. We’ll have none of that or I’ll have to spank you again. And I know your pretty little posterior is a bit tender already.”

Coming closer until his lips are just barely touching mine, he softly says, “I promise you, Ella, tonight I’m giving it all to you: everything I have to give, I will give, to my beautiful and sexy wife on our wedding night.”

Okay, I’ll play. After those heartfelt words, I’d jump into an active volcano for him.

He replaces the gag gently and then slips a blindfold over my eyes. “Not being able to see makes everything more intense but it also frees a person of inhibitions for some odd reason. I want you free
to feel and revel in it, Ella.”

His voice is silky and deep and makes things shift deep inside me. A sharp contraction of lust nearly doubles me over as I listen intently to my new husband’s sexy baritone, instructing me in our sensuous game. My wrists are still cuffed behind my back. My garter belt, panties, and stockings slip away,
the shoes replaced on my feet, leaving me only in my heels.

“Ella, be silent… and don’t come. Feel everything but control it. Are we clear?”

I nod because I have the gag in my mouth. This moment is intense; his lips are brushing against my ear as he whispers his requirements. I feel as if I can reach orgasm without him even touching me because his dripping-with-sexy voice alone is ripping me apart.

His warm breath leaves my neck and I wonder where he went… until I feel his satin lips gliding up my arm, from wrist to shoulder. Again they disappear only to return, this time on the back of my knee. This touch and go continues for, I don’t know, maybe ten minutes? Time feels elastic when you can’t
watch it pass.

I’m covered in goose bumps when his fingers start skimming
delicately over my skin. Fingers give way to a warm, wet tongue. Finally, an implement, I think a tiny flogger… and that can mean only one thing: it’s meant to whip tiny places.

As he brushes the fronds across my skin, flicking occasionally so it stings, I feel my mind carried to another plane, a dimension where the sense of touch reigns supreme and other senses retreat. This is what he’s aiming for. My only job is to feel, he said. When the stings grow in intensity, it doesn’t hurt: it just feels stronger. He moves quickly, expertly, from my shoulders to my ankles, stopping at various points for extra attention. He lingers on my breasts, making them feel tight and swollen. The pressure is inexorably building and I know this is my other task, to not give in to the encroaching orgasm. Though he’s asked me to accomplish this feat from the first, let’s just say I haven’t mastered the art just yet.

Up and down, up and down, my skin is warm and flushed and I’m reaching a point of no return. “Ian,” I say, not knowing myself if I’m asking a question or punctuating my experience.