Angel

It wasn't, though. Just guilt made her feel that way. Her sense of obligation. Actually he was completely in her control, so long as she kept her hands busy on his cock. She could play with him like this the rest of the night, if she wanted. She wondered how long she could stretch the game out, driving him out of his mind. Well, one sure way to find out ...

Only then, for that brief moment while she wasn't pumping him, since she was still bent over at an angle across his lap, from reaching down to his feet to get at his socks, he took advantage. He grabbed a tight hold of the back of her neck and pinned her down in place. Pressing her belly hard as he could against his cock, at the same time. He put his other hand on her bare upraised ass, and squeezed her there. Too hard. She gasped and tried to lift up. He didn't let her.

Then he said. "Anything I want, right? That's what you said. This is what I want, Angel."

She didn't understand at first. Taken too much by surprise. "What? I don't—"

He cut her off with a stinging slap across her bottom.

"Phil! Shit!"

He gave her another. "All the lies you told. All those fucking horrible lies! And after everything I did for you. The whole goddamn time. I tried so hard to do the right thing, didn't I? Didn't I keep telling you? I just wanted to keep things like they were. I tried to just be your friend and be a good manager and never push things beyond that. You were the one that always kept pushing the other way. You know you were! And then you turned around and told everyone—all that bullshit—my God. My God! And there was nothing I could say that anybody was gonna believe. Not deep down."

"I know," she said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That's why I'm here. That's why I came."

He spanked her again. And again. And again. "You lying selfish bitch. Lying! Selfish! Bitch!"

She had never been spanked before. Not like this. Never would have imagined it would feel this way. So many different terrifying feelings all at once ... Blinding explosions of feeling, every time he smacked her again, but not just on her ass. Naked, pinned, helpless, disgraced ... and the disgrace was the strongest part. She felt the explosions all through every part of her body, and she felt them in the depths of her soul. Sounds silly and pretentious to put it that way, doesn't it? But that was how it was, at the time. While it was happening to her. Her whole nude body was on fire with shame. Shame that this humiliation was happening to her, with further shame that she wasn't fighting against it, just meekly letting it happen, and also at the same time there was a far worse, far deeper shame in the knowledge that she deserved punishment like this. She had earned this disgrace with bad behavior. Phil was paying her back the pain and humiliation she had inflicted upon him, completely unfairly.

He went on and on, ranting: "I was in love with you, you know. I knew you didn't feel the same and you never would. I never pushed for more from you than you wanted to give. I didn't! Did I? Tell me! Tell me the fucking truth! Did I?"

"No! You never did! I'm sorry. It was me. I fucked it all up. It was all me. I admit it!" She was crying now. Not bawling like a baby but really crying all the same, like she hadn't done in years. Her tears dribbled on the floor and made dark specks down there on the carpet. "I admit it and I'm sorry! All right? That's what you wanna hear?"

He kept spanking her. Harder than before, harder every time he struck.

"Say it again! Say it louder! Come on! I don't believe you yet! Make me believe you!"

She obeyed, best as she could. Screaming. Pleading. "Oh God! Oh God I'm sorry! I mean it! I mean it! Please believe me!" She didn't have to fake the agony and desperation. She didn't have to play up her exclamations, like in the beginning when he was toying with her nipples.

"You betrayed me! You betrayed everything good and true between us! You killed it all and you broke my heart! You made everyone think I was a sick! A sick pathetic sick ..." he ran out of words, in his frenzy, "sick sick sicko!" That would have made her burst out laughing if she wasn't too busy hollering for mercy. "How could you do that? Why would you do that? Why couldn't you just—just—just—" That was when she realized he was crying harder than she was. "Angel! Angel!" Every time he shouted her name, he walloped her blazing ass again, worse and worse. "Angel! Angel!"

And somehow it was perfect. It was exactly right. Exactly what she needed, in that moment.

It hurt so bad, but she was enjoying it. It had turned into a better feeling than feeling pleasure. She abandoned herself to that contradiction ... She abandoned herself totally.

It was better than being fucked and coming. Or maybe not, not exactly. Maybe it just ended up making her come. A form of fucking in itself. And maybe that was the only real reason she had liked the experience—because it had shocked her system into an orgasm. Purely in defense, to block out the agony and the horror and the humiliation of Phil's ruthless punishment and her own guilt. That was only a theory, though, which occurred to her later on. While it was happening, she couldn't tell what was the hell was going on in her own brain anymore, or what any of it might have meant. It was all too new and too enormous and too unexpected.

"Oh fuck! Oh fuck! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Fuck! I'm fucking sorreeee! Please forgive me! Pleeease!"

She felt him ejaculate under the greasy friction of her sweat-drenched stomach as she bounced and thrashed on top of his cock. Then with a cry like she'd electrocuted him, he let go of her neck and shoved her off his lap to the floor.

When she rolled on her side and looked up at him, his cock was still hard and rampant, same size as before or maybe, impossibly, bigger somehow, or that was how it looked to her, even though he just came and she could see streaks of his jizz dribbled down the underside of it, and could feel the thick splotches of the rest of stuff clinging on her skin that he had fired out down there and smeared under her navel through the light blonde fuzz of her Happy Trail.

She wanted to suck it, soon as she saw it and saw that he was still enflamed. An irresistible mindless compulsion. And she wanted to do it on her knees for him, on the floor. Breaking her own rule, just this once and just for him. The man that had punished her and made her get off on it, for she knew in this one specific instance she had genuinely and irrefutably deserved everything he'd done. She swiveled herself around into the proper appropriate position, kneeling naked and beaten at his feet in abject submission and homage, and presented her open mouth and her tongue to his cock, and to him.

And this was the worst part. When he didn't put it in there. Instead he just said. "Get the fuck out of here. Get your fucking clothes on and get out."

"No," she said, "Wait. Please. Please!"

"Get out! Get out of here and don't you ever fucking come back!"

4.

When she got home she went into her room and locked the door, and then took all her clothes off again to examine her aching butt in the full length mirror on the back of the door. It wasn't covered in bruises like she expected it to be. Just a little red.

It matched the color of her face, she noticed, frowning at herself.

She touched her coochie, almost without meaning to, and found that it was dripping wet. She hadn't realized, believe it or not. Why had this happened? She wasn't a kinky person. She liked natural healthy sex. Lots of it but with nothing weird. In her opinion, most people with freaky hangup's and fetishes ended up that way just probably 'cause they didn't or couldn't get enough proper regular sex. Yet just look at her right now. Not only was it lubricated, it had got highly sensitized. It felt like it leapt up and clenched against her fingers, all by itself. If she kept touching it, she could very easily, very rapidly, make herself come again.

That was what she did. The sensations built up so strong she couldn't keep standing upright. Had to get down on her knees. She kept looking at her reflection the whole time. Her own sorrowful eyes. How could Phil have rejected her, when she was looking up at him like this? In this exact same pose, with these exact pleading eyes. It didn't make sense.

When she came, she made herself howl.

"I'm SORRY!"

That wasn't something that usually happened when she pleasured herself—vocalizing when she finished. Not that it was something she did very often, either. Rarely was there a need. Usually had a guy to do the job for her, whenever she wanted, and as much as she wanted.

She wondered if Phil had jerked off again after he kicked her out. He probably had. Or else he was still beating himself off right that second, at the same time as she was fingering her cooch. Funny thought. She could picture him. She could picture the mess he was making all over himself, because of her and what they'd done to each other.

If the idiot hadn't made her leave, he wouldn't have had to do that. He could be fucking her right now. Any position he wanted, hard as he wanted, long as he wanted. She'd probably have let him facial her at the end like a porn star, if he wanted.

But he hadn't wanted that. Or at least he hadn't wanted to let it happen.

That made her start crying again, as she took a shower, and she was still sniveling when she crawled into her bed.

Had to stay lying on her stomach the whole stupid awful night.