As I Say (30 Rock, Jack/Liz)
Title: As I Say
For: The Alphabet Meme
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Prompt: K is for Kink. (For mindymakru.)
Word Count: 4,007
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Spanking and D/s themes.
Summary: Jack supposes he should have always assumed Liz had some sort of kinkiness in her. (Companion piece to " Do This, Do That, Do Everything.")
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. One phrase in here is something that amused me in Arrested Development, and I give credit to them for amusing me.
*
Jack supposes he should have always assumed Liz had some sort of kinkiness in her. It was cliché to insist those with repressed sexuality repressed it for a reason, a fear of what actually turned them on, and perhaps it was the predictability that made him not consider the notion. On the other hand the assumption he had held onto, that part of her problem with sex was the men she'd gone to bed with -- that if she slept with someone like him, she wouldn't have trouble understanding why intimacy was important -- was also a trite explanation for her terrible attitude about any activity beyond kissing.
A correct theory, of course, but still obvious.
That theory, him testing it, is what started off their sexual relationship. Though, honestly, when it first began, when he offered her an orgasm and she let him put his hand between her legs, he didn't think it would go much farther, certainly not as far as it has. He thought he'd pleasure her a few times, then unleash a newly sexually confident Liz Lemon onto the world, onto a man who was suited for her, and, for his benefit, Jack would not have to endure her disgust whenever he mentioned his latest sexual conquest, which seemed to irritate her even when he didn't go into detail. But somehow sex became a habit between them, one neither of them moved to break.
(Jack has made some attempt to pinpoint when things shifted; he thinks that, if he asked Liz, she'd choose the first time they took their clothes off to have sex, or when they actually kissed -- despite being underneath him, her inner walls still tight around his cock after her recent orgasm, the fact she enjoyed his lips on hers surprised her -- or when she finally became comfortable with knowing what he looks like naked, but he believes it happened earlier. The first time he went down on her, when she spread her legs for him with little hesitation. Though he got on his knees shortly after propositioning her, she was already wet, her clit swollen. It was partly that, partly the way she moaned as he licked her, partly how, unlike the time he digitally stimulated her, she didn't keep her eyes closed the entire time, that made him hard despite his efforts to control himself. And generally, he was fairly good at repressing sexual responses when needed -- pleasuring a woman without asking her to do anything for you once in a while gave the appearance of being an especially generous lover and made women more likely to acquiesce to your wishes and, in the future, would cause Lemon to want to get on her knees for him -- but he hadn't had sex for a week, and it was difficult to keep himself from becoming aroused when he was in the midst of a dry spell and had a woman literally spread out in front of him.
Not that he was aware things were shifting in the moment, or even when he, after making her come, pulled her to the floor on top of him and placed her hand on his crotch. But when she didn't respond by muttering, 'gross' and scrambling off of him, Jack, well, didn't think something was beginning, but did know things were progressing far faster than he predicted. He was hoping for her mouth (even if it were awkward, it would nonetheless be enjoyable for him and beneficial for her), anticipating her hand (same as before, though less enjoyable) but she surprised him again (and made him realize things were moving even faster) by sinking down onto his cock and fucking him with an enthusiasm he knew she'd never shown with other men.
He enjoyed himself as well.
And, actually, he did want to fuck her, wanted it more than an awkward blow job, so she more matched his desires than exceeded his expectations. But it seemed noteworthy for her to want that. To do it. To let the sexual activity between them move so quickly from something he gave to her and she allowed out of curiosity, to something she instigated.
But it was true that, when they had sex for the immediate times afterwards, he was the initiator. The one telling her to take her clothes off or requesting she unzip his pants. At the time, he took it as her perpetual inability to be forward about her sexual desires, and on the surface it was that, but he still should have put two and two together, admitted she wasn't wet moments after being told to pull up her skirt simply because she's attracted to him (though of course she is; she isn't blind, deaf, or with entirely poor taste in men, Dennis notwithstanding). Took the next steps past a need to be ordered around, to have a dominant partner in bed, to where they've ended up.)
And why should they break a harmless habit when they've both kept most of the routines that hindered them? Well, that described Lemon, mostly; he transcended his vices much more often, which meant they hardly counted as parts of his personality.
He wonders if Lemon sees elements of their sex life as a vice; a bad habit--
(When it first came up, she was certainly put off by the idea. Liz believes -- he knows because they have discussed this particular turning point -- that he was the one who brought it up first, and he's never corrected her. But when he slapped her ass after a particularly enjoyable round of office sex -- with her bent over his desk -- and she, in response, let out a noise she considered a moan and he considered another post-intercourse gasp, the idea of spanking being her kink didn't occur to him. And when she stood up, hastily pulling her skirt back down, he was prepared for a freak-out. An 'I can't believe I just let you bend me over the desk and do me' -- to which he would have responded that it was no different from bending her over the back of the couch or his kitchen table and that, from where he was standing, she seemed to intensely enjoy all such experiences -- or a 'Don't pat me on the butt like I'm a French maid. Is that a thing?' -- to which he would have asserted he was being affectionate; appreciating her ass, which was his favorite part of her body -- or something even more ridiculous. But instead she said:
"No! I know what you're going to ask and, no, I don't like... spanking. That's..."
Jack didn't always believe in the idea of a strident denial being a clue that a person was, wanted or felt what they were so opposed to being perceived as being, wanting, or feeling, but he did take stock in it when a person made a declaration although they weren't being accused of anything. He raised his eyebrows, smiled, kept that smile after Liz turned around, her expression stern.
"I'm a feminist, Jack."
"Women of that sort still have kinks." He considered this for a moment; considered a few things he wish he hadn't done, been asked to do, by a number of women who worked for or with organizations that dealt with female causes. (Many of his nights in D.C. were rather busy; granted, he had other things to deal with, but he wasn't going to turn down sex or stop seeking it out. There was always time for meaningless sex. A bit more time for the meaningful variety.) "Some of them exceptionally degrading."
Yes. Some lines shouldn't be crossed.
"Okay. That's a thing I didn't need to hear."
He studied her for a moment. Thought of earlier, how readily she'd pulled up her skirt and bent over his desk when he asked her to. Of how turned on she got when he told her what exactly he wanted, how to touch him, how he wanted to fuck her, and of the way she moaned around his cock as he instructed her on how to pleasure him. "You do enjoy being dominated. Told what to do."
She rolled her eyes. "Because it makes sex easier. Stand there, take off that, put your hand here, touch me like this. It doesn't mean I'm into being dominated."
He didn't say anything. She continued being irritated.
"I'm not into being dominated," she insisted.
Jack was silent for a bit. On his next sentence he tried not to sound too incredulous, as he thought her response to a non-sarcastic comment would be more proof: "If you say so."
"I do," she huffed. "I say things. True things."
As she found her underwear and pulled them back on, she was muttering about being a truth-teller, truth-teller am I.
Naturally, he began pondering the idea of Liz Lemon and the possibility of a hidden kink. He could tell she was waiting for him to bring it up again, waiting to tell him 'shut up' and to stop bringing it up because 'come on, do I look like someone who wants a good spanking?' So he didn't say anything, simply considered it. Considered the ways he could introduce it without trying to have a conversation she would shut down. He wasn't a novice at spanking, but it was always something that had been requested, not something he particularly desired, not something he had to coax out of a woman. However, if Liz wanted it, deep down, he wanted to help her accept that. Wanted Liz to have exactly the sort of sex life she needed.
He decided to wait until she stopped looking at him with suspicious 'are you going to try to spank me or ask to spank me as soon as I take my pants off, and if you are, then don't' eyes -- which lasted for only a few days; he was persistent enough that not bringing up a topic for less than a week usually signaled he had dropped it -- and until a disaster or series of disasters, one or ones Lemon could be blamed for, arose on her set.
That also didn't take long.
So, a week after the topic of spanking was mentioned and dismissed, he called Liz up to his office. Soon after she entered, she began to launch into a defense of her role in the chaos, and her inability to control it.
"Okay, I know what you're going to say. But I think the real blame goes to society--"
There was a vague curiosity about what convoluted set of lines she would draw from Tracy's series of escalating dares -- all made by and to himself -- but he wasn't about to let himself be distracted from his plans. As she spoke, he rose from his chair. "Be quiet and don't move."
Fortunately, she was right behind the couch, her hand resting on it as she made an attempt to regroup from the interruption of her speech. "What's going on now?"
There was always a delicate balance when it came to acting out this sort of scenario; be too harsh and it could be a turn-off. (There was also the possibility of being not harsh enough, but he doubted that was what Liz was looking for.) Be too gentle, another turn-off. Be too aloof and it would bring to mind something non-sexual and feel like actual punishment instead of an erotic game. He felt that he was modulating himself properly as he moved closer to Liz; felt he knew exactly where the line was when it came to her. "I've tried to teach you how to be a boss, how to manage the group of defectives you call a staff--"
"You've taught me stuff--"
"Be quiet."
Her posture straightened; if nothing else, he now knew how to get her to stop slouching. What he couldn't tell was if she had a clue where this was going; if she was turned on. She wasn't a woman without tells, but even if she did know what was about to happen, she probably wanted to ignore anything that may have been stirring in her.
He stood next to her. Didn't lean in. "But it doesn't seem to have had a lasting effect."
She parted her lips slightly as if to speak but remained silent, and he still couldn't tell if she realized what this was. He didn't wait for his own questions to be answered before he stepped behind her. His hands rested on her stomach, his lips brushed over a spot on her neck; a signal he was also being her lover right now. (In fact, mostly, though he did have issues with her managerial techniques or lack thereof.) Her body stayed tense as he unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and pulled them down to her knees. He waited for Liz to protest, as her questions about his intentions had to have been answered by now. She stayed silent, let out a sharp exhalation of breath as he slid her panties down. Hand on her back, he guided her forward so she was bent over the couch. This wasn't the first time he had her in this position, the first time she rocked upwards onto her tiptoes, but it was the first time his plan wasn't to immediately push inside her. He put his hands on her hips and told her not to move. His touch lingered there for a moment, thumbs brushing back and forth over her skin, and he looked down at her bare ass. Kept his eyes on it as he took his hands off of her and stepped to the side.
Then, without pausing, without giving her a moment to adjust to the fact that he was no longer behind her, no longer pressed against her, he slapped her on the ass. The noise she emitted could have been a moan; could have been a gasp. Either way, she didn't tell him to stop; he continued. As he did, she vacillated between stifling her moans and crying out, and he quickly began to relish what this was doing to her. Began to relish doing it to her, to the sight, sound, feel of his hand hitting her ass.
And, again, he was never *opposed* to this, but what man wouldn't be turned on by a twenty-two-year-old squirming on top of him, her ass in the air and begging for more? But the spanking was secondary to what was going to happen next, to imagining the girl on her knees in front of him or on top of him, riding him, not something that got him hard on its own. Maybe this suited him more, something less playful, something more stern -- just as she liked being dominated, he liked being dominant, and maybe that was why sex between them worked better than he initially believed it would -- or perhaps it never seemed as viscerally arousing because they were practically strangers.
Not that sex with strangers was a *bad* thing; it simply seemed reasonable that giving a woman exactly what she needed, bringing to life a fantasy she claimed she didn't have, was more satisfying when he knew her name.
She pushed back against him as he hit her a little harder; he returned his hands to her hips, pressing her firm to the couch. He cupped her ass as he let out a breath, his exhalation getting lost amidst the noise of her moans and gasps. He considered his next move, then let one hand slip between her legs. She was wet, her inner thighs already slick, and he slid his fingers over the folds of her sex. Exposed her, covered his fingers with her arousal, before he finally sought out her clit. He rubbed right next to it, touched her there until he was sure she was moments from coming, then pulled back and returned to her outer folds. He did it all over again, almost made her come and stopped, did it as a way to tease her, did it as another punishment, decided to do it until she couldn't take it anymore. Which wasn't for a second longer.
"Please," she muttered. "Please keep going."
He kept stroking her outer lips, squeezed her ass with the hand that was still resting there. "Say you won't lose control again. Say you'll run your show the way it *should* be run. Say you'll be the boss instead of looking to me to bail you out of your disasters."
She sucked in a breath. Said, voice slightly shaky: "I won't lose control. I'll be the boss. I won't let them forget I'm in control."
He was tempted to tell her to repeat it. To say it with more conviction, but he *wanted* to make her come right then. He slid two fingers on either side of her clit, let her rock her hips, let her work with him to get her off. He slapped her ass one last time as she began to come. She grinded alongside his fingers harder, faster; he matched her pace, helped draw out her climax until her body went near slack. He moved closer, his legs flush against hers, the bulge in his pants pressed against her ass. One of his hands went for his zipper, but he stopped; decided that this time they should end like this, with only her climaxing. With him detached enough to walk away but not detached enough to suppress his desire. He stepped back. Pulled up her panties. Then her jeans.
"Get back to work."
He was at his desk before she spoke:
"You don't want me to--"
He stared down at his desk; didn't react to the rather pleasing notion that she wanted to make him come. "Get back to work."
"Okay," she muttered. "Okay."
He glanced back up to see her turn, almost leave, then hastily zip and button her jeans back up.
After she left, he retired to his private bathroom.
For the next few days, Liz didn't avoid him, exactly, but she did seem somewhat skittish so he didn't make any attempts to seduce her or discuss what had happened between them. One night, she finally came to see him after normal work hours. He glanced up from his paperwork but didn't rise from the couch.
"Um... Jack."
"Lemon."
"You might not know this..." There was hesitation in her voice. "But, anyway, I've been terrible today. Just. A terrible boss."
He allowed himself to look pleased. "Have you?"
"Yeah," she said. "I just have no control over them. At all."
He threw his papers down on the table, made his expression and voice more stern. "Pull up your skirt and get on my lap."
That time he did have sex with her afterwards, told her to straddle him and allowed her to sink down onto his cock. Because the semi-detached routine wasn't something he could stick to -- or something he wanted to stick to -- and because he hadn't had sex with her in six days, which meant he was going through another dry spell. The first time she came was the most intense orgasm he'd ever felt from her, and the second was almost as good. Then he told her to stop, told her to get on her knees and hold onto the armrest. He gave her a couple of slaps on the ass before he pushed back inside her; her head dipped down as she gasped out his name. He held onto her hip and told her not to move, a command she followed. But, as he kissed her neck, sucked on her skin, she reached back for him. He roughly grabbed her wrist and put her hand back on the armrest as he started to fuck her harder. He kept his hand over hers for a while, pressed his fingers against her before moving his hand between her legs. The third time she came was better than the first.
His climax was also rather enjoyable.)
--an unhealthy set of circumstances.
No. If Liz were upset about what they're doing, she wouldn't continue on with it. Or, failing that, she'd obsess about it, worry about it, tell him about her therapist's take on their sex life, or have anxiety over how she can't imagine discussing this with *anyone* so her therapist can't even tell her how screwed up she is. But she just enjoys it. And craves it, asks for it--
(Sometimes with an extreme lack of subtlety, like a couple of weeks ago when she said, "I'm a bad lady. I misbehave all the time. Someone should stop me, right?"
On some level, he wanted to punish Liz for her lack of finesse. On another, spanking her was not as pleasurable when she wanted it too obviously; he preferred it to be his idea, an order that took her by surprise, enjoyed finding reasons to become upset with her. So instead of telling her to get on her hands and knees -- which she preferred to laying over his lap when they were in bed -- he kissed his way down her body, lifted her leg up and slid underneath it.
"This can't be the way to deal with a bad lady. I'm glad you don't work at a prison." Her body tensed as he slowly moved his tongue over her. "But I guess you can't... you know--" He exhaled near her clit. "--do... anything like... anything to a prisoner--"
The proximity of his mouth to her sex muffled his 'be quiet,' so he's uncertain if she stopped talking because he asked her to or because of the reverberations against her clit.
Later, he did ask her to get on her hands and knees, but not because he wanted to deal with her imaginary misbehavior.)
--doesn't hesitate to unbutton her blouse when, moments after she enters his apartment, he tells her to take her clothes off and face the wall. Doesn't hesitate to strip herself completely and rest her forearms in front of her. She's at ease with this, with leaning forward to stick her backside out a bit more.
Well, he wouldn't be surprised if she were somewhat uncomfortable; what matters is that her desire outweighs any voice inside that judges her for moaning at his first slap, for moaning louder as he hits her harder. For his part, he's completely fine with his reaction to doing it to her; with the little thrill he gets each time he hears, sees his palm meet her flesh, detects her body tense with each smack as she cries out, imagines her thighs becoming slicker.
He stops when her breath gets especially ragged, turns his attention to caressing her skin; moves his hands over her breasts, her stomach, her ass, the outsides of her legs; he groans against her shoulder. Kisses her there, then her neck. Whispers into her ear:
"Turn around."
His plan was to tell Liz to undress him, but he throws said plan away. He kisses her, does so again after he's unzipped his pants and pushed inside her, lifted her and pressed her back to the wall. She squirms as she wraps her limbs more firmly around his body, and he fucks her the way he's been waiting to. Fucks her hard and fast while he sucks on her warm skin, fucks her as she comes around him. It's one of her particularly intense orgasms, one that makes him curse out loud instead of under his breath as he thrusts a couple more times before pulling out, his cock still hard. He puts her down, lets his hand rest on her ass as he keeps his body close against his, keeps his erection close to her sex. He breathes in, kisses her neck.
"I want to take you to bed now."
"I wouldn't say no to that."
He squeezes the flesh that's in his hands. "I know."
END
For: The Alphabet Meme
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Prompt: K is for Kink. (For mindymakru.)
Word Count: 4,007
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Spanking and D/s themes.
Summary: Jack supposes he should have always assumed Liz had some sort of kinkiness in her. (Companion piece to " Do This, Do That, Do Everything.")
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. One phrase in here is something that amused me in Arrested Development, and I give credit to them for amusing me.
*
Jack supposes he should have always assumed Liz had some sort of kinkiness in her. It was cliché to insist those with repressed sexuality repressed it for a reason, a fear of what actually turned them on, and perhaps it was the predictability that made him not consider the notion. On the other hand the assumption he had held onto, that part of her problem with sex was the men she'd gone to bed with -- that if she slept with someone like him, she wouldn't have trouble understanding why intimacy was important -- was also a trite explanation for her terrible attitude about any activity beyond kissing.
A correct theory, of course, but still obvious.
That theory, him testing it, is what started off their sexual relationship. Though, honestly, when it first began, when he offered her an orgasm and she let him put his hand between her legs, he didn't think it would go much farther, certainly not as far as it has. He thought he'd pleasure her a few times, then unleash a newly sexually confident Liz Lemon onto the world, onto a man who was suited for her, and, for his benefit, Jack would not have to endure her disgust whenever he mentioned his latest sexual conquest, which seemed to irritate her even when he didn't go into detail. But somehow sex became a habit between them, one neither of them moved to break.
(Jack has made some attempt to pinpoint when things shifted; he thinks that, if he asked Liz, she'd choose the first time they took their clothes off to have sex, or when they actually kissed -- despite being underneath him, her inner walls still tight around his cock after her recent orgasm, the fact she enjoyed his lips on hers surprised her -- or when she finally became comfortable with knowing what he looks like naked, but he believes it happened earlier. The first time he went down on her, when she spread her legs for him with little hesitation. Though he got on his knees shortly after propositioning her, she was already wet, her clit swollen. It was partly that, partly the way she moaned as he licked her, partly how, unlike the time he digitally stimulated her, she didn't keep her eyes closed the entire time, that made him hard despite his efforts to control himself. And generally, he was fairly good at repressing sexual responses when needed -- pleasuring a woman without asking her to do anything for you once in a while gave the appearance of being an especially generous lover and made women more likely to acquiesce to your wishes and, in the future, would cause Lemon to want to get on her knees for him -- but he hadn't had sex for a week, and it was difficult to keep himself from becoming aroused when he was in the midst of a dry spell and had a woman literally spread out in front of him.
Not that he was aware things were shifting in the moment, or even when he, after making her come, pulled her to the floor on top of him and placed her hand on his crotch. But when she didn't respond by muttering, 'gross' and scrambling off of him, Jack, well, didn't think something was beginning, but did know things were progressing far faster than he predicted. He was hoping for her mouth (even if it were awkward, it would nonetheless be enjoyable for him and beneficial for her), anticipating her hand (same as before, though less enjoyable) but she surprised him again (and made him realize things were moving even faster) by sinking down onto his cock and fucking him with an enthusiasm he knew she'd never shown with other men.
He enjoyed himself as well.
And, actually, he did want to fuck her, wanted it more than an awkward blow job, so she more matched his desires than exceeded his expectations. But it seemed noteworthy for her to want that. To do it. To let the sexual activity between them move so quickly from something he gave to her and she allowed out of curiosity, to something she instigated.
But it was true that, when they had sex for the immediate times afterwards, he was the initiator. The one telling her to take her clothes off or requesting she unzip his pants. At the time, he took it as her perpetual inability to be forward about her sexual desires, and on the surface it was that, but he still should have put two and two together, admitted she wasn't wet moments after being told to pull up her skirt simply because she's attracted to him (though of course she is; she isn't blind, deaf, or with entirely poor taste in men, Dennis notwithstanding). Took the next steps past a need to be ordered around, to have a dominant partner in bed, to where they've ended up.)
And why should they break a harmless habit when they've both kept most of the routines that hindered them? Well, that described Lemon, mostly; he transcended his vices much more often, which meant they hardly counted as parts of his personality.
He wonders if Lemon sees elements of their sex life as a vice; a bad habit--
(When it first came up, she was certainly put off by the idea. Liz believes -- he knows because they have discussed this particular turning point -- that he was the one who brought it up first, and he's never corrected her. But when he slapped her ass after a particularly enjoyable round of office sex -- with her bent over his desk -- and she, in response, let out a noise she considered a moan and he considered another post-intercourse gasp, the idea of spanking being her kink didn't occur to him. And when she stood up, hastily pulling her skirt back down, he was prepared for a freak-out. An 'I can't believe I just let you bend me over the desk and do me' -- to which he would have responded that it was no different from bending her over the back of the couch or his kitchen table and that, from where he was standing, she seemed to intensely enjoy all such experiences -- or a 'Don't pat me on the butt like I'm a French maid. Is that a thing?' -- to which he would have asserted he was being affectionate; appreciating her ass, which was his favorite part of her body -- or something even more ridiculous. But instead she said:
"No! I know what you're going to ask and, no, I don't like... spanking. That's..."
Jack didn't always believe in the idea of a strident denial being a clue that a person was, wanted or felt what they were so opposed to being perceived as being, wanting, or feeling, but he did take stock in it when a person made a declaration although they weren't being accused of anything. He raised his eyebrows, smiled, kept that smile after Liz turned around, her expression stern.
"I'm a feminist, Jack."
"Women of that sort still have kinks." He considered this for a moment; considered a few things he wish he hadn't done, been asked to do, by a number of women who worked for or with organizations that dealt with female causes. (Many of his nights in D.C. were rather busy; granted, he had other things to deal with, but he wasn't going to turn down sex or stop seeking it out. There was always time for meaningless sex. A bit more time for the meaningful variety.) "Some of them exceptionally degrading."
Yes. Some lines shouldn't be crossed.
"Okay. That's a thing I didn't need to hear."
He studied her for a moment. Thought of earlier, how readily she'd pulled up her skirt and bent over his desk when he asked her to. Of how turned on she got when he told her what exactly he wanted, how to touch him, how he wanted to fuck her, and of the way she moaned around his cock as he instructed her on how to pleasure him. "You do enjoy being dominated. Told what to do."
She rolled her eyes. "Because it makes sex easier. Stand there, take off that, put your hand here, touch me like this. It doesn't mean I'm into being dominated."
He didn't say anything. She continued being irritated.
"I'm not into being dominated," she insisted.
Jack was silent for a bit. On his next sentence he tried not to sound too incredulous, as he thought her response to a non-sarcastic comment would be more proof: "If you say so."
"I do," she huffed. "I say things. True things."
As she found her underwear and pulled them back on, she was muttering about being a truth-teller, truth-teller am I.
Naturally, he began pondering the idea of Liz Lemon and the possibility of a hidden kink. He could tell she was waiting for him to bring it up again, waiting to tell him 'shut up' and to stop bringing it up because 'come on, do I look like someone who wants a good spanking?' So he didn't say anything, simply considered it. Considered the ways he could introduce it without trying to have a conversation she would shut down. He wasn't a novice at spanking, but it was always something that had been requested, not something he particularly desired, not something he had to coax out of a woman. However, if Liz wanted it, deep down, he wanted to help her accept that. Wanted Liz to have exactly the sort of sex life she needed.
He decided to wait until she stopped looking at him with suspicious 'are you going to try to spank me or ask to spank me as soon as I take my pants off, and if you are, then don't' eyes -- which lasted for only a few days; he was persistent enough that not bringing up a topic for less than a week usually signaled he had dropped it -- and until a disaster or series of disasters, one or ones Lemon could be blamed for, arose on her set.
That also didn't take long.
So, a week after the topic of spanking was mentioned and dismissed, he called Liz up to his office. Soon after she entered, she began to launch into a defense of her role in the chaos, and her inability to control it.
"Okay, I know what you're going to say. But I think the real blame goes to society--"
There was a vague curiosity about what convoluted set of lines she would draw from Tracy's series of escalating dares -- all made by and to himself -- but he wasn't about to let himself be distracted from his plans. As she spoke, he rose from his chair. "Be quiet and don't move."
Fortunately, she was right behind the couch, her hand resting on it as she made an attempt to regroup from the interruption of her speech. "What's going on now?"
There was always a delicate balance when it came to acting out this sort of scenario; be too harsh and it could be a turn-off. (There was also the possibility of being not harsh enough, but he doubted that was what Liz was looking for.) Be too gentle, another turn-off. Be too aloof and it would bring to mind something non-sexual and feel like actual punishment instead of an erotic game. He felt that he was modulating himself properly as he moved closer to Liz; felt he knew exactly where the line was when it came to her. "I've tried to teach you how to be a boss, how to manage the group of defectives you call a staff--"
"You've taught me stuff--"
"Be quiet."
Her posture straightened; if nothing else, he now knew how to get her to stop slouching. What he couldn't tell was if she had a clue where this was going; if she was turned on. She wasn't a woman without tells, but even if she did know what was about to happen, she probably wanted to ignore anything that may have been stirring in her.
He stood next to her. Didn't lean in. "But it doesn't seem to have had a lasting effect."
She parted her lips slightly as if to speak but remained silent, and he still couldn't tell if she realized what this was. He didn't wait for his own questions to be answered before he stepped behind her. His hands rested on her stomach, his lips brushed over a spot on her neck; a signal he was also being her lover right now. (In fact, mostly, though he did have issues with her managerial techniques or lack thereof.) Her body stayed tense as he unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and pulled them down to her knees. He waited for Liz to protest, as her questions about his intentions had to have been answered by now. She stayed silent, let out a sharp exhalation of breath as he slid her panties down. Hand on her back, he guided her forward so she was bent over the couch. This wasn't the first time he had her in this position, the first time she rocked upwards onto her tiptoes, but it was the first time his plan wasn't to immediately push inside her. He put his hands on her hips and told her not to move. His touch lingered there for a moment, thumbs brushing back and forth over her skin, and he looked down at her bare ass. Kept his eyes on it as he took his hands off of her and stepped to the side.
Then, without pausing, without giving her a moment to adjust to the fact that he was no longer behind her, no longer pressed against her, he slapped her on the ass. The noise she emitted could have been a moan; could have been a gasp. Either way, she didn't tell him to stop; he continued. As he did, she vacillated between stifling her moans and crying out, and he quickly began to relish what this was doing to her. Began to relish doing it to her, to the sight, sound, feel of his hand hitting her ass.
And, again, he was never *opposed* to this, but what man wouldn't be turned on by a twenty-two-year-old squirming on top of him, her ass in the air and begging for more? But the spanking was secondary to what was going to happen next, to imagining the girl on her knees in front of him or on top of him, riding him, not something that got him hard on its own. Maybe this suited him more, something less playful, something more stern -- just as she liked being dominated, he liked being dominant, and maybe that was why sex between them worked better than he initially believed it would -- or perhaps it never seemed as viscerally arousing because they were practically strangers.
Not that sex with strangers was a *bad* thing; it simply seemed reasonable that giving a woman exactly what she needed, bringing to life a fantasy she claimed she didn't have, was more satisfying when he knew her name.
She pushed back against him as he hit her a little harder; he returned his hands to her hips, pressing her firm to the couch. He cupped her ass as he let out a breath, his exhalation getting lost amidst the noise of her moans and gasps. He considered his next move, then let one hand slip between her legs. She was wet, her inner thighs already slick, and he slid his fingers over the folds of her sex. Exposed her, covered his fingers with her arousal, before he finally sought out her clit. He rubbed right next to it, touched her there until he was sure she was moments from coming, then pulled back and returned to her outer folds. He did it all over again, almost made her come and stopped, did it as a way to tease her, did it as another punishment, decided to do it until she couldn't take it anymore. Which wasn't for a second longer.
"Please," she muttered. "Please keep going."
He kept stroking her outer lips, squeezed her ass with the hand that was still resting there. "Say you won't lose control again. Say you'll run your show the way it *should* be run. Say you'll be the boss instead of looking to me to bail you out of your disasters."
She sucked in a breath. Said, voice slightly shaky: "I won't lose control. I'll be the boss. I won't let them forget I'm in control."
He was tempted to tell her to repeat it. To say it with more conviction, but he *wanted* to make her come right then. He slid two fingers on either side of her clit, let her rock her hips, let her work with him to get her off. He slapped her ass one last time as she began to come. She grinded alongside his fingers harder, faster; he matched her pace, helped draw out her climax until her body went near slack. He moved closer, his legs flush against hers, the bulge in his pants pressed against her ass. One of his hands went for his zipper, but he stopped; decided that this time they should end like this, with only her climaxing. With him detached enough to walk away but not detached enough to suppress his desire. He stepped back. Pulled up her panties. Then her jeans.
"Get back to work."
He was at his desk before she spoke:
"You don't want me to--"
He stared down at his desk; didn't react to the rather pleasing notion that she wanted to make him come. "Get back to work."
"Okay," she muttered. "Okay."
He glanced back up to see her turn, almost leave, then hastily zip and button her jeans back up.
After she left, he retired to his private bathroom.
For the next few days, Liz didn't avoid him, exactly, but she did seem somewhat skittish so he didn't make any attempts to seduce her or discuss what had happened between them. One night, she finally came to see him after normal work hours. He glanced up from his paperwork but didn't rise from the couch.
"Um... Jack."
"Lemon."
"You might not know this..." There was hesitation in her voice. "But, anyway, I've been terrible today. Just. A terrible boss."
He allowed himself to look pleased. "Have you?"
"Yeah," she said. "I just have no control over them. At all."
He threw his papers down on the table, made his expression and voice more stern. "Pull up your skirt and get on my lap."
That time he did have sex with her afterwards, told her to straddle him and allowed her to sink down onto his cock. Because the semi-detached routine wasn't something he could stick to -- or something he wanted to stick to -- and because he hadn't had sex with her in six days, which meant he was going through another dry spell. The first time she came was the most intense orgasm he'd ever felt from her, and the second was almost as good. Then he told her to stop, told her to get on her knees and hold onto the armrest. He gave her a couple of slaps on the ass before he pushed back inside her; her head dipped down as she gasped out his name. He held onto her hip and told her not to move, a command she followed. But, as he kissed her neck, sucked on her skin, she reached back for him. He roughly grabbed her wrist and put her hand back on the armrest as he started to fuck her harder. He kept his hand over hers for a while, pressed his fingers against her before moving his hand between her legs. The third time she came was better than the first.
His climax was also rather enjoyable.)
--an unhealthy set of circumstances.
No. If Liz were upset about what they're doing, she wouldn't continue on with it. Or, failing that, she'd obsess about it, worry about it, tell him about her therapist's take on their sex life, or have anxiety over how she can't imagine discussing this with *anyone* so her therapist can't even tell her how screwed up she is. But she just enjoys it. And craves it, asks for it--
(Sometimes with an extreme lack of subtlety, like a couple of weeks ago when she said, "I'm a bad lady. I misbehave all the time. Someone should stop me, right?"
On some level, he wanted to punish Liz for her lack of finesse. On another, spanking her was not as pleasurable when she wanted it too obviously; he preferred it to be his idea, an order that took her by surprise, enjoyed finding reasons to become upset with her. So instead of telling her to get on her hands and knees -- which she preferred to laying over his lap when they were in bed -- he kissed his way down her body, lifted her leg up and slid underneath it.
"This can't be the way to deal with a bad lady. I'm glad you don't work at a prison." Her body tensed as he slowly moved his tongue over her. "But I guess you can't... you know--" He exhaled near her clit. "--do... anything like... anything to a prisoner--"
The proximity of his mouth to her sex muffled his 'be quiet,' so he's uncertain if she stopped talking because he asked her to or because of the reverberations against her clit.
Later, he did ask her to get on her hands and knees, but not because he wanted to deal with her imaginary misbehavior.)
--doesn't hesitate to unbutton her blouse when, moments after she enters his apartment, he tells her to take her clothes off and face the wall. Doesn't hesitate to strip herself completely and rest her forearms in front of her. She's at ease with this, with leaning forward to stick her backside out a bit more.
Well, he wouldn't be surprised if she were somewhat uncomfortable; what matters is that her desire outweighs any voice inside that judges her for moaning at his first slap, for moaning louder as he hits her harder. For his part, he's completely fine with his reaction to doing it to her; with the little thrill he gets each time he hears, sees his palm meet her flesh, detects her body tense with each smack as she cries out, imagines her thighs becoming slicker.
He stops when her breath gets especially ragged, turns his attention to caressing her skin; moves his hands over her breasts, her stomach, her ass, the outsides of her legs; he groans against her shoulder. Kisses her there, then her neck. Whispers into her ear:
"Turn around."
His plan was to tell Liz to undress him, but he throws said plan away. He kisses her, does so again after he's unzipped his pants and pushed inside her, lifted her and pressed her back to the wall. She squirms as she wraps her limbs more firmly around his body, and he fucks her the way he's been waiting to. Fucks her hard and fast while he sucks on her warm skin, fucks her as she comes around him. It's one of her particularly intense orgasms, one that makes him curse out loud instead of under his breath as he thrusts a couple more times before pulling out, his cock still hard. He puts her down, lets his hand rest on her ass as he keeps his body close against his, keeps his erection close to her sex. He breathes in, kisses her neck.
"I want to take you to bed now."
"I wouldn't say no to that."
He squeezes the flesh that's in his hands. "I know."
END