The Opposite of Love by T.A. Pace Page B

Baby steps, he told her.
    They’d started with spanking. On a weekend afternoon, he stripped her and bent her over the armchair in her bedroom, her behind high and taught against his hand. He’d started with small, sharp slaps, and she was tense and silent at first. But as his strikes landed harder, she began to relax, to wiggle her behind, to moan. He caressed her after each slap and as her ass got red his erection grew. She loved it. Most women did if they could just get over themselves long enough to try it.
    “You like that, don’t you?” he asked.
    She moaned. Even now, with her ass wiggling under his hand, she wouldn’t admit it.
    He slapped her harder. “You’re going to tell me,” he said, and slapped her other cheek. “You’re going to tell me you love it or you’re going to use the safe word.” He knew her pride wouldn’t let her do the latter.
    He landed three hard slaps in succession and she arched, her head tilted back, but she didn’t speak. James did the same to the opposite butt cheek and her ass grew hot with redness. His cock was straining against his jeans and he wished he’d taken them off before he started. Looking at her now, her ass high and inviting, he started to wonder if he might give in before she did, and the thought made him angry. He rained down five hard slaps on her rear end and she let out a wail. Then, mercifully, she said it. “I love it.”
    “Don’t move,” he said.
    He was out of his jeans and had a condom on in moments. He grabbed her hips and slid into her easily. She was soaking wet. The sight of her bright red ass as he pounded into her was too much, and he came hard, pushing deep and throwing his head back, thrusting one, two, three times.
    Melanie was still wiggling her backside against his deflating penis. She hadn’t come. James knew he wouldn’t be able to perform again anytime soon given how hard he’d come, and he was tempted to just owe her one—except that it would set a treacherous precedent.
    He led her over to the bed and pushed her down onto her back. He kissed her hard, pinched and sucked her nipples; he loved the way they responded to him, standing at attention against his tongue.
    He moved down, kissing her stomach, her navel, and she moaned when he spread her legs, covering her eyes with her forearm to shut out the afternoon light.
    He didn’t tease her like he would have if this were foreplay. Rather, he dove in and spelled his name on her clit in capital letters. She was responding, grinding against his face, but it was taking time and he wanted desperately to take a nap.
    He reached for the nightstand closest to the bathroom. Along with condoms and lube were several toys of varying sizes. He chose a purple dildo which was actually pretty close to his own size.
    The dildo buzzed when he turned the knob at the base and he slid the head up and down against her wetness. She hummed in approval and pushed her hips forward. James slid it in easily, about halfway, then began sliding it in and out rhythmically. Melanie increased her tempo and James responded by giving her more of its length, turning the dial all the way to the right.
    “Come for me,” he said.
    Melanie bucked hard, pushing against the dildo and closing her thighs tight over James’ hand as she came. Her chest was flushed and she still had her forearm over her eyes.
    James slowly withdrew the dildo and lay down next to Melanie, pulling her arm away from her face. He looked her in the eyes, brushed her hair away from her face. “Good girl,” he said.
     
     
    When Melanie’s parents took the girls to the mall, they insisted on taking them to the art store or the bookstore as the last stop. It was their choice—although it was usually a two out of three vote. During one trip to the art store with just their father, the same year that he died, Sara discovered Michael Parkes’ art and the younger girls jumped on the bandwagon. They all picked a favorite. Sarah chose