Destinys Wild

Chapter: 1: The Girl Can't Help It

Destiny was shoplifting earrings one day when a man leaned on the glass counter next to her.

"You know you can get in a lot of trouble for that?" he asked.

"For what? I've done nothing wrong." She held the earring next to her face and turned her head to the side to regard her reflection in the mirror--and to admire the stranger's face-the two-day growth of beard that shadowed his strong jaw. Her fingers itched to touch that raspy dark stubble.

"You don't think shoplifting is wrong?"

"It's not shoplifting,"

"What do you call it?"

"I call it 'subsistence thievery.' I only take what I need."

"Earrings?" He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she got a little twinge that caused the muscles of her thighs to contract.

She nodded, and looked into ocean-blue eyes that stirred the longing for a dream she could never remember.

"What would you say if I told you this store has a policy that you pay for what you need? And they hire guys like me to enforce the policy." His eyes smiled, but his mouth was hard.

"I would say 'oh, shit.' "

Destiny had pulled some fine stunts, but she'd never been arrested.

He took her by the elbow and guided her out of the mall to the parking lot.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the coffee house just down the street. Trust me."

And she trusted him.

They talked for hours, switching from cappuccino to Irish coffee as night blackened the windows of the café. His name was Ian, he was a sculptor, he'd never been married, had never found the right woman. She opened the book of her life for him to read with insightful eyes.

"Have you always been such a naughty girl?" Those words from a mouth as hard as stone, yet soft in her imagination as she played with the image of those lips on her rosy nipples, her fluttering belly.

"Let's just say that in high school I was voted 'the girl most likely'."

"To do what?"

"Fuck the principal."

He raised an eyebrow. "You didn't get punished for your misdeeds very often, did you?"

"My parents indulged me."

"I thought so."

She was a rebel who had not found her cause. Destiny herself did not know what she was looking for, but she dreamed at night of a man, of rough kisses and soft restraints, penetrating looks and commanding words from a deep voice, and a liquid joy that filled her. In the morning the dream eluded her. But in her waking hours, she believed that someone, somewhere, was made to take her and mold her, and that she, in turn, was someone's destiny.

He reached out an index finger and wiped a spot of cinnamon-flecked whipped cream from her upper lip, then fed it back to her, letting her draw his finger into her soft warm mouth. Her green eyes clouded as she sucked, her cheeks hollowed.

When he withdrew his hand, she looked down at the table, for the first time in her life flustered by the nearness of a man.

"Look at me, Destiny."

She lifted her gaze to the gray-blue eyes that had haunted her dreams. It was like staring into the sun.

"You never have to lower your eyes. I don't want to break your spirit. You don't have to call me 'Master.' But I will rule you."

And she believed him.

It was a week before she saw Ian again. By that time, she had whipped herself into a frappe with her fantasies of him, of waking next to him in the morning to suck his already-hard cock, of lying beneath him as he drove himself into her, of bending over to spread her cheeks for him, to allow him entrance to her most forbidden place-something she'd never done before. Her lusty, playful fantasies had taken on a dark and serious tenor. She was, as they say, fit to be tied.

He was waiting for her when she left the library where she worked part-time reading stories to children.

He didn't even say hello, just held the car door open as she slid into the front seat.

Men didn't usually take Destiny home. Taking Destiny to meet your mother was like taking a frog to church, or a tiger to the ballet: the results could be unpredictable. Even if a fellow lived alone-well, a rooster doesn't invite the fox into the place where he's most vulnerable.

Ian's house was a study in dark blues and tranquil greens, and when she stepped into the foyer, she knew that she had crossed more than just a physical threshold.

Standing there, her back against the door, she waited. His deft hands unbuttoned her sweater, peeling the clingy fabric away to expose white breasts mapped by delicate blue veins, pink-tipped with sensitive nipples that constricted under his examining eye. She wanted to scream Take me, or Suck me, or Fuck me, like a demanding and impatient child. But she knew that Ian was running this show. She, who had always called the shots, manipulated the slavering men with their burgeoning cocks, giving freely only that which she wanted to give-she was the one who must now wait, dance to another's tune, yearn for a touch the way a dog longs for a bone from a benevolent owner.

Ian turned her so that her back was to him, her naked breasts flattened against the unyielding oak door. He lifted her skirt, palmed her belly with one hand.

"I'm going to pull your panties down now, sweetie."

She could only groan. She didn't know what was coming-only knew that she had waited a long time for it.

Cool air swept across the curving planes of her bottom when he peeled her pink lace panties down around her thighs.

He circled his hand over her smooth ass while the shrewd fingers of his other hand dipped into the coarse curls at the top of her mound.

Without a warning, he drew back his hand and smacked her bottom with a stinging slow-motion slap that undulated down her legs the way a placid lake ripples when a pebble is thrown into it.

Before the startled girl could leverage herself away from the door, Ian leaned into her, crushed her against the door, still possessing the heart of her between his one hand on her humid pussy, the other on her ass.

With a knowing tongue, he probed the delicate curved shell of her ear, nibbled at her lobe with those firm-but-soft lips, brushed his mouth along the burning flesh of her neck, and nipped her freckled shoulder with his teeth.

"That's what you've been waiting for, isn't it?" he whispered, his mouth once again at her ear, coaxing tremors along her spine.

From deep within a place she didn't know existed, Destiny answered, "Yes."

Ian buffeted her back side with several more strokes, glided his other hand up along her ribcage, barely brushing with his thumb the underside of one tender breast. With each stroke of his masterful hand, her breasts cried out to be taken in a consuming grasp, nipples begged to be squeezed.

"I know what you want, but I'm not going to give it to you." Again he raked his thumb down along her ribs, circled the rim of her navel with the pad of his index finger.

She groaned, all squirming hips and twisting torso.

"Don't make me beg," she cried.

He laughed, a low and melodious sound like melting chocolate.

"I also know what you need, and I am going to give you that."

"What? What do I need? I don't even know myself."

"You will."

With that, he proceeded anew to spank her bottom, now rose-colored with his signature, tingling with little sparks of electricity conducted through the currents of her blood. The smacks were not unbearable; he kept his hand cupped.

"Harder," she demanded through clenched teeth.

Ian chuckled again, sinking his teeth into the pale skin of her shoulder. "No, love," he mumbled against her damp flesh. "I decide when it will be harder. It's enough right now for you to understand that you need this punishment."

"Why?" she wailed, and behind that ancient word lay a multitude of questions. Why did this feel so right? Why did the stinging slaps on her vulnerable back side remind her of that elusive dream? Why did the liquid from her cunt drip down the inside of her thigh, even now as he renewed the spanking, teased her sensitive breasts by disregarding them.

He turned her around to face him, gathered her into his arms. He wanted to thank her for trusting him, but it was too soon for that, so he simply said, "You will know, Destiny. For now, you were right to trust me."

He lifted her, carried her to the couch, sat down with her on his lap. She buried her face against the warm spice-scented skin between his neck and shoulder. His fingers played with the soaking wet curls of her pussy, pinching the folds, caressing the swollen clit.

Desperately she pleaded, "Please let me suck your cock. I can make you so happy."

"It's not time for that yet, love." Her answering groan of frustration prompted him to say, "You've already made me happy. That's why I'm going to let you come."

She almost came just at the mere mention of an orgasm. "Yes, please make me come."

"No, Destiny, I said I would let you come. Stand up." He patted her tender behind as she stood before him, her panties still around her wet thighs, her sweater open, her trembling breasts exposed.

He sat back as relaxed as if he were watching golf on television, but there was no denying the sultry shadow that played across his face, darkened his eyes.

"Now, you may play with yourself, make yourself come."

"Here? In front of you?" But even as she spoke her doubts, her hand inched towards her familiar cunt, squeezed the hot engorged flesh tight in one hand, as her head dropped to one side, eyes closed, all the focus of her mind's eye on that sensitive clit, so that she was, in essence, nothing more than her throbbing clitoris. Warmth spread through her veins, her pulsing clit the epicenter of the radiating heat.

How could she do it? Would she be able to come by her own hand right here in front of Ian?

"Don't think about it," he said, reading her mind. "Don't think about anything."

Meanwhile, the hypnotic voice thrilled and soothed, coaxed and agitated, and he kept up a steady stream of gentle urgings. "You know what you want. Give yourself this gift, Destiny. Go ahead, beautiful girl, come for me."

And with each vibration of his commanding tones, she reached deeper, the animal lust growing, burying all rational thought beneath an onslaught of desire, lust, self-love. When she finally placed her finger on her precious clit, it took only a light touch on that tender bud of flesh to send her moaning like a wild animal into oblivion.

She stood there, her sex still clenching and quivering under her own familiar touch, her body shining with sweat, her chin down against her chest as she closed in upon herself and clung to the last vestiges of lust before the outside world returned to make her wonder at what she had just done. When she opened her eyes, his gaze summoned her.

"Come here, my love. I'm proud of you."

Once again she crept into the warm circle of his arms.

Part 2: What a Girl Wants

"I've been a bad girl too long, I guess," said Destiny.

Ian arched an eloquent eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"I can't just become a sniveling, submissive, whipped pup that slinks away with its tail between its legs." She lifted a haughty chin.

He laughed that mellow chuckle, a dry and raspy sound.

"In the first place, you're no pup. You're a woman. Secondly, the only 'slinking' you should ever do is in high heels and a tight skirt. And finally, your tail should be over my knee. Come here."

She'd been seeing Ian for a week, ever since that day, that glorious day when he had set her free in his own arresting way, had spanked her yielding bottom, after which she had masturbated in a command performance. Since that day, he had discovered with his hands and lips every inch of her, every subtle nuance of every response of her body. And in turn, she had discovered herself. He had not allowed her to pleasure him, but she hadn't stopped asking.

She wanted to resist this latest directive. A part of her feared that a spanking would break her wild spirit. But another part of her-not just her twitching cunt-craved his harsh hand on her back side, longed for the giving up of control.

"You know you want it," he coaxed. Damn that deep voice of his.

"But I don't need a spanking." She never whined, but she was close to it.

"That's for me to decide. Isn't it?"

Ian was always right. About everything. Damn him.

"If I have to drag you over my knee," he want on, "it will be a very different sort of punishment indeed."

Her back stiffened at the thought. But she remained standing before him, not wanting to yield. A little voice in her head said, "Let's test the limits." It was the same little voice that had told her to spray-paint graffiti on the overpass, the same little voice that had suggested she ask those impertinent questions in Sister Angelica's sex education class.

Ian smiled knowingly, waited.

It didn't take long to test the limits. The limit, apparently, was about ten seconds.

When he seized her arm and hauled her towards him, she pitched forward, off-balance, lunging across his lap at an awkward angle, her face buried in the sofa cushions, muffling her startled cries. Without ceremony, without tender words, he lifted her flirty flowered skirt, yanked her panties down to her knees, and began to whale on her ass.

"Bastard!" and "Maniac!" she screamed into the sofa cushion, but no one heard.

This was not Ian's usual slow hand, and she certainly was not draped gracefully over his knee in that vulnerable but sexy position. And this spanking hurt.

The rain of blows stopped suddenly. "What are you babbling about, Destiny?"

She turned her head to the side, drew in a gulp of air, and screamed, "I said stop it, you son of a bitch!"

He laughed, as pleased with her resistance as he had ever been of her submission.

His laughter only infuriated her more. Another source of her fury was her accursed pussy, swelling and clenching steadily against the fabric of his trousers. Damn her little mindless cunt! She pinched her legs together tightly, not only so that Ian wouldn't see the excitement he had engendered in her, but also because it increased the pressure of her needy cunt on his hard-muscled thigh.

"I will stop eventually," he crooned. "But even when I do, it never ends, you know."

"I've had it with your cryptic messages, Ian! I don't want to try to decipher any more of your codes. Just let me-"

Her arguments rose toward the ceiling in a long banshee wail when he commenced another barrage of unrestrained blows on her now beleaguered bottom. The spasms of her pussy kicked into a higher gear. She found herself clinging to his strong calf and thigh to better control the friction of her cunt on his other thigh.

"My darling girl wants to come?" he taunted between sporadic smacks to the underside of her butt cheeks where her bottom curved into taut silky thighs.

"Yes, damn you," she shrieked. "And you're messing up my rhythm!"

He roared with laughter and worked strong fingers between her legs to capture the moisture that collected there. Then, his fingers lubricated, he delved into the dark musky furrow between her red ass cheeks.

Her moans were primal now, no words could she articulate as she rocked her cunt in long, rhythmic strokes over his thigh, and his finger probed at the secret hot entrance to a most mysterious cavern that had never before been explored.

His movements gentled now, he held his finger over her anus, let her rolling movements push that unyielding opening against his fingertip, tickling, teasing, until she began to open, to let him in.

"What are you doing?" she groaned.

"What do you want me to do?" he countered, and she answered by arching her back, lifting her bottom higher, and spreading her legs to better receive his searching finger.

She stilled herself, like a statue of a goddess, while he slid his finger into that clutching channel. Her hungry cunt paused in its frantic grinding, pulsing against his thigh like an idling engine. And when he was in up to the hilt, her exquisite humiliation was complete. He possessed her from all sides, physically and emotionally, psychologically and sexually. With a primitive growl, she renewed her swaying, and he met her every thrust with his own in equal measure.

"Is that what you want?" asked Ian.

Her mind wanted to curse him. She wanted to shout, "Yes, goddamn you!" but the words wouldn't come.

"Is it?" he demanded, more insistent.

"Yes!" she screamed.

It was only a matter of a fluid shifting of position before she was on the floor on her hands and knees, and Ian smoothly, seamlessly substituted his hard cock for the finger which he drew out slowly. Now she was full to the brim, but her cunt was deserted, betrayed. Ever the watchful dominator, Ian reached a hand to cup her needy mound.

And with that, the pace of their back and forth exchange resumed and kicked into high gear. Her legs spread wide, she raked across his hand in deep strokes that covered every inch of her grinding cunt, from the top of her mound above her clit, to the sweet cavern of her pussy, which opened itself upon the flat plane of his hand, searching for the one thing that a pussy needs most--a cock-and never finding it. She dipped and dove and rose like a swimmer.

And always there was the fierce-loving cock in her anus, coaxing her, filling her, driving shooting sparks into her belly. The current arced, completing the circuit between her cunt and her ass, connecting the two separate voids-one full and sated, one empty and throbbing-in blue, arcing, hot bolts of lightning.

Again and again, the current surged, and retreated, and surged again, until the sound of her own parched screams, the coarseness of the rug under her knees, and the tangy scent of her own soaking pussy sent her racing toward the edge.

And, of course, there was the knowing. That she was his, that he knew her wants and needs. That knowing was the final push that freed her. Like a skydiver that jumps into thin air with the faith and hope and trust that her descent will be captured as she plummets to the earth, Destiny fell.

Later, she stretched out again languidly face down across Ian's lap on the sofa, her head resting upon her arms folded beneath her. But now she basked in the tenderness of his hand caressing her raw back side as he worshipped her beautiful body with his eyes: the way her straight back dipped in at the sides of her waist to flare out again over the curve of her hips, the little patch of freckles in the valley at the base of her spine, the smooth rise of her round bottom that now bore his seal, the slender thighs, still shiny with the liquid of her cunt, calf-muscles defined as she flexed her toes in lazy tempo against the arm of the couch. His hands followed his eyes and she shivered beneath his touch.

"When are you going to let me suck your cock, Ian? When are you going to fuck me?" Her questions were not petulant whines, but sounded almost academic. As if she were asking when the dry cleaning would be ready or when a package might be delivered.

"When it's time, love."

Part 3: Rendezvous with Destiny

Destiny: Meet me at 5 p.m., park bench by the river. No panties. Don't be late. Ian.

Well, there was nothing vague or cryptic about that note, thought Destiny, clinging to a thrilling quiver that rippled down her spine when she read the bold, sweeping scrawl of Ian's hand-writing.

She swept her long hair up into a ponytail. Ian liked it that way. It had been three weeks since they'd met, and although he had still not allowed her to please him in the physical ways that she knew so well, she found other little random gestures that made his eyes shine in a way that signaled his pleasure.What had begun as a light spanking with cupped hand had evolved into a series of sex games, vignettes that always ended with at least one shattering orgasm for Destiny, if not several. Ian had introduced her to sensations she had never dreamed of...or perhaps she had dreamed of them during some deep sleep when a woman dreams the dreams she can't remember. Last week she had tested his boundaries; this week he seemed to be testing hers, with his written instructions, his phone calls directing her to go here, do this, wear that.