You Always Hurt the Ones You Love

Hey!

The sound of my IM message notification (a sultry woman's voice proclaiming, "Someone would like to speak with you, Master") startled me from my writing, and I crossed the living room to the laptop to find a message from a friend living in the same apartment building.

Me:

Hey yourself, sexy!

Mandi:

Can I come down to see you? I'd rather not spend the evening alone

Me:

Absolutely! Should I make dinner for us?

Mandi:

Nah I already ate

Me:

OK – the door's unlocked.

When Mandi opened the door a few minutes later, she seemed surprised. "Barry Manilow?"

Clearly my choice of music surprised her. "I'm almost surprised that you recognize him," I said, setting the book aside and crossing the room to her as she closed the door behind her. I took her into my arms for a long hug, enjoying the feel of her youthful body against me.

Her youthful body, her youthful smile, her youthful energy always made me feel younger, even though she was young enough to be my daughter. Yet somehow, something kept us coming back to each other – we were truly friends, and there were definitely some significant benefits to our friendship, but even though we each had dabbled in the dating pool with others, we always came back to each other.

...which was signified in this moment by the gentle kiss and the knowing way she stroked my lower spine.

When we separated at last, I took her hand in mine and guided her to where I was sitting. I sat in the recliner first, and she settled onto my lap, a position very comfortable and common to us. As the opening chords of "Could It Be Magic" wafted over us, I gave her a gentle squeeze, wondering what magic had brought us together like this on so many occasions.

"How's the dissertation coming?" I finally asked.

"Ugh."

"I figured as much."

Mandi shrugged against me. "Now I really wish I'd followed a friend's advice."

"What advice was that?"

"She was purposely taking a year off from grad school before starting her Ph.D. program at Berkeley. She said that another five years without a significant break would be rather grueling." She sighed. "Now I wish I'd done the same."

I gave her another squeeze. "How close are you to getting to a point where I can read and edit what you have?"

She shrugged again. "Maybe a week or so. Probably closer to 'or so,' actually."

"Make it closer to 'a week,' and I'll see if I can arrange something special for you."

"You don't need to do that, you know."

"I know," I admitted, "but I want to. It may motivate you a little, and I just like surprising you in general."

Mandi gently kissed my cheek. "Thanks. That's just one of the reasons I like you so much."

We shared a smile and an embrace, and then just sat there for a while until the music finally ended.

"You know," she admitted, "you're the only person I know who still owns an actual record player."

"That's what I grew up with," I reminded the youngster. "But it is getting harder and harder to find needles and parts."

"Time to add to the CD collection then."

"Maybe you're right."

"Maybe that's what I'll get you for your birthday next month: CDs of your record collection."

"My entire record collection? That would probably cost you..." I paused to calculate in my head. "That would probably cost upward of $800."

"Maybe I'll just give you me instead."

I smiled, imagining myself unwrapping her, exposing her, tasting her...

"Actually, I do have a surprise for you tonight. Just something small but something I think you'll like. But you have to undress me first."

As Mandi remained upon my lap, I touched her first, purposely taking my time. Once again, my hands meandered over her many curves, although primarily my attentions were focused upon her chest, caressing and squeezing her breasts through her Snoopy sweatshirt. Soon she was writhing sensuously upon my lap, touching me in kind, slowly heightening my arousal.

Only when she pleaded with her eyes did I finally lift off her sweatshirt, revealing a black lacy front-hook bra. I smiled, thinking this might be the surprise, as I had never known her to even own a front-hook bra. As our lips met anew, I continued to gently manipulate her breasts, never losing contact with the supportive garment.

"I'm so wet..." Mandi whispered between kisses.

"Good," I responded. "That means I must be doing something right."

We both laughed softly, briefly, but then our lips met again. With a hand still fondling her chest, my other hand slithered down her ribs, down her stomach, and unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans before slithering inside, relishing the warmth trapped within the denim.

She was definitely wet, as I learned firsthand when my fingertips brushed her succulent sex through her silky panty. My hand upon her chest fumbled for a moment in opening the front of her bra, then closed upon a breast, the skin-to-skin contact eliciting a low sound of happiness from her throat. For several more minutes, my hands worked her body, strengthening her arousal, ensuring her desire liberally coated my fingers.

"Over my legs," I instructed, retracting my hand from her panty and her jeans.

The expression in her eyes was one of lust and of naughtiness. She smiled sweetly and kissed my forehead before standing and turning around to push down her jeans and reveal a black panty before bending over my thighs.

Thus was her surprise revealed to me: "Spank me" was imprinted across her sweet derrière.

"That is exactly what I had had in mind," I assured her softly.

"Then what're you waiting for?" Mandi gave her nice rump a gentle shake to emphasize her point. "And don't hold back, please. Make it hurt. Make it long and make it hurt."

I did not hold back, not even when the tears began to fall. The sound of each impact, the way she moved upon me, the gasps the sounds which escaped past her dainty lips all endeared her to me even more, especially the trust she had in me to make herself so vulnerable for me, to allow me to hurt her like this.

And when at last she truly could not take any more, she slid to her knees upon the floor, clutching my legs as she continued to sob. My badly-stinging hand toyed with her hair to help calm her, and eventually her tears slowed to a trickle. She looked up at me at last, and I met her gaze with an appreciative smile.

"You're truly special to me," I assured her.

"Is that why you like to hurt me? After all, 'you always hurt the ones you love.'"

I offered a hand to her, and helped Mandi to stand as I stood as well. I pulled her into a tight hug, reveling in the feel of her youthful body against me, knowing how wanton she appeared with her bra hanging open and her jeans down to her ankles.

"In that case," I said honestly, "then I should hurt you every day for the rest of our lives."

It was the closest yet I could bring myself to admitting that I truly loved her, but for the moment, it was more than enough.