Rosie Wilson (
forthsofar) wrote2019-10-19 06:39 pm
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the cushy sheltered way of life was really no fun
She's kept quiet about it. Not because of any worry or concern, not because she feels as though she's done anything wrong--indeed, in a way this feels the furthest thing from incorrect. There's just been a lot to think about, thoughts and feelings and needs that she's been turning over in her head and trying to parse out on her own before she brings them up with either Nick or Sabrina. She'll need to, because they're the cause of it all, the ones that sparked that odd blossoming warmth within her as they asked questions that held just the barest edge of command behind them.
It could be that she's understanding it all wrong, her relative inexperience turning words murmured in the heat of passion into something that feels more weighty than it is. But somehow, she doesn't think so. Whether she's misunderstood or not, though, Rosie wants to be sure of herself, and sure of what she wants. As she'd been told before, so many times, that's the only way this works.
After a few days of thought, she's ready to open the conversation, and given that they already had plans this afternoon, Nick seems the perfect person to start with. Settled on his couch and entwined under a blanket, they watch--well, mostly--the season premiere of that awful witch show Nick had fallen in love with during his convalescence, the both of them laughing and shouting things at the screen. Once it's over, Rosie reaches for the remote control, clicking the television off.
"Nick," she says softly, a flutter of uncertainty starting up in the pit of her stomach, something she tries to ignore. She turns in his arms until she can press a kiss to his mouth. "Could I...there's something I wanted to talk to you about." Realizing how that might sound only once it's out, her eyes widen, just slightly. "Something...I think it's something good, I promise."
It could be that she's understanding it all wrong, her relative inexperience turning words murmured in the heat of passion into something that feels more weighty than it is. But somehow, she doesn't think so. Whether she's misunderstood or not, though, Rosie wants to be sure of herself, and sure of what she wants. As she'd been told before, so many times, that's the only way this works.
After a few days of thought, she's ready to open the conversation, and given that they already had plans this afternoon, Nick seems the perfect person to start with. Settled on his couch and entwined under a blanket, they watch--well, mostly--the season premiere of that awful witch show Nick had fallen in love with during his convalescence, the both of them laughing and shouting things at the screen. Once it's over, Rosie reaches for the remote control, clicking the television off.
"Nick," she says softly, a flutter of uncertainty starting up in the pit of her stomach, something she tries to ignore. She turns in his arms until she can press a kiss to his mouth. "Could I...there's something I wanted to talk to you about." Realizing how that might sound only once it's out, her eyes widen, just slightly. "Something...I think it's something good, I promise."
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Nick pauses for a moment, just enjoying the pale curve of Rosie's bare ass. He goes to a drawer in his dresses and produces a blindfold, moving to the bed and slipping out over her eyes.
"Take your bra off."
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"You might have asked me to before you blindfolded me," she murmurs when he gives his next order, just the slightest hint of impertinence in her voice. Shifting up onto her knees, she reaches back and unclasps her bra, stripping it off and dropping it in what she thinks is the direction of the edge of the bed. After a pause to show off a little, arching her back and squirming for him, Rosie moves once again to all fours.
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The slap he lands on her ass is little more than a tap.
"Less of that tone," he says. "Be a good girl."
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"I'll...I'm sorry, I'll be good."
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"What do you think will happen if you're not good?" He asks, bending over the bed and bushing himself with rolling her panties the rest of the way down and peeling them off altogether.
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That leaves her naked on all fours, wearing nothing except the blindfold. The affect it has on him is undeniable and he had to pause for a moment.
"Girls who can't be good get spanked, Rosie. Say it."
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"Girls who can't...who can't be good," she starts, then stops, breathing out a quiet whine as she hangs her head, her face flushing scarlet. "They get spanked."
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He likes the angle of her head, the way she hesitates but say it anyway.
"Spread your legs properly, Rosie," he instructs. "Show me everything."
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"Good girl," he says, settling on the bed behind her and squeezing her ass with both hands, spreading her cheeks to utterly expose her. "This suits you."
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It takes a moment, one full of effort and a reminder that she can stop this with a word whenever she chooses to, but when she speaks again her voice is quieter, more obedient. Just like the good girl she ought to be for him. "Th-thank you, Nick."
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He holds her spread like that for a moment, letting her feel how exposed she is, and then he takes his hands away.
"Put your cheek down on the bed and spread yourself like that for me, Rosie."
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Nick clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, disapproving.
"What did I say about that tone of voice, Rosie?" He shifts, sitting on the edge of the bed and then taking hold of her, manhandling her into position until she's over his lap, hair hanging over the blindfold, ass in the air.
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"You said you wanted to hear less of it, not none at all," she says, and when he grabs her, Rosie knows immediately she ought to have stayed quiet. She yelps and struggles as he puts her into position, and by the time he's finished she's certain her face is redder than it's ever been. Shifting her hips, feeling the rough denim of Nick's jeans against her thighs, she tries to settle as comfortably as she can.
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"Remind me," says Nick, fondling her ass, squeezing. "Remind me what happens to girls who can't do what they're told."
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"They get...they get spanked, Nick."
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"They do," he says and then he slaps her ass. It takes him a moment to find a rhythm, hitting her hard enough to sting, but not too hard.
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"Think you've learned your lesson, Rosie?" He asks, fondling and pinching at her reddened, heated skin.
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She pauses, as much to blow out a gentle upward stream of air to try (unsuccessfully) to get some of her hair out of her face as to give herself the space to weigh her feelings. They'd pushed past another boundary, one that feels important; when she speaks again, it's with more steadiness than before. "That's...it's still a green light, if you're wondering."
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"Good girl," he says, smoothing a steadying hand along her spine. "Now get back on the bed and spread your ass like I asked for."
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"Reach back and...and spread for you, right?" she asks, hands already behind her. Her face has never been this hot, her stomach never this knotted with humiliation. Carefully, she spreads her ass for him, then holds as still as she's able to.
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"That's it," says Nick. "That's perfect." He stands up, stripping off his shirt and starting to unzip his jeans. "I should make you hold it just like that while I fuck you."
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