A Measure of Discipline (3 page)

Adam stretched me carefully, opening my ass and stroking his fingers over my prostate. I gave a choked cry against my arm and rutted against the desk. The lining of my jacket was wet with precum, and I had a moment of clarity during which I hoped no one called an unscheduled meeting where I would be expected to show up wearing the cum-stained thing. Adam slipped his fingers out of my body, and the empty feeling that followed cut off my short bout with reality. Before I could protest the loss of his talented fingers, Adam gripped my hips firmly with both hands and pressed the head of his cock against my opening. I moaned and focused on relaxing. With so much less lube than I was accustomed to using, the stretch and burn of entry was going to be worse than normal, and my body was tense with anticipation of the pain. Adam’s hand came down on my ass with an unexpected smack. Distracted by the sting and burn of my skin as he spanked me again, his cock was fully seated before I realized he’d breached me.

Adam’s hands locked on my hips again. I could feel the rough material of his jeans against my ass: he hadn’t taken them down, just pulled his cock out. He pushed deeper and my entire body shuddered. I thrust back, dragging the length of my dick along the desk edge as I did. My ass clamped tighter around his dick in reaction.

“Fuck, Taylor,” Adam gasped. He backed out of my ass and then pressed forward again. His motion was steady and sure, just like he fucked me at home. The sounds of the party from the outer office seeped back into my consciousness. I had no idea how long we’d been at this, but time was running short.

“Stop playing around and fuck me,” I demanded as I pushed back into him again. His hand seared my ass.

“Slut,” he accused, but he got it and his hips pumped faster, driving me forward against the desk repeatedly. Instead of palming my cock to get off while he fucked me, I rubbed it against the edge of the desk, humping it through the padding of my coat. Dicks were not as delicate as women seemed to think. I thought I was straight once upon a time, a long time ago. I had a girlfriend, plans to get married and do the whole baby thing… the works. I remembered the soft touch of a woman’s hand on my cock, the hesitant play of her lips. Women should watch more porn. Balls were highly sensitive, but the cock? Well, Adam fucked me against the desk, and the harder I rubbed against the edge, more than once crossing the line between pleasure and pain, the closer it drove me toward orgasm. I would have never considered the keen edge of a piece of furniture as something I wanted to rut on, but now I wondered if I could do this to myself or if the sensation depended on a dick pounding my guts at the same time.

Adam’s orgasm was close. He was hunched over me, fucking me hard and fast, his fingers digging into my hips, unmindful of the fingerprints he was leaving behind. The friction of rubbing against the lining of my coat was making my cock raw, but as my balls drew up into ever tighter knots, I got that telltale concentration of electric heat in the base of my spine— the pain didn’t matter. I came first with a muffled shout against the fist I’d balled up against my mouth in an effort to stop myself from making so much noise. I bit my knuckles hard, and my other hand scrabbled for a hold on the opposite edge of the desk. My ass clenched and milked Adam’s orgasm out of him. He came hard, his hips stuttered against mine, and I wondered if he’d bitten his tongue through in an effort to keep his reaction down to just a few barely audible grunts. Adam usually made a much bigger production of getting off.

He pulled out of me, and I managed to lift myself off my desk. I stared down at my jacket; it was a wreck, but at least the rest of my clothing was salvageable, if rumpled. I pulled my underwear and pants back up and tucked my shirt in, pretending not to notice how raw my dick was. The desk edge seemed a lot less friendly now than it had a few moments before, and I frowned at it. Buckling my belt, I turned around to frown at Adam too.  

“Dude, slut?” I demanded. He grinned and tossed the condom he’d tied off into the trash beside the desk. He fastened his jeans while still looking at me. He stepped closer, his brown eyes soft as he met my gaze. His lips captured mine, and I allowed him to gather me into the circle of his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing close. His teeth nipped at my lips, and he sucked my tongue into his mouth, kissing me thoroughly before he pulled back to look at me again. I had no idea what he was going to say, because someone chose that moment to bang on the door.

“Mr. Jordan, aren’t you coming to Mary’s party?” a young woman’s voice called through the door. “You work too hard! Come out and have some cake with us!” That would be Joyce, my would-be mother. She wouldn’t give up until she’d shoved cake, punch, and ice cream down my throat.

“Sure, Joyce. I’m just finishing up in here. I’ll be right out,” I called back to her. That seemed to satisfy her, as there was no more banging or yelling. The moment between Adam and me, whatever it had been, was gone. He let me step out of his arms without comment. I made sure I was presentable and flashed a grin at him. He moved to let me exit first, but as I passed him, he leaned over and whispered in my ear:

“Slut is my favorite flavor.” And I felt the firm slap of his hand on my ass.

Diane Adams
wrote her first stories in high school, but life interfered and the notebooks were packed away and forgotten. There were jobs, a series of them, and children... a series of them as well and not a lot of time left over for daydreams. A few years ago, after the first of the series of children were almost grown Diane discovered fan fiction and a dreamer was reborn. She enjoyed some success as a fan fiction writer, gathered a strong following, and won quite a few awards. It was nice, but the real dream was to have that same success as a writer of original fiction exploring worlds of her own creation. That dream is, at long last, coming true.

She tweets at https://twitter.com/d_adams. You may contact Diane at
[email protected]
.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

A Measure of Discipline ©Copyright Diane Adams, 2010

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

4760 Preston Road

Suite 244-149

Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Anne Cain    [email protected]

Cover Design by Mara McKennen

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

Released in the United States of America

October 2010

eBook Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-619-4