Spanked and Seduced at the airport part six
ward instead, palms gliding over the slope of her neck, thumbs pressing into the tense muscles behind her ears. Elizabeth sighed, her head lolling forward as Taj worked in slow circles, the citrus soap turning her skin slick. When his fingers grazed her hairline, she made a sound halfway between a purr and a laugh—one that dissolved into a startled squeak when his thumbs dug into the base of her skull with just the right pressure.
"Fuck, that's—" Elizabeth cut herself off with another gasp as Taj's hands slid lower, tracing her spine through the soapy film. He avoided her shoulders entirely, bypassing the tempting curve where neck met collarbone, and instead palmed the swell of her buttocks with deliberate gentleness. The flesh yielded under his touch, impossibly soft yet firm, like overripe fruit begging to be bitten. Taj exhaled sharply through his nose, resisting the impulse to sink his teeth into the plush curve.
Instead, he spread her cheeks apart with both hands, the soap making the motion effortless. Elizabeth arched against him instantly, her breath hitching when his pinky grazed her anal entrance—just a whisper of contact, nothing more. A shudder worked its way down her spine as Taj withdrew, his hands skating down her thighs with featherlight pressure.
"Ticklish here too?" he murmured, squeezing the dip behind her knees.
Elizabeth's answering laugh bounced off the tiles as she kicked reflexively, her gold sandal skidding against wet porcelain. "Asshole," she panted, though her eyes glittered with amusement. Taj grinned despite himself, working downward to her calves—kneading the taut muscles with firm strokes—then her heels, where he dug his thumbs into the arches until Elizabeth whimpered.
The paper towels came next, Taj blotting her skin with the same clinical precision she'd used on him. When he reached the small of her back, Elizabeth twisted abruptly, her damp breasts pressing against his chest as she seized his face between both hands. The kiss was molten—all teeth and tongue and the lingering tang of citrus soap—lasting exactly sixty-three seconds by the wall clock's ticking.
Elizabeth broke the kiss with a wet smack, her fingers still tangled in Taj's damp hair. "You did such a good job," she murmured, her thumb brushing his lower lip. The praise sent an unexpected warmth flooding through his chest—different from the arousal still thrumming in his veins.
“Remember what you said earlier, about wanting to Get to know a woman, her personality, her character, her feelings, and not just see her as a sex object? Well, we’re gonna do that right now.”
With that, Elizabeth grabbed his wrist and both of them exited the bathroom. She went to pick up her phone, which was laying underneath the window on the western wall. The red light record still on the screen. She Stopped, recording turned off the camera, went back to the Home screen and looked at the time.
“It hasn’t even been one hour yet let alone two. We still got plenty of time, honey!”
Elizabeth tapped her phone screen, the red recording light blinking back to life as she set it carefully against the baseboard. The swivel chair creaked when she settled into it, spreading her thighs with a deliberate slowness that made Taj's freshly-washed skin prickle. "C'mere," she murmured, patting her lap with a hand still faintly citrus-scented.
Taj approached like a man walking to the gallows—each step measured, his muscles twitching with residual soreness. When his thighs made contact with hers, the warmth of her skin seeped into his instantly, a startling contrast to the clinical chill of the bathroom tile. Elizabeth's hands closed around his biceps, her grip firm but not punishing as she guided him down fully onto her lap. The position forced his freshly-spanked ass to press flush against her thighs, the contact making him hiss through clenched teeth.
"Shhh," Elizabeth murmured, her right hand already kneading the swollen flesh of his left buttock with surprising gentleness. Her other palm skated up his sternum in slow, concentric circles—pausing to trace each rib, each dip between his abs—before drifting lower. Taj's breath hitched when her fingertips grazed his half-hard cock, but she merely cupped him loosely, her thumb brushing his balls with the same idle curiosity as someone handling ripe fruit at a market.
"You're from Boston originally, right?" Elizabeth's voice was casual, almost conversational, as if they were two strangers making small talk at a coffee shop rather than naked in an airport office. Her nails scraped lightly down his inner arm as she spoke, leaving faint pink trails that faded within seconds.
"Yes, I am," Taj murmured, his voice rough from earlier screams but carrying unmistakable pride as Elizabeth's fingers traced lazy circles on his inner thigh. "Boston's history runs deep—the Tea Party, the Massacre. Those weren't just protests, they were declarations of what people deserve." His breath hitched when her nail grazed a particularly sensitive spot, but he continued, "I believe in the ideals. Just not the execution."
Elizabeth's amber eyes darkened with understanding as she pressed her palm flat against his sternum, feeling his heartbeat accelerate beneath her touch. "Oh, I know that dance," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper against his temple. Her other hand slid up to cradle his jaw, turning his face toward hers. "Try being the only woman in an airport maintenance crew. The 'accidental' ass grazes during tight squeezes, the 'jokes' about my toolbelt." Her thumb brushed his lower lip. "Benign becomes malignant real quick when you're expected to laugh it off."
Taj's muscles tensed beneath her hands—not from pain now, but recognition. His gaze flicked to the security badges clipped to her discarded uniform blouse. "Is that why you—" He gestured vaguely at their entangled bodies, the recording phone still blinking red in the corner.
Elizabeth's laughter was a sharp thing, like ice cracking underfoot. She pinched his nipple hard enough to make him yelp. "No, genius. This is *fun*. That was *bullshit*." Her thumb soothed the sting immediately, circling the abused flesh. "Difference is consent. And power." She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. "Tell me you don't feel the difference."
The truth lodged in Taj's throat like a stone. He'd been degraded before—by drill sergeants, by frat brothers—but never with this electric undercurrent of *care*. Elizabeth's fingers were tracing the bruises Zoya had left earlier, mapping each one with clinical precision that somehow didn't feel clinical at all.
Elizabeth's fingers stilled on Taj's bruised thigh. "Fraternity?" she asked, tracing the raised scar along his hipbone—too straight to be accidental. "Or military?" The question landed between them like a thrown gauntlet.
Taj's breath hitched as her nails scraped upward.
"Both," he admitted, the words dragged from him like splinters.
"Emerald Dragons in high school. Army after." His abdominal muscles twitched when Elizabeth's thumb found a particularly tender spot near his navel.
"Thought they’d help me get over my shyness. But, as you know, my bashfulness didn’t fully go away.”
Elizabeth's laughter vibrated against Taj's sternum as she pressed her forehead to his chest, her breath warming his skin where the citrus soap had cooled it. "God, I'm so glad you didn't completely kill that shyness," she murmured, her teeth grazing his pectoral just hard enough to make him flinch. "Where would the fun be if you weren't still this"—her hand slid down to pinch his inner thigh—"deliciously bashful mess?"
Taj's throat worked around a sound that wasn't quite a protest, his body caught between arching into her touch and pulling away. Elizabeth grinned at the conflict playing out across his face, her fingers tracing the faint tremors in his thighs with predatory delight.
"Look at you," she breathed, dragging a fingernail along the crease of his hip.
"Still fighting yourself even after everything we've done to you."
Her teeth flashed white in the fluorescent light.
“It's adorable."
The fluorescent hum of the office lights filled the silence as Taj swallowed hard, Elizabeth’s thighs warm beneath him. Her fingers still traced idle patterns along his hip, but there was something different now—a shift in the air, like the moment after a storm passes.
"So," Taj began, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. "What do you do when you’re not…" He gestured vaguely at the swivel chairs, the discarded uniforms, the phone still recording in the corner.
Elizabeth's fingers paused mid-stroke along Taj's inner thigh, her smirk widening as she tilted her head. "You mean when I'm not measuring runway friction coefficients or making shy travelers strip?" Her laugh was low, throaty—the sound of velvet dragging across steel. "Babysitting."
Taj blinked, his brow furrowing as Elizabeth's nails resumed their lazy path up his leg. "Babysitting?"
"Every weekend since I was ten," she confirmed, her thumb pressing into the soft flesh behind his knee until his leg jerked reflexively. "Power starts young, sweetheart. Little girls get told to play nice—I wanted to play warden." Her fingers traced the faint red marks still visible from Zoya's earlier punishment. "First time I spanked a boy? Age twelve. Caught him drawing on my Lisa Frank folders." Her eyes glinted with dark amusement. "Made him pull down his sweatpants right there in the rec room."
Taj's pulse jumped beneath her touch as Elizabeth's hand drifted higher, her fingers spider-walking up his thigh.
Elizabeth's fingers stilled on Taj's thigh, her gaze turning distant as she tapped a rhythm against his skin. "Nineteen years old," she murmured, "freshly promoted to manager at Crayola Heaven—that godawful office supply chain that went bankrupt after selling pens that leaked more than political scandals." Her thumb dug into Taj's hipbone as she leaned closer, her breath warming his ear. "Caught some finance major stealing gel pens—third offense. Took him to my office with the white laminate desk that always smelled like lemon cleaner."
Taj's pulse jumped when Elizabeth's palm suddenly smacked his thigh—not hard, just enough to make the muscle twitch. "Bent him over that desk," she continued, tracing the reddening spot with her fingernail, "used a fiberglass ruler so clear you could see his ass turning pink through it." Her laughter vibrated against Taj's shoulder when his cock twitched against her stomach.
"Kid came in his khakis by stroke twenty. Ruined his perfect GPA presentation. That's when I learned, how to work them just right—letting their hips grind against the desk, or my thigh if I'm feeling generous. Always the shy ones who break fastest."
Elizabeth's fingers traced idle circles on Taj's thigh, her nail catching the faint white scar where Zoya's teeth had broken skin earlier. "You're not my first exercise program," she murmured, her breath warm against his temple. Taj felt her smirk against his skin before she continued. " I was twenty-five and freshly promoted to regional manager of Crayola Heaven. Had this finance intern, Timothy." Her teeth flashed in a predatory grin.
"Shy as a church mouse in lace panties."
She shifted Taj's weight on her lap, her fingers skating up to pinch his nipple hard enough to make him gasp. "Made him do Strip tease for me, just like I did for you. Bob his shoulders up and down, wiggle his hips, twirling around, twirl his clothes above his head and throw them to me. The whole works.
The memory of Timothy's trembling thighs flashed through Elizabeth's mind as she tightened her grip on Taj's hips, her thumbs pressing into the dimples above his ass.
"You'd have liked Timmy," she murmured against Taj's ear, her teeth grazing the lobe.
"Blushed prettier than a sunset when I made him back up toward me bare-assed. Then I played with his balls and penis until he orgasmed, rubbing his seed into his butt cheeks before slapping each cheek six times—hard enough to leave matching sets of fingerprints. Finally, I took the tie you’ve been wearing and down his wrists too my black Painted wooden coat rack, which was horizontally nailed to the wall, how I get from the blow job of his life! Like you, I didn’t stop until he was limp in my mouth, and I also squeezed the base of his cock and slid my fingers and thumb upward five times getting five more spirits out of him. He then promised that he would do anything I asked of him, in other words he became putty in my hands.”
Taj exhaled a shaky laugh, his fingers twitching against Elizabeth's bare thigh. "Can't say I'm surprised," he admitted, voice still rough from earlier. His pupils were blown wide, the remnants of adrenaline making his pulse jump visibly at his throat. "After what you just—" He swallowed hard when Elizabeth's thumb pressed against that throbbing vein. "Christ, I'd probably recite the fucking alphabet backwards if you asked right now."
Elizabeth's grin was all teeth under the fluorescent lights. She leaned in slowly, letting her breath ghost across Taj's lips—close enough to taste the citrus soap still clinging to his skin, but not touching. "Is that so?" she purred, the hand on his hip sliding around to palm his ass with deliberate possessiveness. Her nails bit crescent moons into the flesh there, just shy of breaking skin.
Taj's hips jerked forward involuntarily, his cock dragging against Elizabeth's stomach with a wet streak of precum. "Fuck," he choked out, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. "You know it is." The admission came out half-groan, his breath hot against her collarbone. "Could probably convince me the sky's green right now."
Elizabeth's answering chuckle vibrated through his chest as she lifted his chin with two fingers. "Sky *is* green," she murmured, her free hand trailing down his sternum—slow, teasing strokes that left goosebumps in their wake. "Emerald, specifically." Her teeth flashed in a wicked grin as her fingertips circled his navel. "Like my eyes when I'm about to ruin you."
Taj shuddered, his thighs tensing beneath her palms. He could feel the phantom pressure of Zoya's earlier grip lingering on his wrists, the sting of her nails still fresh enough to make his pulse jump when Elizabeth's fingers traced similar paths.
"Fuck, that's—" Elizabeth cut herself off with another gasp as Taj's hands slid lower, tracing her spine through the soapy film. He avoided her shoulders entirely, bypassing the tempting curve where neck met collarbone, and instead palmed the swell of her buttocks with deliberate gentleness. The flesh yielded under his touch, impossibly soft yet firm, like overripe fruit begging to be bitten. Taj exhaled sharply through his nose, resisting the impulse to sink his teeth into the plush curve.
Instead, he spread her cheeks apart with both hands, the soap making the motion effortless. Elizabeth arched against him instantly, her breath hitching when his pinky grazed her anal entrance—just a whisper of contact, nothing more. A shudder worked its way down her spine as Taj withdrew, his hands skating down her thighs with featherlight pressure.
"Ticklish here too?" he murmured, squeezing the dip behind her knees.
Elizabeth's answering laugh bounced off the tiles as she kicked reflexively, her gold sandal skidding against wet porcelain. "Asshole," she panted, though her eyes glittered with amusement. Taj grinned despite himself, working downward to her calves—kneading the taut muscles with firm strokes—then her heels, where he dug his thumbs into the arches until Elizabeth whimpered.
The paper towels came next, Taj blotting her skin with the same clinical precision she'd used on him. When he reached the small of her back, Elizabeth twisted abruptly, her damp breasts pressing against his chest as she seized his face between both hands. The kiss was molten—all teeth and tongue and the lingering tang of citrus soap—lasting exactly sixty-three seconds by the wall clock's ticking.
Elizabeth broke the kiss with a wet smack, her fingers still tangled in Taj's damp hair. "You did such a good job," she murmured, her thumb brushing his lower lip. The praise sent an unexpected warmth flooding through his chest—different from the arousal still thrumming in his veins.
“Remember what you said earlier, about wanting to Get to know a woman, her personality, her character, her feelings, and not just see her as a sex object? Well, we’re gonna do that right now.”
With that, Elizabeth grabbed his wrist and both of them exited the bathroom. She went to pick up her phone, which was laying underneath the window on the western wall. The red light record still on the screen. She Stopped, recording turned off the camera, went back to the Home screen and looked at the time.
“It hasn’t even been one hour yet let alone two. We still got plenty of time, honey!”
Elizabeth tapped her phone screen, the red recording light blinking back to life as she set it carefully against the baseboard. The swivel chair creaked when she settled into it, spreading her thighs with a deliberate slowness that made Taj's freshly-washed skin prickle. "C'mere," she murmured, patting her lap with a hand still faintly citrus-scented.
Taj approached like a man walking to the gallows—each step measured, his muscles twitching with residual soreness. When his thighs made contact with hers, the warmth of her skin seeped into his instantly, a startling contrast to the clinical chill of the bathroom tile. Elizabeth's hands closed around his biceps, her grip firm but not punishing as she guided him down fully onto her lap. The position forced his freshly-spanked ass to press flush against her thighs, the contact making him hiss through clenched teeth.
"Shhh," Elizabeth murmured, her right hand already kneading the swollen flesh of his left buttock with surprising gentleness. Her other palm skated up his sternum in slow, concentric circles—pausing to trace each rib, each dip between his abs—before drifting lower. Taj's breath hitched when her fingertips grazed his half-hard cock, but she merely cupped him loosely, her thumb brushing his balls with the same idle curiosity as someone handling ripe fruit at a market.
"You're from Boston originally, right?" Elizabeth's voice was casual, almost conversational, as if they were two strangers making small talk at a coffee shop rather than naked in an airport office. Her nails scraped lightly down his inner arm as she spoke, leaving faint pink trails that faded within seconds.
"Yes, I am," Taj murmured, his voice rough from earlier screams but carrying unmistakable pride as Elizabeth's fingers traced lazy circles on his inner thigh. "Boston's history runs deep—the Tea Party, the Massacre. Those weren't just protests, they were declarations of what people deserve." His breath hitched when her nail grazed a particularly sensitive spot, but he continued, "I believe in the ideals. Just not the execution."
Elizabeth's amber eyes darkened with understanding as she pressed her palm flat against his sternum, feeling his heartbeat accelerate beneath her touch. "Oh, I know that dance," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper against his temple. Her other hand slid up to cradle his jaw, turning his face toward hers. "Try being the only woman in an airport maintenance crew. The 'accidental' ass grazes during tight squeezes, the 'jokes' about my toolbelt." Her thumb brushed his lower lip. "Benign becomes malignant real quick when you're expected to laugh it off."
Taj's muscles tensed beneath her hands—not from pain now, but recognition. His gaze flicked to the security badges clipped to her discarded uniform blouse. "Is that why you—" He gestured vaguely at their entangled bodies, the recording phone still blinking red in the corner.
Elizabeth's laughter was a sharp thing, like ice cracking underfoot. She pinched his nipple hard enough to make him yelp. "No, genius. This is *fun*. That was *bullshit*." Her thumb soothed the sting immediately, circling the abused flesh. "Difference is consent. And power." She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. "Tell me you don't feel the difference."
The truth lodged in Taj's throat like a stone. He'd been degraded before—by drill sergeants, by frat brothers—but never with this electric undercurrent of *care*. Elizabeth's fingers were tracing the bruises Zoya had left earlier, mapping each one with clinical precision that somehow didn't feel clinical at all.
Elizabeth's fingers stilled on Taj's bruised thigh. "Fraternity?" she asked, tracing the raised scar along his hipbone—too straight to be accidental. "Or military?" The question landed between them like a thrown gauntlet.
Taj's breath hitched as her nails scraped upward.
"Both," he admitted, the words dragged from him like splinters.
"Emerald Dragons in high school. Army after." His abdominal muscles twitched when Elizabeth's thumb found a particularly tender spot near his navel.
"Thought they’d help me get over my shyness. But, as you know, my bashfulness didn’t fully go away.”
Elizabeth's laughter vibrated against Taj's sternum as she pressed her forehead to his chest, her breath warming his skin where the citrus soap had cooled it. "God, I'm so glad you didn't completely kill that shyness," she murmured, her teeth grazing his pectoral just hard enough to make him flinch. "Where would the fun be if you weren't still this"—her hand slid down to pinch his inner thigh—"deliciously bashful mess?"
Taj's throat worked around a sound that wasn't quite a protest, his body caught between arching into her touch and pulling away. Elizabeth grinned at the conflict playing out across his face, her fingers tracing the faint tremors in his thighs with predatory delight.
"Look at you," she breathed, dragging a fingernail along the crease of his hip.
"Still fighting yourself even after everything we've done to you."
Her teeth flashed white in the fluorescent light.
“It's adorable."
The fluorescent hum of the office lights filled the silence as Taj swallowed hard, Elizabeth’s thighs warm beneath him. Her fingers still traced idle patterns along his hip, but there was something different now—a shift in the air, like the moment after a storm passes.
"So," Taj began, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. "What do you do when you’re not…" He gestured vaguely at the swivel chairs, the discarded uniforms, the phone still recording in the corner.
Elizabeth's fingers paused mid-stroke along Taj's inner thigh, her smirk widening as she tilted her head. "You mean when I'm not measuring runway friction coefficients or making shy travelers strip?" Her laugh was low, throaty—the sound of velvet dragging across steel. "Babysitting."
Taj blinked, his brow furrowing as Elizabeth's nails resumed their lazy path up his leg. "Babysitting?"
"Every weekend since I was ten," she confirmed, her thumb pressing into the soft flesh behind his knee until his leg jerked reflexively. "Power starts young, sweetheart. Little girls get told to play nice—I wanted to play warden." Her fingers traced the faint red marks still visible from Zoya's earlier punishment. "First time I spanked a boy? Age twelve. Caught him drawing on my Lisa Frank folders." Her eyes glinted with dark amusement. "Made him pull down his sweatpants right there in the rec room."
Taj's pulse jumped beneath her touch as Elizabeth's hand drifted higher, her fingers spider-walking up his thigh.
Elizabeth's fingers stilled on Taj's thigh, her gaze turning distant as she tapped a rhythm against his skin. "Nineteen years old," she murmured, "freshly promoted to manager at Crayola Heaven—that godawful office supply chain that went bankrupt after selling pens that leaked more than political scandals." Her thumb dug into Taj's hipbone as she leaned closer, her breath warming his ear. "Caught some finance major stealing gel pens—third offense. Took him to my office with the white laminate desk that always smelled like lemon cleaner."
Taj's pulse jumped when Elizabeth's palm suddenly smacked his thigh—not hard, just enough to make the muscle twitch. "Bent him over that desk," she continued, tracing the reddening spot with her fingernail, "used a fiberglass ruler so clear you could see his ass turning pink through it." Her laughter vibrated against Taj's shoulder when his cock twitched against her stomach.
"Kid came in his khakis by stroke twenty. Ruined his perfect GPA presentation. That's when I learned, how to work them just right—letting their hips grind against the desk, or my thigh if I'm feeling generous. Always the shy ones who break fastest."
Elizabeth's fingers traced idle circles on Taj's thigh, her nail catching the faint white scar where Zoya's teeth had broken skin earlier. "You're not my first exercise program," she murmured, her breath warm against his temple. Taj felt her smirk against his skin before she continued. " I was twenty-five and freshly promoted to regional manager of Crayola Heaven. Had this finance intern, Timothy." Her teeth flashed in a predatory grin.
"Shy as a church mouse in lace panties."
She shifted Taj's weight on her lap, her fingers skating up to pinch his nipple hard enough to make him gasp. "Made him do Strip tease for me, just like I did for you. Bob his shoulders up and down, wiggle his hips, twirling around, twirl his clothes above his head and throw them to me. The whole works.
The memory of Timothy's trembling thighs flashed through Elizabeth's mind as she tightened her grip on Taj's hips, her thumbs pressing into the dimples above his ass.
"You'd have liked Timmy," she murmured against Taj's ear, her teeth grazing the lobe.
"Blushed prettier than a sunset when I made him back up toward me bare-assed. Then I played with his balls and penis until he orgasmed, rubbing his seed into his butt cheeks before slapping each cheek six times—hard enough to leave matching sets of fingerprints. Finally, I took the tie you’ve been wearing and down his wrists too my black Painted wooden coat rack, which was horizontally nailed to the wall, how I get from the blow job of his life! Like you, I didn’t stop until he was limp in my mouth, and I also squeezed the base of his cock and slid my fingers and thumb upward five times getting five more spirits out of him. He then promised that he would do anything I asked of him, in other words he became putty in my hands.”
Taj exhaled a shaky laugh, his fingers twitching against Elizabeth's bare thigh. "Can't say I'm surprised," he admitted, voice still rough from earlier. His pupils were blown wide, the remnants of adrenaline making his pulse jump visibly at his throat. "After what you just—" He swallowed hard when Elizabeth's thumb pressed against that throbbing vein. "Christ, I'd probably recite the fucking alphabet backwards if you asked right now."
Elizabeth's grin was all teeth under the fluorescent lights. She leaned in slowly, letting her breath ghost across Taj's lips—close enough to taste the citrus soap still clinging to his skin, but not touching. "Is that so?" she purred, the hand on his hip sliding around to palm his ass with deliberate possessiveness. Her nails bit crescent moons into the flesh there, just shy of breaking skin.
Taj's hips jerked forward involuntarily, his cock dragging against Elizabeth's stomach with a wet streak of precum. "Fuck," he choked out, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. "You know it is." The admission came out half-groan, his breath hot against her collarbone. "Could probably convince me the sky's green right now."
Elizabeth's answering chuckle vibrated through his chest as she lifted his chin with two fingers. "Sky *is* green," she murmured, her free hand trailing down his sternum—slow, teasing strokes that left goosebumps in their wake. "Emerald, specifically." Her teeth flashed in a wicked grin as her fingertips circled his navel. "Like my eyes when I'm about to ruin you."
Taj shuddered, his thighs tensing beneath her palms. He could feel the phantom pressure of Zoya's earlier grip lingering on his wrists, the sting of her nails still fresh enough to make his pulse jump when Elizabeth's fingers traced similar paths.
31-35, M