Dating : Naughty Fun in Paradise

A sigh of contentment leaves me as I lay my head on Bradley’s chest. He and I are sitting on a gorgeous beach in Maui. The sky is a clear blue, the ocean is shimmering, and the sun is kissing my skin with its sweet warmth — all in all, we’re in paradise.

“Enjoying yourself, Cassandra?” Bradley asks, stroking my red hair.

“Yes,” I say, closing my eyes. I can’t believe that only six months ago, I was married to Bradley’s father Charles. While I was with Charles, Bradley barely bothered to acknowledge my presence and only spoke to me when absolutely necessary. I thought he hated me; little did I know that he was harboring feelings for me, feelings that he revealed to me a few months after his father died.

My eyes open when I hear Bradley let out a little growl and he wraps his arms around me. I look up and resist the urge to laugh. Some guy that can’t be older than twenty is gazing at me with lust in his eyes. “So territorial,” I tease.

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at you,” Bradley grumbles.

“Obviously.”

He scowls. “I should’ve bought you a one-piece.” He glares at my small white bikini, which I got despite his protests. “Un-fucking-believable that I had to pay two-hundred dollars for such tiny pieces of fabric.”

I poke his chin. “So grouchy.” Sometimes, I believe if he had it his way, he would keep me locked up in a tower, sealed off from men who could steal me away. Bradley is a very jealous and extremely possessive man.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“What? But I haven’t finished my tan.” I widen my eyes when I spot a woman sunbathing — naked. “We can be topless on this beach?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“But this means I can tan without getting those annoying tan lines.”

“I don’t care. I’m not having other men look at what’s mine.”

“You’re so ridiculous.”

“Let’s go back. I’m hungry.”

“I want to stay here for a few more — ” Before I can finish my sentence, he stands up, lifting me off the ground and carrying me bridal-style toward the resort. I narrow my eyes. “You always have to have it your way, huh?”

“Yes.”

We are staying at Aloha Luxury, which is one of Hawaii’s most exclusive resorts. Aloha Luxury is the size of a small town, boasting a large hotel, several fine restaurants, and a mini shopping mall. On the day we arrived, Bradley took me shopping, buying me several bags of designer clothes and accessories, then to dinner at a fancy steakhouse, where the appetizers were fifty-dollars apiece and the waiters wore suits. 25-year-old me would not believe the life I’m living now. Seven years ago, I was shaking my topless ass for blue-collar old men and eating spaghetti out of a can in my vermin-infested apartment. If you told me I would one day be going on a no-expense-spared vacation to a luxury resort in Maui, I would’ve laughed in your face.

Once Bradley walks into our suite, he throws me down on the huge bed and starts kissing my neck. When his fingers go under my bikini, I have to hold back a cry of pleasure. “I thought you were hungry,” I breathe.

With a grin, he says, “Not for food.”

He’s insatiable. We’ve only been in Maui for three days, and we’ve already had sex ten times. I think if it was up to him, we wouldn’t leave our suite.

A shriek exits my lips as he makes a rip in the middle of my bikini. “You could’ve just untied it!” I exclaim, glowering at him when he tosses my destroyed bikini aside.

“Yeah, but this way, you won’t be able to wear that tiny thing again.” He tears my bikini bottoms into two, causing me to get more annoyed.

“That was my only swimsuit.”

“You can wear the pretty summer dresses I bought you.”

I open my lips, about to shoot a retort, but he kisses me before I can say a word. Immediately, I melt against him, gripping his muscular arms. The white Egyptian cotton sheets become wet when he starts tracing patterns on my pussy.

“Do you like that, Mother?” he whispers, listening to my moaning.

“Why do you continue to call me that?” Though I am technically his stepmother, I never fail to cringe every time he reminds me of the pseudo-incest we’re committing.

Doesn’t stop me from getting aroused by his touch, however.

He sucks on my nipple, causing me to grab a handful of his wild black hair. His breath on my tits, he replies, “Because taboo situations turn me on.”

I’m prepared to call him perverted yet again, but he caresses my clit, emptying my mind and then filling it with bliss. His fingers get slick with my juices. “You’re dripping for me,” he breathes into my ear.

“Shut up,” I gasp as he slides his finger into my slit.

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice laced with a little desperation.

“Then tell me you want my big cock inside you, Mother.”

Obediently, I say, “I want your big cock inside me, Bradley.” Jesus, I’m so undignified around him. Not that I’m exactly used to being dignified; I’m an ex-stripper, after all. But he can make me do anything and the cocky bastard knows it.

“Wish granted.” Caveman-like grunts leave his mouth as his prick enters my ready pussy. I cry out, letting my nails sink into his skin.

“Oh, Bradley!” I shout as I come on his cock. Not long after, he moans, filling my sex with his seed.

He sits up against the headboard before pulling me into his embrace. “Fucking Christ, that was amazing.”

My post-coital bliss is interrupted for a second when I struggle to recall if I took the pill this morning. Oh my God, did I forget? I relax, remembering I took it right after breakfast. Though Bradley has hinted more than once that he would like to see me barefoot and pregnant, I haven’t stopped taking birth control. I never planned on becoming a mother, and to be honest, the idea isn’t very appealing to me. My biological clock can keep on ticking, as far as I’m concerned.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asks.

“I don’t know, pasta?”

He cups my breast. “Want to order room service? I don’t feel like leaving the hotel.”

I catch my breath as he plays with my clitoris. “You are insatiable,” I murmur.

“What can I say? I can’t get enough of you.” He kisses my neck, then says, “I love you.”

Those three little words — he says them at least once a day. Although he can be a controlling ass, I believe he means them. He takes care of me and makes sure I don’t want for anything. However, I have yet to say, “I love you,” back to him. I definitely care about him, but whenever I think of saying, “I love you,” the words get stuck in my throat. Is it because a part of me feels guilty for moving on so quickly after Charles’s death? We didn’t love each other, but he was my husband and not unkind. Charles’s high society friends would be so scandalized if they discovered I was sleeping with his son before he was cold in his grave.

Or do I not love Bradley simply because I’m only with him for his money? I was only with his father for his wealth, after all.

To Bradley’s credit, he takes my lack of response in stride. He’s told me he is content with loving me and doesn’t expect me to return his feelings, but I can’t help wondering if my silence hurts him a little.

So I stroke his ego a bit: “God, you’re so sexy.” Which is 100% true. He looks so much like his father at 26. The same sparkling hazel eyes, clear tanned skin, and black hair that no brush could seem to ever fully master. I touch his six-pack abs, the product of his expensive sessions with a personal trainer.

Bradley smirks. “I know.”

“So cocky.”

“You know you like it.”

I kind of do.

***

The next morning, I climb out of bed as soon as the sun rises. It’s 5 AM, and since we’ve slept until noon the past few days, Bradley is still deep in slumber.

Doing my best to be quiet, I put on a white cotton dress and pick up a towel. Bradley would be so mad if he knew about my plans. Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Keeping an eye on his sleeping body, I slowly make my way out of the room. Only when I have stepped out into the hallway and shut the door do I allow myself to exhale. The corners of my mouth curve up. Now I’m free to go down to the beach and get myself a proper tan. I resist the urge to giggle as I exit the hotel, feeling like a mischievous daughter disobeying her daddy’s rules. Which is ridiculous, considering I’m a grown woman and Bradley is six years my junior. Yet in the past few months, my stepson has often taken it upon himself to show me that he’s the man of the house. A delicious thrill climbs up my spine when I imagine what would happen if Bradley caught me sunbathing nude. Probably, it would be something similar to the time he saw me flirting with that guy in the nightclub. In my defense, the guy was the one who initiated the flirtation and we had yet to establish our exclusivity. Well, Bradley certainly established it that night. Driven crazy by jealousy, he broke the guy’s nose and dragged me into the limo, where he stripped me and tied me up. Then for two agonizing hours, he played with my pussy, stroking it hard enough to get me wet but not enough to bring me to an orgasm, until I begged him to make me come and agreed to be his and only his.

That was the best orgasm of my life. So a little part of me hopes I get caught.

Luckily, the beach is empty. Smiling, I breathe in the scents of paradise — the ocean salt, sweet coconut, and mouthwatering breakfast from Aloha Luxury. After I lay down my towel on the sand, I take off my dress and panties. Then I rest my back against the towel and close my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun.

“What have we here?”

I freeze, recognizing the deep voice.

“Mother, are you tanning naked?”

I lift my eyelids. Bradley is standing above me, his eyes hard. If looks could kill… I swallow, resisting the impulse to cover my breasts and cross my legs. For fuck’s sake, I’m a 32-year-old woman. If I want to sunbathe nude, I will sunbathe nude, damn it. Nevertheless, his stare makes me shiver. “Yes,” I say, attempting to sound nonchalant.

He sits on the towel beside me. Unlike me, he is fully dressed, decked in a white button-down and black silk pants. He squeezes my tit, forcing a gasp out of me. “Didn’t I forbid you from taking advantage of the beach’s liberal dress code?”

“You made a suggestion,” I say, struggling to not cry out as his hand travels down to my pussy lips. “You can’t order me around.”

“Is that so?” He grips my sex. “I think someone needs to be taught a lesson.”

“No one’s going to be teaching anyone — ”

“Put your panties and dress back on.”

“No, I want to finish tanning first.”

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?”

“You can repeat yourself all you want. I’m not going to listen — ”

He lowers his head until his mouth is an inch away from claiming mine. “Mother. Put. Your. Panties. And. Dress. Back. On.”

The authority in his tone sends a shot of ice into my veins. Like a schoolgirl chastised by her demanding headmaster, I flush and obey my stepson, standing up and putting my legs through the holes in my panties before pulling my dress over my head.

“Good,” he says, standing up and slinging the towel over his shoulder. “Now I’m going to carry you back to our hotel room, where I will punish you for your disobedience.”

Why does that both frighten and titillate me? Docile as a lamb, I let him sweep me off my feet and carry me back to Aloha Luxury. “How are you going to punish me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ll see.”

I’m a trembling mess by the time we return to our room. I doubt Bradley will hurt me, but something tells me his punishment is going to be more than a little humiliating.

Completely calm, he sits on the bed with me on his lap. “You’ve been a naughty girl, Cassandra.”

“‘Naughty girl’? I’m not a child. In fact, I’m older than you.”

“That may be so, but I’m still the man of the house and you live under my roof.”

The roof you inherited from your daddy, I think of replying.

“And I provide for you, don’t I?” He tugs at my dress, which he indeed bought for me.

“Yes,” I admit. I have maybe a hundred dollars to my name. He paid for everything on this vacation: the first-class flight, the hotel, the food, even my wardrobe. If it wasn’t for him, I would be dancing in a low-rent strip club for wrinkled singles.

“Then I have a right to discipline you as I see fit.” Then he places a hand on the back of my head and bends me over his knee.

“What are you doing?” Anticipation and dread build up inside me when he lifts my dress.

He caresses my ass. “I’m going to spank you.”

My pulse races. He’s threatened to spank me a hundred times, but I never thought he would actually do it. Shame heats up my cheeks as I feel my pussy get wet. I’ve never been spanked — Charles would’ve had a heart attack if I asked him to spank me; the man didn’t have a kinky bone in his body — but a part of me always found the idea appealing, even while the other part thought it degrading and embarrassingly old-fashioned. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” he replies, pulling down my panties.

My face becomes even hotter. A bare-bottomed spanking? The prospect is unbelievably humiliating…and erotic.

He pinches one of my butt cheeks, eliciting a squeal from me. “I love the sight of you over my knee like this.”

“You ass,” I hiss.

He shakes his head. “This is long overdue.” Then he slaps my right butt cheek, making me yelp. My skin stings; I imagine it’s as red as my hair.

He presses down on my clit, dragging a cry of pleasure out of me. Just as I begin to become damp, he swats my left cheek, causing me to yelp again.

“Enjoying this, Mother?” Bradley whispers, rubbing my nub and distracting me from my stinging bottom.

“Yes,” I can’t help saying. Then he removes his hand from my sex, leaving me whimpering like a pitiful puppy. My whimpers turn into cries as he spanks me again. This is beyond mortifying. Why am I letting him treat me like this? And why do I like it?

He massages my wet clitoris, leaving me shivering with the waves of a near-orgasm. I’m seconds away from coming when he takes his fingers off my sex.

“What the hell? I was so close to coming!” I whine. I start to move my hand toward my pussy — if he’s not willing to give me an orgasm, I suppose I’ll have to give one to myself — but Bradley grabs my wrists before I can touch myself.

“Naughty girls don’t get to come, Cassandra.” He flips me over so that my back is up against the mattress and binds my hands together with one of his Gucci ties.

“Oh, damn you!” I exclaim as he rips open my dress and tears off my panties. I frown when he throws the pieces of fabric into the trash. At this rate, he’s going to have to buy me a new wardrobe.

Bradley leans over my naked body, stroking the inside of my thighs. I shake, feeling vulnerable and helpless. I twist my wrists, trying to break out of his bondage but to no avail. The jerk made some sort of unbreakable sailor’s knot.

“I found something interesting in your suitcase,” he says.

“You were going through my stuff?!”

He shrugs. “99% of what you had were things I bought you. Except for this…” He brings out a little black device that’s shaped like a thick, short pen. My face turns hot. It’s my vibrator, one that I got while I was with Charles.

He asks, “Why do you have this? Do I not please you enough?”

I mumble, “I bought that when I was with your father.”

“But you brought it on vacation. I don’t see why you’d bring it unless you were unsatisfied with my bedroom skills.”

To be honest, I don’t know how the vibrator ended up in my suitcase. I haven’t used it since Bradley and I got together; his ego’s not satisfied unless I come for him at least once a day. But I take the opportunity to try to take his confidence down a notch: “I brought it in case I got bored.”

The corners of his lips curve down. “In case you got bored with me?”

“Maybe,” I say coolly.

Annoyingly, he remains cocky as ever. “Judging from how wet I made you earlier, I doubt you’re going to get bored with me anytime soon.” He turns on the vibrator. “Oh, that feels nice,” he remarks as it shakes against his palm. His eyes lower to my pussy lips. “It’ll probably feel amazing inside you. Most likely not as good as my cock, but good nonetheless.”

With a gasp, I arch my back as he sticks the vibrator inside. Despite it being on the lowest setting, the vibrator still makes my eyelids fall in bliss. I mewl as Bradley slides the device up and down my sex. It feels good, like a gentle massage, but the soft vibrations aren’t going to give me the release I so desire. I beg, “Please put it on a higher setting.”

“I told you, Mother, naughty girls don’t deserve to come,” he says, taking the vibrator out of my pussy.

Pathetically, I say, “I can be a good girl.”

He kisses my nipple. “I’m sure you can, but your lesson isn’t over.” Ignoring my groans, he says, “Let’s eat breakfast.”

Christ, food is not what I need right now. Again, I attempt to free myself from his bondage; again, all my twisting and wriggling is of no use.

He pulls me up onto his lap, cupping my breast. “Let’s order room service.” He picks up the phone, tormenting me by playing with my tits — enough to tease me but so not enough to please me. “Hello? We would like two plates of waffles, whipped cream, and strawberries brought up to our room. Thank you.” After he hangs up, he kisses my neck. “Be a good girl and tell me you’re mine.”

Desperately, I say, “I’m yours. Can I come now?”

“Not yet. I’m still mad about your little stunt this morning.”

“Seriously? No one was even on the beach!”

“But there could’ve been a man and the man could’ve tried something and I would’ve been obligated to kill him.”

“God, you’re something else.”

“I’m protective of what’s mine.”

Once the food arrives, Bradley gets up and goes retrieves it. When he’s back with our breakfast, he returns me to his lap and holds a strawberry up to my lips. “Bon appetit.”

I bite into the fruit, the sweet yet slightly tart juices spilling into my mouth. The waffles are even better — golden, crisp on the outside, fluffy on the inside. After we finish the waffles and strawberries, there’s only the can of whipped cream left on the tray. “Why did you order whipped cream?” I ask.

He grins. “So I can give you a whipped cream bikini.”

“What?” I shriek. I try to get off his lap, but he holds me in place.

“Accept your punishment, Mother.”

I shoot daggers at him as he sprays the whipped cream onto my breasts. In two minutes, he’s given me a makeshift strapless bikini.

He points the tip of the can at my pussy. “Should I give you matching bottoms?”

“There’s no way in hell I’m getting whipped cream in my vagina!” That can’t possibly be sanitary.

“Fine. But I’m giving you another spanking after I lick the whipped cream off your tits.” He begins lapping up the white cream. I close my eyes, becoming a little breathless as his tongue licks my nipple clean. “I should eat food off your tits more often,” he says before sucking on my cream-covered breast.

Once my chest has been licked clean, he bends me over his knee. “Ready to be taken in hand?” he asks, grabbing my ass.

I should be outraged by this treatment; however, my body betrays me, my pussy turning damp with anticipation.

Bradley discovers this inconvenient fact, smirking as he kneads my clit. “Your body doesn’t seem to realize this is a punishment.” Then he raises his hand before smacking my ass.

I moan, my butt hurting like hell. Am I even going to be able to sit by the time this is over?

His hand cups my sex. Squeezing it, he asks, “Are you going to be a good girl now, Mother?”

I nod, nearly whimpering. “Yes.”

“Do you want to come, Mother?”

“Yes,” I groan, my pussy throbbing with pure need.

He pulls me up so that his eyes are looking into mine. “Then answer this. Cassandra, do you love me?”

His question leaves my tongue in knots. I was not expecting that. Though I guess I should’ve seen this coming. A man can only say, “I love you,” to a woman so many times before wondering when the hell is she going to say it back. Do I love him? It hasn’t even been a year since Charles died. It’s one thing to have sex with his son soon after his death; it’s quite another to fall in love with him. Not that I loved Charles or he loved me, but he wasn’t a bad husband.

“Do you love me?” Bradley asks again.

Staring into his hazel eyes, I find that I can’t suppress my feelings any longer. Yes, he’s arrogant. Yes, he’s a jerk. Yes, his father’s grave is barely cold. But…

“Yes, I love you,” I say.

He blinks, then smiles. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Yes, I love you,” I repeat.

“Come again?”

I roll my eyes. “For God’s sake, I love you, Bradley.”

“I love you too,” he breathes before kissing me. As I open my lips, letting his tongue in, he thrusts a finger inside me. I arch my back when his finger finds my sweet spot. Jesus, I’m close, so close. Then I hear him unzip his pants. A scream of ecstasy flies out of my throat as he rams his erection into my wet, eager pussy.

Now this is the best orgasm I’ve ever had.

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