Part 11 (1/2)

”Yes, James.” I slipped my shoes and panties off while he repositioned himself with his feet on the floor, his c.o.c.k protruding eagerly from his fly. He unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt partway from the bottom, revealing the firm abs I loved and the tuft of his pubic hair that proved he was a natural blond.

”Leave the skirt on,” he ordered.

”Yes, James.” I straddled him, then bent my knees on the seat on either side of him.

He reached under the skirt and rubbed his c.o.c.k up and down my wet p.u.s.s.y a few times. ”Down,” he said.

I sank onto his c.o.c.k slowly. Even though I'd done almost the same exact thing yesterday, at this angle he felt even bigger.

Before I could get all the way down, he had pulled the skirt up and given me the first hard swat. I yelped and pulled up without realizing it.

”Down,” he repeated, and this time I didn't go slowly. I shoved myself down onto him, gasping at the sudden fullness, then again at the smack that followed.

”H-how... how many?” I asked.

”Oh, now you ask? Karina, I think it's a bit late for that, don't you?” he chided gently. ”I am going to spank you until I am satisfied. However many that takes.”

I bit my lip. ”Well, it's no less than I deserve.” Then I sucked in another breath. Under my skirt his fingers had found my c.l.i.t. Two of them pressed gently from either side, making it protrude, and his thumb slipped quickly up and down the little bulge.

I shook. He could make me come in under two minutes that way. I clung to his neck, unable to do anything but accept the sensation, trembling.

Of course he stopped just before I was ready to come, though. Of course he did.

And then he pulled the skirt all the way up over my back, and spanked me hard, five, six, seven times, each hit driving my c.l.i.t against him.

”Squeeze me,” he said. ”Inside you. Faster.”

I couldn't stay still as I did what he asked, my hips rocking slightly as I contracted my muscles, and his fingers returned to their grasp on my c.l.i.t, this time rubbing in the same rhythm as my squeezes.

I broke out in a sudden sweat and he switched from pleasuring me to beating me again, the heavy flat of his palms raining down on my a.s.s, driving me to scream, driving me to come. I clung to him helplessly as the spasms shook me all the way down to my toes, and then I hung on as he drove his c.o.c.k upward into me, four, five, six times, deep sudden thrusts that signaled to me that he was coming, too.

As we lay there, still entwined but now limp, he tugged my skirt down and said breathlessly, ”I... hope... you're... sorry now.”

”Oh, very. Very sorry.” This time I couldn't hold back a giggle.

”Good. I would say I am done forgiving you for the moment.”

He guided my face to his with his fingers, still damp from touching me, and kissed me, tenderly exploring my lips this time.

”James,” I said. ”We're going to figure this out, aren't we?”

”I certainly think it's within our abilities to do so.”

”I hope so. Because it seems like no matter what I try to tell myself, my body won't accept anything but being right here.” I squeezed him once more, but now he was softening, and he slipped free.

”So long as we are continuing to rebuild our trust, I think we are headed in the right direction.”

”All right.”

”Now tell me, what do you wish to know?”

”Oh!” I blushed. ”I didn't come prepared with a question. I didn't think we were going to have s.e.x.”

”Neither did I until you got on your knees to make the promise.”

I grinned and nuzzled his neck. ”That was a good idea, wasn't it?”

”A very good idea. But don't think I've forgotten that I have a lot to make up for. How upset you were yesterday is proof of that. Even if your reason for being angry at me turned out to be insubstantial, your overall reason for being sensitive is still very much on my mind.”

”I'll try not to fly off the handle. Why don't you tell me more about being an international rock star?”

”Why don't you get a little cleaned up and into a more comfortable position, and then I'll try to figure out where to start with that,” he suggested. He handed me a kerchief to wipe up with.

Once we were settled again, with my head on his chest and his arm around me, he started again.

”It's much as you read about in the popular press,” he said. ”You record an alb.u.m; the record company mucks about with it; sometimes they make you change things. They solicit orders from the retail stores. They collect the money. If you are lucky, you even receive some of it.”

”What? Surely you get a percentage, right?”

”Well, they pay you an exorbitant sum at the beginning of the contract, as a kind of down payment on what they are going to owe you later. It's not uncommon to receive ten million dollars but then be required to deliver ten alb.u.ms over the next ten years.”

”Was that what you got?”

”Ten years ago, yes. The thing is that the royalty percentage is not very large, and various costs and fees on the part of the record company cut into it. Essentially, for every fifteen-dollar CD sold, I make about a dollar. Let's a.s.sume a platinum sale, which means a million copies sold. That's considered very good. However, they already paid me that million dollars ten years ago, so I don't receive anything additional on those sales.”

”But all your alb.u.ms have done better than platinum.”

”True. But sometimes not right away. Much of the money I've made has come from merchandising rights and from touring. Normally a record company makes almost nothing from what an artist brings in from ticket sales.”

”Normally. Why do I hear a 'but' coming?”

”Because I have not always toured in the traditional manner. Bride of the Blue, for instance, was an installation production in Las Vegas. It required a bit more investment than merely putting a rock band on the road. The theater had to be rebuilt with a custom stage and effects, for one thing. I allowed Ferrara and the record company to act as producers the way one would with a Hollywood film production. She invested money up front for a share of the profits later.”

”But she turned into a royal pain.”

”Yes.”

A moment pa.s.sed between us.

”Okay, so in your e-mail to me you said you were going to explain why the business you thought was concluded... wasn't.”

”Yes. Some time ago, when Huntington was still in charge of the company, before the divorce, he and I had planned that the final three alb.u.ms I owed him on the contract would be a double alb.u.m of Bride of the Blue, and then the farewell tour alb.u.m. At the time he was afraid I would be wooed away by another record company and was preparing to renew me for another multimillion-dollar deal. This was before I decided to quit.”

”Aha.”

”Then he split with Ferrara, she took him for all he was worth, and suddenly I was sure I wanted to get out. She's now claiming that the double alb.u.m only counts as one. She is not entirely wrong, but it was my mistake not to get that agreement in writing!” He twitched angrily, but calmed himself. ”At any rate, she has been making various demands ranging from the sensible, like I fulfill the contract with a greatest hits alb.u.m that includes one new song, to the nonsensical, like the one that I move in with her, because I married her.”