The Arcade (Dirty 1st Dates)

by Harley Laroux

“Why thank you," he bowed, grinning victoriously. “What do you say to a break for some drinks? Whipping your ass made me thirsty.” “You wish you could whip my ass." The words slipped out before I’d really thought about them. My jaw tightened, and my face went hot. But Aiden laughed, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and muttered, “You have no idea.”

He smiled, his chin resting on the palm of his hand and his thumb rubbing idly along his lower lip. “You look really cute when you’re embarrassed, Violet. Wiggling in your seat like you don’t know what to do with yourself, barely looking at me. If it makes you feel any better, your secret is safe with me. We all need an outlet.”

“I keep imagining someone finding out about this account and scolding me for being so bad, so filthy -” His eyes flickered up, gauging my expression. I was shaking, torn between excitement and terror. He went on, “- I imagine them punishing me, forcing me to live out all the fantasies I’ve posted here just to teach me a lesson.” He slowly put down his phone, and leaned against the bar. “I really liked that one.” “I did too,” I whispered.

“What are you going to do to me?” “You’ll find out.” He leaned away, and raised his hand for a tab from the bartender. “The first thing I'll need you to do is get rid of your panties. You won’t need them for the rest of the night. Go into the restroom, take them off, and bring them back to me.”

Aiden stepped closer behind me, close enough to press against my ass as he rested his hands on my hips. I missed my shot, and as I leaned forward to grab another ball, I felt it: the hard outline of his cock against me. “Keep trying,” he murmured. “It’s really cute when you try so hard. Just remember: I’ve read your posts. As much as you want to win, as much as you long for that reward - you know that what you actually deserve is punishment. Naughty girls don’t get rewards.” “Shit, Aiden...stop distracting me…” I’d wanted to sound angry, but instead my voice was pleading. My score was so close to his, but the clock was counting down. Meanwhile, his words bounced around in my head like a hypnotist’s swinging clock: You deserve punishment. You don’t really want to win. You deserve to be punished.

Excitement coursed through me like a shot of liquor. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted more. I wanted his dominance, his deviancy, his darkness, again and again. “Oh yes,” I said. “Yes please, sir: I want to do it again.”