The error was unforgivable, especially for someone who prided herself on being so careful. I told myself it was the carelessness itself that was bothering me, and not my bruised ego.

I was, I told myself, above having my feelings hurt when I read what she’d said about me in an email to a different playmate. As far as she knew, her email meant for the “kinky M&A man” had not accidentally gone to me instead. The bulk of the email was mundane, but she did mention that she’d be seeing me today, and that she hoped I’d do better than the first time. “I mean, he practically had to ask permission to push me around. I thought he was going to stutter when he tried to call me a whore. Maybe this time the principal won’t be so polite.”

Polite principal.

Who was I kidding. My feelings were hurt. Our first and so far only time together had been my first time being so rough with a woman. By my standards anyway. Slapping her ass, pulling her hair as I fucked her from behind. It was hardly my fault if it took me a while to acclimate to kink, to make up for twenty-three years of my sex always being “polite.”

Polite. I’d show her polite. I was almost at the door of the hotel room. I paused. Could I hear her inside? Had she even figured out her mistake yet? I knocked.

When she opened the door, Rachel looked great. A black sheath dress, high heels, understated jewelry. Black hose or stockings. No perfume. Her hair was carefully coiffed. Maybe she wasn't too worried about it getting excessively mussed, since I was so polite. She produced a radiant smile. She looked fucking fantastic. “Nick, I'm ready for my tune-up.”

I didn’t answer or even smile as I came in, which prompted a frown of confusion. The frown turned into something else, a gasp of surprise, of excitement when I brusquely shoved her against the wall, spinning her as I did, pushing her face against the decoratively pebbled paint of the midtown hotel-room wall.

“Ow! You're hurting me!”

I couldn’t read her tone, and for a moment I hesitated, before realizing it would be my last hesitation. If she wanted me to stop, she could just say the damn safe word.

I didn’t respond. I just pressed my forearm against the back of her neck, pinning her against the wall, harder. She let out a soft moan, which could have been pleasure as easily as pain.

With my free hand I pulled up the hem of her dress, revealing her trim elegant legs, sheathed in black stockings after all. Her panties were black lace.

“Did I do a good job with the stockings, Nick? Like you said?” She could feel my breath at her nape. She tried to twist to kiss me, but I held her firm.

Yes, she’d worn stockings, but I’d told her with a garter belt. Another game? Oh, Nick, I didn’t get it quite right, did I? Are you going to punish me for being a bad girl?

In a calm voice that didn’t conceal my annoyance, I said, “I told you with a garter belt. How hard is it to get that right?”

She pressed back against me, trying to rub her body against me. Before I could react, I knew she had felt my erection against her ass. One hand reached blindly for the front of my pants, and I batted it away with the hand not pushing her against the wall.

“No. Hold up your dress so that it doesn’t cover your ass,” I instructed.

With more alacrity than I expected, she did as she was told, reaching behind her with both hands to hold the hem up above her ass. The visual contrast of her white, creamy skin with the black undergarments was stark. I idly traced a finger along the tops of her stockings, finding the soft, delicate skin just above, and pinching it lightly between thumb and forefinger. Not enough to leave a mark or even hurt, but to let her know I could. Her breathing was rapid, almost ragged. Her body trembled visibly.

With a rough yank, I yanked her panties down, just below her buttocks. CRACK! The palm of my hand made sharp contact with the pert flesh of her ass. It was one of those “perfect timing” slaps, and the sound echoed dully in the plush room, along with her sharp intake of breath.

“Nick…” she breathed, asking... something.

Polite. The word kept echoing in my head as I spanked her, harder than I imagined I could, each slap loud in the small space. I wondered if someone in the hall would be able to hear. Her flesh was warm under my palm, and with each blow she made a low sound of pleasure mixed with pain. My cock strained against the material of my pants. Each little moan of pleasure made me want to hit her harder, to even make her consider backing out. Again, and again. Her skin quickly grew pink, then red. I lost count of how many times I'd hit her. Fuck “polite.”

“Please…” she murmured, her face still jammed against the textured wall. Her legs were trembling when I finally reached between her thighs and pushed a finger roughly into her pussy, wetter than I remembered from the first time. Urgently, insistently I plunged first one finger, then two, in and out of her sopping, eager cunt.

My cock was iron in my pants. I needed to fuck her. I fumbled for my buckle and undid it. I hadn’t planned it, but I unlooped the braided leather belt from my pants. I let up on the pressure against her neck and pushed her across the room, onto the bed.

Her eyes went to mine, then to the belt in my hand. “What are you going to do with that?”

“I have a few ideas. Hands and knees,” I told her. “Ass up, and arch your back.”

As she followed her instructions, she looked over her shoulder at me with a look of mischief, and triumph. “I’m glad to see my email had its intended effect.”

It took me a moment to process. It hadn’t been a mistake after all. At the stunned look on my face, she laughed, but without cruelty. “It’s all a game, after all, and I like to win,” she told me.

I looked down at the belt in my hand and smiled.