Without knowing she was doing it, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. By the time she realised her mistake, the screen glowed and a tirade of message tones filled the summer evening air, competing with the wash of the tide on the shore.
“Lydia,” she scolded herself, but now the genie was out of the lamp she couldn’t force it back in.
She was going to have to check her messages.
There were none from Milan—him and his foolish pride—but dozens from von Ritter.
‘I miss you’ said the first one. Most of the others were tiny news bulletins about his weekend trip to San Francisco. It sounded dreamy and she rather regretted that she couldn’t have been with him down at Fisherman’s Wharf tucking into the finest lobster, or riding the trams up and down the picturesque hilly streets. He would make a good travelling companion, capable, knowledgeable and thoughtful of her comfort. Milan, on the other hand, was always a complete wild card. But, oh, the passion…
She was still scrolling through the texts when the phone rang. Smiling at her ring tone—Saint-Säens’ Danse Macabre—she became a little perturbed when she saw who was calling. Von Ritter.
But somehow she couldn’t ignore the call—his imperious presence making itself felt from thousands of miles away—and she pushed the button.
“Karl-Heinz,” she said.
“Oh, you have switched on,” he said, sounding surprised.
“I know I said I wouldn’t. I forgot. How are you? San Francisco sounds amazing.”
“Oh. I am quite well, you know. Thinking about you.”
“Oh, right,” she said guardedly.
“Thinking about how good we are together.”
“Karl-Heinz…”
“I hope you’re being good there in Spain, Liebchen. I hope you are on your best behaviour.”
His stern tone sent a little dart of heat to her lower belly, spreading through her groin area until her shorts felt too constricting. She shifted her thighs and leaned against a rock.
“It’s none of your business what I do,” she said in a lower tone. Really, she should just hang up. She shouldn’t continue with this.
“I beg your pardon. None of my business? Your behaviour is very much my business, little Lydia. You know how I deal with you when you’re bad.”
“Stop it.”
“You remember, hmm?”
“Don’t do this.”
“You remember how I take down your panties and make you bend over and spank your ass hard, until it’s bright red and sore?”
Lydia swallowed, words flying beyond her reach. She looked around furtively and, seeing that she was alone, slid a hand down inside the waistband of her shorts.
“Karl-Heinz, I know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, I’m thinking I need to cut short my tour and come there to deal with you.”
“It isn’t your place to deal with me,” she said, but now she had covered her mons with her fingers, wriggling them downwards.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” His voice purred in her ear, soft but perfectly authoritative. “It’s my place and it’s my duty. When you’re bathing in the sea tomorrow, be careful. Sooner or later you’ll see me wading towards you. I’ll take you by the wrist and pull you out of the waves, in front of all the other people. I’ll march you over the sands and take you inside my beach tent, just set up ready for you. And everyone outside will hear me pull down your bikini panties and spank you hard on your wet little bottom. What a sound that will make! They’ll all know what I’m doing to you. They’ll listen to that lovely wet smacking sound and hear your poor little cries and shake their heads and wonder what you’ve done to deserve it. You must have been a very naughty girl indeed. But now you’re getting what you need.”
Lydia couldn’t stop him now if she wanted to. She pushed urgent fingers between her pussy lips, straining at the stitching of her shorts. Her clit felt hot and prickly, fat to the touch.
“And when I’ve spanked you until your bottom is dry and glowing and hot to the touch, I’ll rub it all over with sand. Gritty, chafing sand that makes the soreness much worse. Then I’ll pull your panties up tight, so they bunch in the crack of your ass and show your red, sandy bum cheeks. I’ll push them up between your pussy lips so they rub your clit. Are you rubbing your clit now, Lydia, by the way?”
“Uh.”