Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
He holds me to his chest. “What if that were me?” he whispers in my ear. “If I were the one dominating you?”
“There’s a difference between dominating and hurting,” I whisper back.
“A world of difference, but much overlaps,” he says. “We could explore that world.”
I pause, not sure how I feel about this. “Do you want to hurt me, Nico—”
Oh, God. I almost said his name. Half of the word tumbled out of my mouth, and I immediately know my error. His face is granite, his eyes flint, but I only get the briefest glimpse of his reaction before I’m strewn over his lap, belly-down.
He gathers my sheath up at the small of my back then slams his palm against my ass once, twice, three times.
“What is my name?” he demands.
“Master,” I wail.
Another hard slap of his palm, then another. The pain is so intense, I can’t breathe, and I know why he’s punishing me, why I’ve earned this. He wants to prove he’s my master to anyone who sees us, but it isn’t just part of the act. I can never speak his name out loud.
The spanking ends abruptly. He gathers my hair in his hand, yanks my head back, and brings his mouth to my ear. His breath is hot, his voice molten.
“You address me properly.”
“Yes, sir,” I manage to say. My voice shakes.
“If you ever do that again, I’ll take my belt to you. Do you understand me?”
I try to nod, but I can’t with my head so tight in his grasp, and for some reason, the threat both scares and arouses me. My pulse races even as my mouth goes dry.
“I don’t want to whip you, but I will if you force me.”
It’s a lie that he doesn’t want to. His cock is hard beneath my belly. And it would be a lie if I told him I didn’t want him to. Still, I don’t want to displease him. The very thought makes me want to cry, my need to hear his praise stronger than anything else I hunger for.
“Yes, sir,” I repeat. “I’m so sorry.”
He releases my hair and I slump over his knee. He’s holding me there, still belly-down, his large palm resting on the small of my back, then grazing over the tender skin he just punished.
“You asked if I want to hurt you. I don’t know how to answer that question. Does the thought of dominating you appeal to me? You have no fucking idea.” His voice is softer now, and it seems his initial anger at my transgression is fading. He took it out on my ass.
“But do I want to bring you to orgasm while over my knee? Hell, yes, I do.” And then he’s parting my legs with the back of his hand, and I’m helpless to stop the waves of arousal that skirt up my legs and between my thighs. I don’t understand what’s happening. All I know is he controls this, and my body reacts.
“I don’t want to punish you,” he says. “But I fucking will if you do that again.” To anyone overhearing us, I forgot my place, and it’s his job to remind me. To bring me back “fully trained,” as he’s been instructed. But I know what just happened is much more than that. He punished me because I almost betrayed our identities.
“As far as hurting you… no,” he says. “But there’s a line between punishment and pain I like to flirt with. And I want to show that to you. I will.”
He’s exploring my inner thighs but not touching where I want him to. Caressing the skin with the back of his hand, each touch drawing closer and closer to my throbbing pussy. He stops speaking, but his fingers probe harder, deeper. A pinch between my thighs has me gasping out loud, before he swipes his fingers closer to my folds, the lightest touch before it’s gone.
“Tell me,” he says in my ear, his hand on the back of my neck. “How this makes you feel.”
“How what does, master?” I ask.
“Being under my control. I just spanked you,” he says, his hand back between my thighs now. “Did that turn you on?”
He parts my thighs. I open for him, eager to be touched. I don’t breathe as his touch travels higher, a moan escaping me when he strokes my pussy.
“Khristos,” he growls. “You’re fucking soaked.”
I whimper, wanting so much more than the gentle touches. I don’t know why being punished turned me on so much, but there’s no denying that it did.
“Someone liked her spanking.”
“I didn’t, sir,” I protest, but that only earns me another sharp spank. I moan again.
“Are you lying, slave?”
“I want to please you,” I try to explain. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“That pleases me very much,” he says.
But I can’t deny that I am turned on.