Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Those thoughts stirred such a terrible welter of emotion that I thrust them back and let my body’s fruitless struggle occupy my whole consciousness. The moment of compliance had let my muscles rest, and brought back some of their strength, so yet again I thought I might actually slip out of the grip of the huge, strong hand around my wrist.
Christian’s left elbow pressed hard into my back. His right arm came down across my upper thighs, bending me with such little apparent effort that it drew a whimper from my chest as he crossed his right leg over my knees.
“You’ll learn to hold still for your punishments, Leah, if I’m going to be your sponsor,” he said, and then he spanked me. Once, but very hard—or it felt very hard to me, hard enough that I cried out, though the force of Christian’s hand had to travel through the fabric of the pretty green romper.
CHAPTER 15
Leah
I had been spanked. A good portion of my mind found it ridiculous that a single slap from a man’s hand—even a billionaire’s hand—could bring me across such a titanic threshold, but my heart and my imagination and above all my body clamored to the contrary: that one spank threatened to take me from an independent young woman to a submissive fuck toy. My limbs rebelled: although it felt like my strength had almost completely gone, I tried again to kick and to twist away.
The sudden need to feel like I had done everything in my power to resist Christian’s crazy idea of ‘discipline’ overwhelmed me. I had to show him that I had no intention of learning to hold still while he spanked me—or of learning anything.
He tightened his grip, bending my arm a little further so that I yelped. Then he brought his hand down again just as hard as he had the first time, in the very same place right in the middle of my bottom. I yelped again at the sharp sting of the spank, trying in vain to get my head around far enough to see him above me.
“Stop!” I yelled. My eyes went back to the enormous window. Heat surged through my entire body. If someone were watching, they must have seen me struggle, right? The idea that an observer might suppose I had gone over a man’s knee submissively and willingly suddenly seemed worse than the spanking itself.
“Your real punishment hasn’t started yet,” Christian told me. “This is to get your attention.”
“What?” I demanded. I didn’t even want to know, though, did I? If I listened to his notion about how my ‘discipline session’ or whatever was supposed to work, I would give into it, wouldn’t I?
But Christian’s calm voice made it impossible to think straight.
“Your actual spanking will start when you take off your romper and lay yourself over my knee.”
“Oh, my God, what the fuck,” I said, and I tried yet another time to get my body free, with even less success than the previous attempt. “Security! Security!”
“I…”
His huge hand came down again, this time on my right bottom cheek.
“Told…”
Another spank, on the left. My body shuddered, twisted not because of any intention of mine but out of sheer reflex at all the unwelcome facets of this utterly new sensation: the pain had definitely started to build, but it had done so in a way that stirred other kinds of nerve endings, or maybe stirred nerve endings elsewhere, or something. That stimulation in turn brought out emotions and ideas—ones I had to keep pushed down.
“You…”
Christian brought his hand down on the right, but lower down, on my upper thigh, where the fabric of the romper didn’t cover me completely. The spank made a loud, sharp sound, and I cried out as much at the noise as at the more intense sting of it there.
“No… please,” I wailed, but he kept punishing me, and talking to me.
“I…”
The left thigh, now, where it felt like the seat of the romper had ridden up so far that Christian’s hand caught only my bare flesh. I gave one more attempt at a struggle, and when it failed miserably I understood that my bottom, upended over his knee, lay completely at his mercy. He had fixed it in place there for his old-fashioned, firm-handed correction. He would spank it until I learned my lesson.
“Have… the… right… and… the… duty… to… punish… you.”
Christian quickened his rhythm as he delivered this sentence, his strong hand following what had to represent a practiced pattern—the best way, I imagined, to discipline a naughty young woman like me. The feeling of detachment, of being an observer of my own first spanking, had seemed to come and go as I alternately tried to resist and tried to endure. With these latest words, it took firm hold—as if the idea of his right and duty to enforce his idea of how a prospective fuck toy should behave had sent me finally and forcefully into that strange, floaty headspace.