“What are you doing?” I screamed.
His fingers worked their way to the hips of my jeans, one hand finding the button at the front by slipping beneath me, and then the jeans were coming off, peeling away, down my legs.
I couldn’t kick until he pulled them free of my feet. I paused too long—not that I knew what to do anyway—and he was back on me, his weight hovering just above my knees.
His hand moved to the silk of the underwear—the only thing between him and my bare bottom. The imprints of his firm spanking were still sore to the touch. Heat rose to the surface of my skin and gave me a shivery reminder of what he had done to me at Kitty Bang Bang, and again here.
And my body betrayed me again—it already had, just from the dream, but it continued to do so, my pussy throbbing, my juices welling up and into the new panties.
I dropped my head to the silken bed and turned it to the right. Shadows moved through the partial view to my right, where I saw a sight that made me freeze, my heart cold as ice: straps, belts, whips, and paddles, hanging from the wall, their use very obvious.
And his hand, the veins over its wiry muscle, selecting a strap of thick black leather.
“Wait,” I panted.
The leather was out of sight now, and then, cool against my skin, sliding over my shoulder, then back down my back, snaking over my body from shoulder blades to knees. I couldn’t help a twitch as it passed gently over the silk underwear, and the raw skin beneath it. My pussy throbbed again.
He said nothing, but the leather continued to play over my skin. I closed my eyes. “Wait, please,” I said.
I knew what I was in for, and I sensed that I could perhaps avoid it—the stinging pain, the throbbing heat, the humiliation of his discipline—by just begging him not to, saying that I would be good, that I would eat whatever he wanted me to.
But something stopped me from saying any of that. I couldn’t tell if it was pride, or defiance, or—and I didn’t let this thought surface in my mind, not really—was it that Iwantedhim to discipline me, to spank me into submission, to make my bottom red and my face flare with humiliation, and then get me to get on my knees and beg him to let me eat from his hand?
I squinted my eyes closed, unable to believe my thoughts wentthereas the leather strap moved playfully, frighteningly, over my skin.
“I’m disappointed, Natalia, that you haven’t yet learned your lesson,” he said smoothly.
He swatted my ass lightly through the underwear. It was a mild sting, just enough to make me gasp, and for my bottom to warm in a streak—and enough to make my pussy drip into the soaked underwear and trickle onto my thighs.
He swatted me again, this time harder, and I gasped audibly. The sting was intense, and it burned on my bottom, but also like a shot of whiskey in my chest. My eyes grew involuntarily watery.
“Do you know what your lesson is, Natalia?” he said, his hand moving over the underwear, sliding along the hem, rough pads of strong fingers just barely skipping along the line of the underwear and into my wet thighs.
I cringed as my body involuntarily rose toward him, pushing against him but only to aid him, as his finger slipped under the hem of the panties and brushed along the soaked outer lip of my pussy. A feathery touch, suddenly withdrawn, almost as if he were angry as I was that he had found me gushing into the underwear.
I heard him suck in his breath, and his thighs tightened against my knees, forcing my right leg to cross over the top of my left calf, making my butt rise to avoid him squeezing too painfully.
He ripped the panties away, and I felt for a moment the coolness of the room against my exposed ass, felt humiliation wash over me as I pictured myself there, tied face-down at the wrists, my ass upturned to his gaze, my legs squeezed between his as he looked down at my wet pussy between the streaks of red from his last spanking.
The strap came down with a sharp, burning bite to emphasize the end of each declaration. “I am. The one. Who tells you. What you will do. Not. The other. Way. Around.”
The pain was so intense that my eyes were streaming tears, and I was stunned into silence until he stopped. I tried to find my voice to tell him to stop, that I would listen, but he laid another slap across my bottom, crisscrossing my bare skin with the emphasis of his words.
“Do you understand me, Natalia?” he growled.
“I do,” I managed to say. “Please. Stop. I do, I understand,” I squeaked.
The insides of my thighs were wet with my juices. My face burned.
His hand moved in a gentle caress over my bottom, and then he squeezed my sore flesh. Heat throbbed into the welts, almost as painful as being whipped again. “I have heard this before from you, Natalia,” he said, his voice quiet and stern.
There was a long pause. “And frankly you’re trying my patience,” he said at last.
My nose was running, my face wet with the inescapable tears of pain. “I’m sorry,” I croaked, because now Iwasjust begging, though I knew there was not much point. “I am. This time I get it. I do,” I blubbered.
His fingers fanned out on the center of my ass, and his thumb slid over my asshole, down to my pussy, then back up, dragging my juices with it. My thighs trembled.
“How can I be sure of that, Natalia?” he asked me, his thumb making a circle on my eyelet, sending inexplicably delicious feelings through me, mingled with the humiliation of having a man fondling me so intimately. “How can I be sure you’ve really learned your lesson?”
