Her curiosity turned to a raw and sexual desire. Feeling the tingle of taboo excitement, the thrill of the forbidden, she forged ahead. She could have asked any question, any number of things were of serious scientific inquiry in this situation.
But none of that was what she felt compelled to ask about. She was more interested in the carnal, taboo answer to the question that sprang from her lips.
“Obey…what?” she asked quietly, in a whisper. Electricity coursed through her body, and images floated into her mind. A phantom of the wild orgasm that had shaken her the day before shuddered inside her, and she was unable to stop herself from trembling slightly.
Rychor shared a look with her, and for a moment all their surroundings faded away. She saw him as a man in that moment—for everything about him wasmanly.Bigger, more powerful, feral, barbaric even, but masculine in the most human of ways. Her eyes begged her to let them fall, to glance at the shape she knew was beneath his strange fabric.
And in her chest, she felt the wet lick of desire. She wanted him to tell her, close to her ear, how she could obeyhim. Or disobey him. And be disciplined for it.
God. Was she crazy? She almost shook her head again, trying to send the thoughts flying from her consciousness before, with his seemingly uncanny ability to read her very thoughts, he discovered what lurked in her head.
Because shedidn’twant that, she told herself. God.
Right? Notreally.
All of these thoughts were cleared from her mind within seconds, however, because Rychor moved with uncanny speed, and so suddenly that she didn’t see it coming. The room was spinning before it even registered with her that he was taking a long time to answer her question. Her center of gravity changed, a sensation of falling slid through her, greasy and cold.
And then the motion stopped, and she found herself flung over Rychor’s thighs, the solid, warm flesh supporting her torso.
She was not as taken by surprise by this as the first time, though. Muscle memory kicked into gear: the memory of the humiliating sting of Rychor’s hand on her ass ignited a phantom pain, echoes of humiliation wriggled in her chest like a freshly opened can of worms had been set loose in there.
Her body began struggling before her thoughts did, but she came up against the hard, cold reality of Rychor’s strength at every turn. She tried to twist around, so she could sit up and jump from his lap, but he placed his hand on her lower back as if to gently pet a dog, and her momentum was crushed to utter stillness with nothing more than his touch.
He caught her flailing wrists and brought them together behind her back. The instinct to escape was a wild force inside her by then, so the momentum traveled to her feet. She kicked violently, hearing herself screeching at him.
“Oh no, you don’t!” she was screeching, kicking. “You arenotgoing to—”
But whatever she thought Rychor was not going to do, he advised her in short order that he certainly was. His hand came down on her ass hard, sending a sharp crack reverberating through the room even faster than the sting of his spanking traveled to her brain, and she registered the pain.
The heat followed, and because her bottom was already so tender, it ignited like a tinderbox beneath her flesh.
She was still kicking. She wanted to stop, but her body was out of her control. She was reacting, not thinking, jerking around uselessly, and she couldn’tstop herself.
“You. Will. Calm. Down. And. Obey,” Rychor said. His voice was calm, detached. Like a traffic cop on Earth. Each word left his mouth in a monotone, almost like he was bored, but he punctuated each one with a fierce slap to her ass.
Each swat was more intense than the next.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Sonya screamed. It really did hurt; her eyes were stinging with fresh tears and her skin was on fire. She was sure, each time the pain increased, that the next spanking would be too much to bear, but it never was. And Rychor just kept going.
Finally, she was able to send a message to her feet. She had to concentrate on them, willing them to drop, thinking constantly about them and driving them to the floor to make them stay.
Rychor continued to spank her, though.
“Oh! Rychor! Please! Please stop! I’m sorry! I stopped! I stopped kicking, I’ll—ow! I’ll stop! Please!”
She felt a flare of anger toward him, to be sure, especially when he continued spanking her even though she was humiliating herself by begging. The act of begging—the act of forming the words, feeling their naked honesty and lowliness, the admission of her physical inferiority and his dominance—was affecting her in a different way than she would have expected, though.
It made her mad as hell. But it also warmed the fire in her lower abdomen, and seeded thoughts of Rychor’s bulky muscles, his firm hand, his maleness.
“Please stooooooohp,” she whined, tears dripping from her eyes. She was crying because of the stinging pain. But also because her body, traitorous as it was, was dripping not just from her eyes, but from between her legs. Her shameful arousal was impossible to hide from Rychor.
Or—and maybe this was worse—from herself.
She exhaled in relief, her tears and running nose spraying onto the floor, when the spanking subsided. Her skin itched in anticipation of the next smack, and when it didn’t come, a knife of expectant pain twisted in her chest anyway, as though her body didn’t believe in the reprieve.
Rychor’s warm hand landed on her ass softly, the way Kat landed a shuttle. Only its warmth signaled its arrival, and then, with the heat trapped and scattering frantically over her skin in waves, a new discomfort began to pour through her.
“Are you obedient now?”
