I fight the urge to kick, but I can’t help squirming again as my erection gets fully, painfully hard, trapped between my weight and Elliot’s unforgiving thigh.
“As I’ve told you before, Oliver,” he says calmly. “It’smy lord. But I’ll acceptmy Godif it seems appropriate to you.”
I’m in mid-snort when his hand comes down on me, right across the crease of both my thighs and ass, the reverberations making my balls shake painfully, and I flail so much that he has to grab me and pull me back into position.
“Settle,” he murmurs, stroking over my ass again. “We’re only just getting started inthisdance, dear heart.”
I take a few deep breaths, and I’m grateful when the next slaps come—gentler, nothing but a love tap, alternating right in the middle of each butt cheek, but increasing in strength as they continue. My head hangs down and I let my muscles go limp, let my head start to buzz, as I trust Elliot to keep me in his lap.
He does, one arm wrapped around me tight and comforting, while his other hand hurts me exquisitely, expertly,masterfully. Each crack of his hand is heavy and targeted, and I feel every inch of it from the tips of his fingers to the heel of his palm. My ass is on fire by the time he pauses, and I writhe again as my cock throbs uncomfortably, imagining how red my cheeks must look to him.
“How many was that, Oliver?”
I suck in a breath. “I have no idea, my lord.”
“I thought as much.”
It starts up again, each strike reverberating right through me in a steady rhythm, and though I make an effort to count this time, it’s futile. My head won’t stop buzzing, my mind wanting to sink into that calm, deep void of tranquility. The pain has transmuted already into a confusing mix of endorphins. My nerves never know what to do with such an overload of sensation, and Elliot knows exactly how to keep them bewildered. He stops again to run his blunt nails over my tender skin, abrading long trails from my back to my thighs.
“How many?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Enough?”
“No.”
He lets fly again, the sharp cracking noise of hand on flesh filling up the room and echoing back—or maybe that’s just me, just my ears taking a split-second longer than usual to let my brain know what’s going on. Time is slowing down. My ass feels swollen and stretched, begging for more and also for the sensations tostop—
And then they do.
Elliot’s hand is still moving, stroking over me, petting and soothing. “Enough, Oliver?” I let out a moan as he pinches me, hard, on the inner thigh.
“No, my lord,” I manage to get out, but when he grabs a full handful of one of my cheeks, squeezing hard, I give a bark of pain. “Maybe yellow?” I squeak afterward.
“Do you know, my dear, I think I’ve tenderized you enough. It’s time to move on. We’ve more to do tonight.”
I’m actually relieved. Normally, I don’t find spanking so intense, but Elliot’s dead-on wallops, laid one over the other, unerringly accurate, are very different to the spankings I’ve experienced before.
I can feel him probing me, spreading open my sore cheeks with the long, long fingers of one hand. “You have a lovely little hole, Oliver,” he tells me. “So inviting.”
And then he does something I never in a million years would have imagined from Elliot Barrington-Thwaite, Earl of Arden.
Hespits, right on my asshole, a bull’s-eye.
I feel the hot, sticky mess sliding down toward my balls before he sweeps it up on a finger and rubs it around my rim. “Yes,” he says, massaging the pad of his finger slowly into my pucker, “veryinviting.”
I’m jello by now, drooping over his thighs and trembling while he works a finger into me up to the first knuckle. He pulls it out, spits again, and works his finger back in, repeating the process, slow and meticulous, until my ass is opening up for him. He gets two whole fingers in on spit alone, twisting gently inside me until he finds the right place, that button that makes my whole body light up.
“There we are,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. He rubs back and forth over it with the same maddening, unhurried pace. “Oh, yes, you like that. I can feel you soaking right through my robe, Oliver. Make a mental note, won’t you, that it will have to be laundered tomorrow.”
I can only groan in reply, but when his fingers withdraw, I whimper my protest.
“Yes, yes, I know,” he says absently, patting my still-aching ass. “You need me inside you. Not long now. Up you get.” He helps me stand, catches me as my head spins, and escorts me over to the bed. “Wait on there. On your hands and knees, legs wide open so I can see that sweet little invitation clearly.”
I do as he says, my ass high in the air and my thighs spread wide so my cheeks are open and my hole visible for him. I lower my head to the bed, press my masked face into the covers, and let my mind wander. Somewhere, I hear the water running…the nightstand drawer opening, shutting…
Will he fuck me raw and barely-slick, just like this? God, I hope so. I won’t be able to sit down for a week, but it would be worth it…the pain of it a constant reminder…
