“This,” he said, his hand rubbing the hot, stinging skin he had just assaulted, “is about letting go of that rage, of becoming the woman you never let free.”
“This is about you being a sadistic bastard!” I spat, trying to buck him off, to gain some leverage, to do something, anythingto fight back, to ignore how soaking wet my pussy was right now and knowing he could see it at any given moment.
The hand on my back presseddown a bit harder.
“I am,” he agreed. “And you’re loving every second of it.”
I wanted to deny it. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was wrong, that I hated him. But the words wouldn’t come. Because a small, treacherous part of me, a part I had buried deep beneath layers of discipline and grief, was loving this.
He spanked me again. And again. With nothing more than his palm, he painted fire across my bare cheeks, burning away my defenses and my pride with every single smack.
Then he paused, and I felt a different kind of heat. The heat of his gaze.
He rose, and I was moved again. He pulled me up, not off the bed, but simply repositioning me for his purposes with an ease that was both impressive and insulting. In one fluid motion, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and I was placed over his thighs facing away with my legs spread around him. My bare, stinging ass was up in the air, and his hand between my shoulder blades firmly pushed my torso down toward the floor. My legs were draped on either side of him, leaving me utterly exposed, my most intimate parts open to his view, to his mercy.In a panic, my hands flew out and landed on either side of his feet. I found myself looking at the plush carpet and imagining what he was looking at.
The position was supremely humiliating. It was demeaning. And it was exactly what I needed.
“Look at you,” he murmured with appreciation. He ran his hands over the hot, stinging skin of my ass and down my thighs, a soothing,gentlecaress that made my entire body tense. “So beautiful when you’re trying so hard not to break.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of shame washing over me.
His fingers delved between my legs, not to enter me, but to test. To confirm. His rough digits slid through my folds in awickedly thoroughexploration that made my breath hitch in my throat. He found my clit, already swollen and sensitive, and circled it once, a light, teasing touch that sent a jolt of pure fire straight to my core.
Then he used the flats of his fingers to spank me right in between my legs. Then my ass once more. Then my pussy again, and it didn’t stop. He used both hands and spanked me all over—ass, pussy, thighs—and I begged and writhed and moaned as the stinging slaps seemed to land everywhere all at once.
“Tell me what you want,kotenok,” he demanded. The heat from the blows radiated inward, turning the sting into a deep, throbbing ache that was more ecstasy than pain. My world had narrowed to the sting of his hand, the heat of my own arousal, and the unwavering, resonant sound of his voice.
I shook my head, denying him with all the desperation I had left.
Slap!
This one was harder, aimed directly at my swollen, needy core. A cry was torn from my throat. My hips bucked in a silent plea for more.
“What was that?” he asked, a dark, conquering amusement in his tone.
I couldn’t speak. Words were useless. My body had become a language he could read, a vessel for sensations I had never known I could feel. He was breaking me apart, piece by piece, and I knew at that moment that his victory over me was inevitable.
“Tell me,” he commanded. “Tell me you want my cock inside you.”
The words, so blunt, so raw, hung in the air between us.
He brought his hand down again, not a single slap, but a series of quick, sharp smacks against my inner thighs, a stinging, punishing rhythm that made me writhe on his lap, my bare pussy rubbing against his fabric-covered dick.
“Beg for it.”
And then, something inside me snapped.
This wasn’t a surrender. This wasn’t a defeat. It was a release. A catharsis. The rage, the grief, the pain I had carried for so long, it all came pouring out of me, not in tears, but in a desperate, ragged plea.
“Please,” I gasped.
“Please what?” he prodded, his fingers sliding through my slick heat, a teasing caress that was more torment than comfort. I writhed against him, trying to make him touch me a bit more firmly so that I could come right then and there all over his hand.
“Please… fuck me,” I whispered, the words a final, devastating admission of defeat. “Viktor… please.”
A sound of pure male satisfaction rumbled from his chest. He shifted behind me and I heard the sound of a zipper.
He was freeing his cock.
