“Your knee.”
I smile and run my knuckles down the side of her face. There’s still a crease in her brow, still hesitation in her eyes, but she’s no longer trying to chew on her thumb and her freed hands rest lightly, just above her knees.
I manoeuvre her until she’s across my lap, her head dangling forward. There’s a touch of regret that I hadn’t pulled the combs from her head, to spill that glorious hair down to the ground.
A mental note will have to remind me for next time.
The placement of her legs is more awkward. I’m conscious of her injury and end up twisting so she can rest her ankle on the seat next to me.
The fabric of her dress bunches up from the movement, and I spend a minute smoothing it into place. As my palms spend longer caressing the gentle curves of her rear end, her pelvis presses against me.
I raise her skirt, sliding my hands across the satin of her underwear before easing them down to mid-thigh. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”
“Wait.” My hand stills, covering half her lovely arse. “What’s my safe word?”
“Whatever you like. If you can’t think of something specific, try saying no.”
“So basic,” she scolds.
“That’s me,” I growl, massaging her butt cheek. “Basic.”
I give her a test slap, light. So light that her buttock doesn’t even colour. Another one, harder, then the third, harder still—the force I would have started with if she hadn’t been a bunch of nerve endings strung together.
That last brings a touch of pink to her skin. Almost the same colour as her blush. I give her another pair of slaps, the sound harsher than the sting.
Isabelle moans low in her throat. Her hands clench, dangling between my thighs and her chest. Then one moves to grasp my calf as she steadies herself. I keep my gaze fixed on them as I issue another half dozen slaps.
She grinds against me, and so much blood rushes to my groin that a high buzz sounds in my ear. When I slip my hands between her legs, her wetness lets my fingers run between her folds without any resistance. The whimper as I run my forefinger from her entrance to her swollen clit makes my hips buck against her.
I want to drag her up, throw her onto the couch, and plunge inside her welcoming warmth.
But this is a demonstration of punishment, not pleasure. I have to resist because I’ll make her do the same.
When I withdraw my fingers, she whimpers and tries to angle her hips to make up for the missing friction. I issue another half dozen slaps, then massage the reddening cheeks of her arse again. Another six, and the rush of colour tells me she’s riding an edge between pleasure and pain.
I promised not to hurt her, and I won’t. One last rub of her glorious flesh and I tug her underwear back into place and release the bunched material of her skirt, so it falls down to cover her legs.
“Wait,” Isabelle says as I lift her upright, then position her in my lap. “That wasn’t… I didn’t…”
My hand caresses the back of her neck again, guiding her until she’s nestled inside my embrace. “You wanted a demonstration of punishment. This is part of your punishment.”
Her right hand reaches for me, stroking through the fabric of my trousers until it takes every ounce of my strength to pull her away. “No.”
“But don’t you…?” She flounders for a way to finish the sentence, drawing back to blink at me through puzzled eyes.
“Neither of us gets an orgasm on a day when you need to be punished. Your failures are my failures too. It wouldn’t teach either of us anything if we both got a reward.”
I could drown in those eyes. Her pupils are wide again, blown out with lust. If I stared in the mirror, I’d imagine mine look the same.
“If you want to come while I spank you, then we’re talking about something completely different,” I whisper into her ear. “To do that, all you need to do is ask me. I’ll happily oblige. Is that what you want?”
She gives a tight little nod and reaches for me again, but I grab her hands before she can make contact. My desire is already raging at the leash; I don’t need another force propelling me in the wrong direction.
“But I didn’t know the rules,” Isabelle insists, her frown deepening. “This is just a trial run. I wore everything you wanted, the way you wanted.”
“And what you wanted was a demonstration of punishment. So, there are no orgasms. Not today.”
She bunches her hands into fists and jumps from my lap, stumbling and limping to the far wall. “This is bullshit.”
