No. No, this isn't—this can't be?—
He spanks me again, and I bite my lip hard to keep from making a sound. But my body betrays me, arching slightly into the strike instead of away from it.
And he notices.
His hand stills, resting on my ass. I can feel the heat of his palm against my skin as his fingers spread slightly, almost caressing.
"Svetlana." His voice has changed. It's deeper now, rougher, with an edge that makes my stomach clench.
I don't answer. I can't. My face is burning, pressed against the couch cushion, and I'm grateful he can't see my expression. I sink my teeth into my lower lip despite the pain of it, desperate not to moan, not to let him hear mewanthim.
His hand moves, sliding lower, and the touch is different now. His fingers dip between my thighs, stroking once over the swollen folds of my bare pussy… my bare,wetpussy.
"You're—" He stops, and I can hear the realization in his voice, the absolute shock as he finds that I’m soaked. On the verge, quite possibly, of dripping onto his lap if he keeps going.
I should tell him to stop. I should shout at him for touching me so intimately, push myself up, get away from him, salvage what's left of my dignity. I should do anything I can to stop this.
Instead, I stay perfectly still, barely breathing, waiting to see what he'll do. And I realize that I want him to touch me again.
He sucks in a slow breath, his hand not moving. I can feel how tense he is, and I feel his cock twitch beneath me, straining.
His fingers move across my swollen folds again, a slow brush of skin against skin, almost up to the peak where my clit is just barely exposed. A shudder runs through me when he stops just short of it, and my back arches, a small whine of protest escaping my lips despite my best efforts.
His hand goes still.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're enjoying this."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway, my voice muffled against the cushion. "No."
"Liar."
His finger dips between my folds, and I hear him groan as he finds out exactly how wet I am, the pool of arousal that’s turned me slick and hot and wanting. His finger glides up, pressing against the pearl of my clit, and I hear myself whimper again.
"You like this," he says, and his voice is rough with arousal and shock. "You like being held down. Being punished."
"No," I mumble again, but it's weak and unconvincing. I never liked it before. No one in my old life ever tried to do anything like this. And in the compound… that wasn’t this. That was different. This is…
I don’t know how to explain what this is. But I can’t remember ever being so wet before in my entire life.
His other hand slides up my back, under the layers of shirts that I'm wearing, his palm hot against my skin. "Your body doesn't lie, Svetlana."
I know he’s right. I can feel how wet I am, how my body is responding to this, to him, to the combination of pain and pleasure and the loss of control. For some reason, with him, it feelsgood. It makes me want to stop trying to be strong, stop enduring everything and let myself give in to whatever he wants to do to me. Draped across his lap, held down by him, taking a punishment that I know deep down I probablydodeserve… I want him to punish me and put me in my place and then fuck me so hard I remember what it feels like to come.
His fingers glide over my clit again, pressing down and then circling, and I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. The heat in my belly is building, spreading, and I'm trembling with the effort of staying still and not begging him for more.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice ragged now. "So fucking responsive."
He moves his hand down, pushing the pants down further, spreading my thighs apart a little. My pussy is suddenly on display, swollen and pink and dripping, and I feel a flush of embarrassment wash over me that only serves to arouse me further.
I think I was a bit of an exhibitionist in my old life. I liked to be seen, to be watched, admired. I loved being on stage, loved modeling, all of it. I loved being looked at and coveted.
Now I’m on display for Kazimir, and I feel exposed, vulnerable, and?—
"Kazimir—" I whimper his name before I can stop myself, unsure whether I’m begging him to stop or keep going.
"Shh." His palm smooths over my bare skin, and I can feel a shudder of arousal ripple through him. "Let me see what I did to you. Let me see how wet you are from taking your punishment,dorogoy."
His touch is infinitely gentle now, an excruciatingly pleasurable contrast to the sharp strikes of a moment ago. His fingers part my folds, revealing my most intimate flesh to him, and I’m so wet, it's embarrassing. I know he can feel it.
