His other hand grips the back of my neck, holding me like a rambunctious puppy. “Lie still, with your ass lifted and offered, and I’ll do what I intended to.” Afourthspank, and it’s all I can do not to cry out and spill his cum. “Anything else, and I’ll punish you just like you want, andthenI’ll do what I intended to.” He pauses, gently caressing my ass, pullinga moan from me that I don’t want to give him. “It’s a one-time deal, Tink. In the future, I won’t reward brattiness.”
Brattiness?
Utter. Fucking.Asshole.
And now I have to offer myself or get punished.Morepunished. And if I don’t, he’ll think Iwantto be punished.
Part of me wants to provoke him, if only to get the spanks evened out. If I had any trust that’s what would happen, I almost would for that reason alone.
But I don’t.
Knowing him, he’d torture just that one side of my ass then laugh when I have to sit on the other for the next week.
He’s fucking with my head. I know he is.
Doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. Doesn’t mean I can resist. Doesn’t mean I know what to do.
Damn him.
He’s patient, not rushing me. Probably enjoying my internal turmoil like the sadistic fuck he is. His hand caresses my bottom, soothing and gentle, but he hasn’t released his grip on the back of my neck. It’s a dichotomy that pulls at me, dominance and care, control and tenderness.
I can’t think, not like this. I can’t fight him, not pinned and naked. Not when I’m so aroused. Not when I respond to even the slightest touch.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I realize I’ve stilled, my bottom raised.
Hell, I didn’t even do it consciously.
I’m so screwed.
His fingers dip down again, finding my clit this time. I shudder, my whole body alive, every nerve his to strum. He flicks it once, twice, and it’s almost enough. I’m already so close to coming. Then his hand pulls away, and I moan my frustration at him.
And the bastard laughs.
“All in good time, Tinker Bell.”
God, I hate that name. It’s so condescending, so demeaning. But I respond every time he uses it.
Yep, screwed. Absolutely, totally screwed.
Alex has made me into a mess, on his bed, naked and helpless. Again. And I don’t know if I love it, or hate it.
“Legs together,” he tells me as he joins me on the bed. “Ass up for me.”
His body covers mine, skin still faintly damp, but he’s holding himself with one arm, his other still gripping the nape of my neck, pinning me. His control is such that I hardly feel a difference; no transfer of his weight, no discomfort. Just pinned, exactly as he wants me, whether I like it or not.
And damn it, but I do.
His cock brushes against my raised ass, heavy and hard. His legs envelop mine, holding them closed. I’m lying beneath him, submissive and obedient, offering myself. One side of me is aflame, stinging and warm. I hardly notice that his cum is still in my mouth, save that I can’t speak. I mustn’t think about it; it’s just one more humiliation that pulls at me.
Great. Now I can’t stop thinking about it.
How the hell has he done this to me? Why have Ilet him?
Why am I so aroused, so wet, so desperate for him?
“This is how I want you,” he says, the words quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself, full of intense resolve. “Freely giving yourself to me for the asking. Ready for me because I told you to be.”
I whimper around my mouthful, hips twitching, fists clenching on the headboard bars.
