The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(25)

“Get your hands off me,” she ground out through clenched teeth. Raising her small fists to pound them against his chest.

Rhys tossed his head back with a laugh. “My little spitfire beauty I may never take my hands off you.”

At her indignant shriek, Rhys lifted her by the waist and walked the few steps to a small wooden bench under the blackthorn tree. Sitting down, he tossed Beatrice over his lap.

“I have a feeling this is long overdue,” he mused as he took in her prone form.

“Let me up you…you…beast!” she raged.

Rhys stroked her left bottom cheek with one large, leather encased hand. Running his hand across the top, then down under the deep curve. Cupping the underside, he slid his thumb along her crease, applying just the slightest bit of pressure. Reveling in how her cheeks squeezed, trying to keep him out.

Beatrice instantly stilled at the intimate contact. Never had she felt such a threatening yet thrilling touch. She could feel the leather of his glove, confused at her wish it were his own skin caressing her. The leather felt warm and soft on her chilled flesh.

Rhys moved his hand over the sensitive skin along the back of her thigh, tracing the lace edge of her stocking. Shifting, he ran his hand along her right thigh, letting the tips of his fingers push between her legs as they slid to cup the underside of her other cheek. This bottom was made for his discipline he thought with a seductive smile.

Willing herself to break his trance, Beatrice tried to raise her torso up. “Release me this instant. I demand it!”

Rhys ignored her command as he pressed his two middle fingers deeper into the enticing dark v created by the meeting of her upper thighs and bottom, knowing what lay within its hidden depths.

Beatrice let out a shocked gasp as his fingers dipped into her slick cunny, sliding along the seam. Teasing. She renewed her struggles. Kicking the toes of her booted feet against the unrelenting wooden bench.

It was time to stop playing and get to her punishment, thought Rhys.

Raising his arm high, he brought his full hand down on her left cheek with a loud crack.

Beatrice screamed more from indignation than pain…that would come later.

Rhys repeated the gesture. Satisfied when he saw the unmistakable imprint of his hand on her bottom cheek. His mark. If he had his way, she would never go another day without such a mark from him on her body. With her wild temperament, it was more than a possibility.

The sound of the leather glove hitting her bare skin made a louder, deeper tone than skin on skin contact. Rhys moved his attention to her right cheek, not relenting till he saw it glow a bright cherry red.

“Why are you doing this?” she cried out.

“Because you were a very bad girl riding out into these dark woods all alone. Who knows what kind of dangerous creature you could have encountered?” he admonished.

“A dangerous creature like you?” she responded spitefully.

“Precisely.”

Her ample bottom cheeks jiggled with each strike. After the shock of the initial strike wore off, the pulsing pain started to set in. Her skin was on fire…a burning, stinging fire. With every touch of his open palm, it became harder and harder for her to not beg for mercy. The pain just kept building and building. She had to do something. Shifting up on her elbows, Beatrice opened her mouth and bit down hard on his upper thigh.

Rhys growled in response, the unexpected pinch from her sharp teeth taking him by surprise. Instead of deterring him, it only incited him on further.

Digging his fingers into her soft locks, Rhys grabbed a fistful of luxurious hair, wrenching her head back, dislodging her teeth from his flesh. Tears sprung to her eyes from the sharp pangs as he continued to hold onto her hair.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Apparently I am not spanking my fierce feline hard enough,” he darkly observed.

“Go to hell,” she spit out.

Rhys lowered his hand on the delicate skin of her upper thigh with a resounding smack. A cry was torn from Beatrice’s lips. Keeping his grip on her hair to keep her still, Rhys continued his assault. Two swirls of crimson marred her creamy skin, the contrast almost painful to view.

She tried. She tried so hard but it was too much. The pain. The hot heated pain…as if she were standing perilously close to a fire. Her skin was inflamed and swollen, every strike worse than the last. With each pulse, each movement, even the thought of movement brought a fresh onslaught of torment.

“Please, please stop,” she cried out as the tears coursed down her cheeks. Her finger nails dug into the fabric of his breeches, no longer in defense but rather in desperation. Balling her fists into the soft wool, she begged, “I beg you. No more.”

“Do you promise never to ride without an escort again?”

“Yes! Yes! Anything,” she cried out. It was an easy promise to make. Her usual escorts, the stable boys, were afraid of her and she was a better rider, easily leaving them behind.

“And to never attempt to jump high gates?”

Beatrice didn’t respond. This man was nothing to her. As soon as she got herself out of this predicament, she would see him punished and chased off her father’s lands. Lying to him. Telling him what he wanted to hear so her punishment would end should have been easy…and yet she couldn’t. The thought of lying to him…and worse, him learning of the lie filled her with fear.

Rhys stretched out his long fingers, splaying them across her generous bottom cheek before roughly squeezing the tender flesh.