Have Gun, Will Travel (The Bare Bones MC #5)(28)
And with that, he flipped me over on his knee.
The first slap stung like hell. And the second. And the tenth.
My cries were sincere. He sure knew how to spank with a firm, open hand, the better to gain the maximum sting, the maximum penalty.
“No!” I sobbed. “Stop! It hurts! I promise to be good from now on. Just stop!”
“You’ve been a wicked, naughty little vixen, staying out without permission, getting everyone in trouble.” He was panting heavily and I knew it wasn’t from the exertion of the spanking. He was a buff, hale guy who had done this thousands of times. With my fingertips on the rug, I could sort of hold my torso up, and this pressed my mons into his hard-on. It bulged so tightly I knew it had to hurt him, and each of his blows made me jerk and rub my bone against his.
As the slaps expanded through my innards, my uterus, my ovaries, up my spine, I warmed to his touch. The stinging was now pleasant, and I even relaxed enough to spread my thighs a bit. Radiating warmth through my labia created an itchy, erotic trickle of juice between my legs. In my position, the trickle lubricated my clitoris, made me slippery, ready for anything. This couldn’t have gone unnoticed.
“I promise to never do it again…father,” I gasped.
He grunted with pleasure, yanking back a ponytail of my hair in his fist. “That’s right. Your father knows exactly how to punish his little girl. I see your ass is nice and red. Let’s see if it’s red enough.” And he yanked my panties down over the globes of my ass.
I was on fire now. I have not f*cked many men in my life, not many at all. In fact, before I prayed and realized God was calling me, I had had intercourse with exactly one man. One, count ’em. One. After I left the abbey, maybe two, Roscoe being the second. I wasn’t the most sophisticated, seasoned woman.
But Sax could have shoved a bowling ball inside me right now for all I knew or cared, that’s how wide open I was for him. His style, his skill, his technique, and his downright manliness all combined to turn me into a mass of accepting goo, ready to take whatever he dished out.
His skill also meant that he was going to tantalize me. He knew how to move at the proper pace, how to draw it out, how to leave me begging for more. The bastard. That was part of the lovely game, the push and pull, the dominance and submission. I didn’t know all that back then, but I would soon learn.
“Nice,” Sax growled with appreciation, I guess upon viewing my bare, hot ass. “But not red enough to show your submission.”
Slap. Slap. My cries, again, were real, a combination of desire, pleasure, and pain. The idea that he could see my actual * lips between my spread legs, he could see the hole of my ass, this idea drove me to submissive heights. He’d pulled my tiny panties so far down that now my bare pubic bone rubbed his enormous erection every time he slapped me.
“That’s it,” he grunted with every whack. “That’s good. But not good enough. Raise your hips. That’s it. Raise them into the air.”
I quickly saw his point. Balancing on the tips of my fingers like this, when I raised my hips I was more vulnerable, more open than ever. Now, between brutal blows that raised my blood to a boiling point, he allowed a few fingers to stray, to barely tickle the outer edges of my bulging cunt lips. The juxtaposition between the harsh spanks and the brief swipes with his curling fingers had me sobbing and gasping, sobbing and gasping.
“You like it when I spank you, don’t you, little girl? Being punished has made you slimy and wet, craving more.” Swat! “Answer me!”
“Yes!” I admitted, swallowing my sob. “Yes, I want you, Sir! You have punished me appropriately and—ah!”
A finger curled around the extension of my clit. I jumped like a cat on an electrified fence, clear off his lap. The slap this time was so harsh my entire body stung with warmth.
“Get back down here!” he snarled, and my bare * was jammed flat against his erection.
On my fingertips again, I squirmed with purpose and intent, angry now. If he was going to be such a f*cking sadist as to create this strong of a reaction in me, well, I’d do the same to him! I’d drive him so far over the edge there would be no coming back! He’d have no choice but to toss me on the carpet and brutally f*ck me like the animal he was, humping that enormous horse prick into me, deeply, time and time again. He wouldn’t terrorize me, I knew. He would just pour every drop of his rugged virility into me, filling me with his manliness. I was his yin, or he was my yang, or something like that. We fit together like hand in glove. He filled my needs. I wanted to fill his.
So I bucked, and massaged his bulging hard-on with my mons, pretending to protest his manhandling all the while.
“You can’t do this! How dare you touch me so intimately? I barely know you, Sir! You’ve ripped off my panties and now you’re touching me inappropriately and I want it to stop!”
Of course I didn’t want it to stop, not at all. I wanted it to go on, and on, and heighten, and intensify. I wanted him to f*ck me with that ancient ivory tusk thing Lytton had displayed, with that azurite scepter, with that amethyst wand. It would be ironic, hot and fulfilling, being f*cked by a symbol of Sax’s trade, a gemstone, a relic, a specimen.
No, I didn’t want him to stop petting my cunt. I pretend-struggled as though to avoid his long, experienced fingers, but every time he managed to swipe my dripping *, I clenched up inside with all kinds of fluttery excitement. And every time I rolled my mons against his throbbing dong, I knew I was bringing him this much closer to shooting inside his jeans.