Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Probably because I’d have immediately rejected it.

  These last six weeks have humbled me, forced me to realize that I’m human like everyone else, not a powerful, omnipotent being. My arrogance was a shield that prevented him from divulging the truth to me. His keeping this part of himself a secret tells me his affection for me is as all-encompassing as mine is for him. This is a chance for both of us to be our real selves. Whatever that might be.

  “I agreed to your suggestion.”

  “And what suggestion was that?”

  I can tell he’s amused at my diplomatic responses. He was waiting for me to lie. Instead, he can see I’ve remembered the rules. He’s asking me questions, and I’m answering them. I’m doing nothing wrong, just not giving him the answers he wants to hear.

  “You believe I’m in need of discipline,” I eventually murmur, lifting my eyes to connect with his.

  He’s pleased by my response. I can tell, because his eyes are no longer Arctic-cold, maybe Britain in winter. “And what do you think, Marina? Do you believe you need to be disciplined?”

  Bastard.

  I want to screech the word at him and from his knowing look, he can clearly see that. How I hold it in, I don’t know but I manage. Just.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, I mutter, “I am capable of doing harm and hurting other people. I don’t mean to, it just happens. If I’d been taught differently as a child, perhaps I wouldn’t be the way I am today. I think, with discipline, I might start to behave more...” The word eludes me and I bite my lip, wondering what to say. It’s hard, because I’m not really sure I want to change, but something’s got to give. And it has to be me. I’m a troublemaker. “Like a regular person.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I’d want you to be ‘regular’.” He uses air quotes over my chosen adjective. “Just a little moderation.” Nate looks at me for a second, and I can tell he’s pleased by what I’ve said. “Come and sit here with me.”

  For a second, I hesitate and then pull the covers out of the way and go to him. About to perch on his knee, he shakes his head.

  “Kneel before me, Marina.”

  Kneel? Oh fuck, can I do this? I mean, seriously?

  My legs refuse, and I stand there shivering even though the room is an ambient temperature. I try to get my brain to force my limbs to work and eventually succeed, although my slide to the ground is anything but gracious. More like a tumble.

  “Well done.”

  I need those congratulations. Somehow, his command made it all so real. And I guess this is it. It’s starting.

  Looking up at him, I smile. It’s quivery and weak, not my usual strident, confident grin but it’s better than a grimace.

  “You understand why this has to be done, Marina. You’ve hidden this part of your nature for far too long. It’s buried deep down, so deep you don’t even realize it exists. And maybe, for anyone else, it doesn’t. But you can do this, Marina. You can liberate that part of your nature. I can’t. I can help.

  “You’re kneeling before me, and you’re thinking I’m in control. You give me that power. Only you. When you came to this bedroom last night and didn’t go back to yours when I told you to, you made the decision. You handed control to me. But it’s only there for as long as you want to gift it. It’s time to choose a safe word.”

  I won’t lie. My stomach feels as though a hard band is wrapped around it. It’s hard to breathe, hard to focus. Am I really doing this? He says it’s there, buried deep down. Is it? I don’t know. Will it do any harm to experiment?

  My lips tremble as I whisper, “Papillon.”

  “Your brothel?”

  I shrug. “It’s a word, isn’t it?”

  He nods. “Very well. How many times did you misbehave last night?”

  Nate doesn’t have to tell me to be honest. Sat in the chair, legs slightly spread, back against the rest, he looks both relaxed, yet totally in control. His face is lined with pain, pain I caused but otherwise, he’s as handsome as ever. Something about him has always set my body to quivering. With his disability, many might think him a lesser man. To me, I don’t even see the missing limb. He’s everything.

  Power. Glory. Grace.

  Could be he’s right. Around him, I do feel different. Like a woman. Not a twenty-first century go-getter. Out to prove that she can do everything a guy can, but better. Out to unman every poor male in a hundred mile perimeter. Willing to shove a broom up my ass and sweep the floor as I control every aspect of my world.

  No. He makes me a woman again. I always pegged it down to being Uncle Sam’s influence. The door-opening and meal-ordering. The taking-charge, be it in the bedroom or over the day’s activities...all of it, tiny signs that he was in control. Not me.

  And I liked it. For the weekends we were together, I reveled in being with him. But I’m at Blue Ridge now. Full-time. Probably forever. Could I endure what Nate wants for all time?

  I guess we’ll find out.

  Despite my nerves, my body quivers in reaction to his presence. His clothing is simple, practical for the ranch but the lack of polish does something to my insides. Jeans cover his bottom half; a blue T-shirt covers his torso and the bandages beneath. Even the slogan on his shirt is forceful. Telling me to just do it, I whisper, “Four times.”

  “Good girl,” he murmurs and then, pats his knee. “I want you to rest your weight on my lap. Bend over and settle yourself until you’re as comfortable as can be.”

  My legs are still quivering as I stand and step toward his side. I bend my knees and lower myself forward until my chest and torso are leaning against the hard muscularity of his lap. Ironically, even though he’s seen me naked a thousand times, I’m unbearably relieved he allowed me to keep on my shirt. Pressing my weight on to my hands, I wiggle until I’m more comfortable and then, blowing out a breath, revert to stillness.

  He sits up; I can feel the play of his muscles as I’m jerked a little thanks to his movements. He bends over me, so close I can feel the brush of his breath against my ear. “If I thought you were trying to tease, Marina, that would mean another punishment. You do not tease me.”

  My eyes widen at his statement and I turn my head to the side to look at him. “I wasn’t.”

  “I know. I’m just saying. Educating you for future reference.”

  I swallow. “Okay.”

  He sits back, but his hands wrap around my side so that he takes me with him, dragging me so my legs settle over the armrest and my head shares the same support on the opposite side. His prosthetic wedges me in place on his knee by gripping my waist. I guess so I can’t fall off.

  Feeling more comfortable, in the physical sense, I relax a little then tense when his hand roams over the length of my bared thighs. Back and forth, back and forth. Callused fingers scrape against delicate flesh, making the tiny hairs rise and gooseflesh quiver over me in great waves. Despite myself, the delicacy of his touch has heat flooding my veins, and I know soon, my pussy will start to slicken with cream.

  I don’t know if the idea mortifies me or arouses me. My confusion protects me for a few seconds as his hand skims upwards, dragging my T-shirt higher until my butt is on display. His hand tugs at the waistband of my panties and he drags them down so that my ass is completely bare, and even though he’s seen my butt before, it still puts me on edge. Something he soothes, because he does the same here, rubbing the flesh, dragging his workman’s hand over my smooth-as-silk skin.

  He lulls me into a false sense of security, because this, this is nice. Real nice. Almost soothing. And just as I relax that little bit more, his hand lifts, I feel a slight gust of air and then bang. Okay, not bang, but still. Ouch.

  “Fuck,” I grit out, shocked despite myself at the harshness of his hit. The slap of my flesh against his hand hurt more than I imagined. It stings. My hand arcs back of its own volition and hovers over my butt, before touching the soft skin and feeling a gentle heat from the friction of the smack.

  He hums under his bre
ath as he grabs my hand. “Firstly, I told you not to swear. Secondly, don’t reach back; keep your hands in front of you. You need to be punished for the curse word and if you reach back again, you’ll need to be punished for that. We’ll start with three spanks per infraction. How many does that make, Marina?”

  I bite my lip at the answer.

  Fourteen more stinging slaps? It wasn’t a gentle pat, a soft smack, it was hard. Hard enough to have my body jerking forward. Not over the other side of the armrest. But still, a good few inches.

  “Marina?”

  “Fourteen- fifteen in total,” I grit out.

  “Yes. Every day, we’ll increase this number, because you’ll be learning on a daily basis. Every time you do something I punish you for, you should remember and not do it again. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, who?”

  “Yes, Nate.”

  “Good. Say my name, remember who’s doing this to you, Marina. Me. Nobody else, because nobody else has power over you.” His words have a profound effect on the pair of us. They have me sucking in a breath and he...well, let’s just say something hard starts to prod me in the belly.

  That he’s excited has my pussy heating once again. In reaction to the slap, it had cooled down a little, but that faint ridge of his erection rubbing against my softness through the denim...well, it’s perked me right up. I’m not the only one affected. I’m not alone here.

  And that he wants me to call him by his name reassures me even more. I don’t want to call him Sir or Master. He’s Nate to me. Always has been. Always will be.

  “Count each one as I spank you.”

  “Yes, Nate.”

  A hard tap has me stuttering, “Two.” My arm jolts with the need to reach back, but I manage to contain it by digging my nails into the armrest.

  As the sound of skin clapping against skin echoes around the room, I gasp out, “Four.”

  With my back to him, I’m unprepared for every hit and each time he smacks my butt, it comes as a shock. The sheer power in the slap still surprises me.

  By the time I’m gasping out, “Eight.” I feel like my butt is glowing. It stings like a bitch. Not sore, not even painful, just a weird burn. A strange kind of heat that I’m ashamed to admit is both distressing and a turn on.

  My hips have started to jerk as tender flesh is tormented again and again, because he isn’t moving around, dispersing the sting. Just on the flat of my ass so that all day, whenever I sit down, I’ll remember my punishment.

  Fuck, that I even understand why he’s doing what he’s doing tells me I’m in hot water.

  And Christ, I like it.

  My pussy is hot. Molten. My clit wants attention. It’s on the brink of demanding it, because each time he spanks, I want to beg him to touch me. Only by digging my teeth down into my bottom lip between spanks, am I not saying a word. It’s a point of pride. He might want me to beg, but I won’t. Not yet, at any rate, I concede with a roll of my eyes at my own failings.

  But even as I acknowledge my own arousal, tears start to sting my eyes. I flutter them away, refusing to cry, but the need to sob out my confusion and arousal is even harder than remaining in place. In a way, it’s like denying an orgasm. I need the release, a release of the emotional kind.

  “Ten.” I squeal and hiss. Every single time, his hand returns to smooth over the spanked flesh of my butt, adding to the hypersensitivity in a way that has every tiny hair on my body standing to attention.

  Every part of me relaxes into the armrest for a second, knowing the next hit won’t be for a little while longer.

  The tension running around my muscles makes me feel like I’ve been on a ten mile run and considering I’m breathing like I’ve been doing just that, I can honestly say, I’m tired. As well as horny.

  Dammit.

  Knowing that soon he’ll spank me, I tense a little, preparing myself for the next one and then he shocks me. The flat of his hand moves down over the apple of my butt and slides over the crack. Down, down until his fingers curl inward and touch wet, hot flesh.

  A cry escapes me. No amount of lip biting can stop it. I sag once more into the armrest, my sweaty forehead rubbing against the cotton fabric. His fingers dip inside my cunt, spreading the entrance to my body before sliding down to rub my clit. Another cry and my hips start to wiggle. The instant they do, he pulls away.

  “No.” I shout, unable to help myself.

  “No?” he questions, his voice dangerously low and the instant I hear it, register the tone, it’s like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over me.

  “No, Nate. Please. Please, keep on touching me.”

  “Feel good, does it?” he asks.

  “Yes, Nate.”

  Out of nowhere, the next spank comes. I forget to shriek out the number in shock at the hit. “I decide when and if you can have pleasure. And you’re turned on, Marina. You can’t hide it. This...” He runs his hand over the sore flesh of my butt. “...you like it. You need it and that’s your lesson for today. As is the fact if you forget to count a spank, it’s null and void.”

  Shit. Not only is the lower half of my body on fire from need, it’s also stinging and I just added to the number.

  “Eleven,” I squeak as his hand returns bringing more discomfort than ever with the force. I start to wriggle on his lap, I can’t help it. The ache has returned, intensifying with the admission of my arousal to Nate.

  He grips a hold of my hip and says, “Keep still. Or I’ll hurt you more than I mean to.”

  Ha. More than he means to? That means this isn’t Nate hitting at his full potential? Good God.

  “Twelve.” I shriek.

  “Thirteen,” I stutter, pressing my forehead into the armrest.

  The strength behind each spank is astonishing. This is no faint tap. A slight smack or pat on the behind. He’s hitting me, literally hitting me with the flat of his hand. And it fucking hurts, especially when he hits the same goddamn place over and over.

  More tears arrive, but I force them away, knowing this is the last one and I welcome it like a starving man welcomes a feast.

  “Fourteen.”

  Relief swims through me, knowing it’s over for today is bliss in itself. I sag down into his lap and once again, go through the discomfort of his fingers prodding sore flesh with their delicate butterfly-brush over the curve of my behind.

  “Good girl, Marina. Get back on your knees.”

  His direction is gentle and he helps me stand even though I know it must tug and pull at his wounds. My legs are shaky again and my fall to the floor is as graceless as earlier. My butt is stinging like a bitch and having my heels dig into the soft flesh isn’t making it any more comfortable.

  I sit there, feeling a bit like a limp noodle. I can’t believe how much that took out of me. It wasn’t the pain, because if I’m honest, it wasn’t pain per se. It was just uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

  And this is just the start.

  I’m not stupid. I know where this will go. Next, it will be a ruler, then a flogger, and then God knows what. And I’ll have to take it. Every slap, with whatever instrument, I’ll have to just count aloud how many times he marks me.

  God help me, the idea isn’t repulsive.

  Nate jolts me out of my thoughts by leaning forward and bursting into my personal space. Within an inch of my face, he shocks me by pressing a kiss to my forehead. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. Although, even that pathetic display of affection feels like a great, whopping hug.

  Feeling proud of myself and not really understanding why, I sit up a little straighter.

  His hand cups my cheek and his thumb brushes along the sharp curve of my cheekbone. The butterfly tickle has a little shiver tingling down my spine. “I can see tears here, Marina. But you didn’t cry, did you?”

  “N-no, Nate. I didn’t.”

  Oh God, he isn’t going to tell me I can’t cry, is he?

  Anxiety squats in my belly,
taking root there until he murmurs, “You should have done so. In future, don’t hold back. It’s good for you. You need the release. Just like, if you need to cry out from the pain, you do that. This is natural, honey. You need to let it out. You’ll learn that with time.”

  His use of the word ‘honey’ has happiness unfurling through me. It wouldn’t shock me if I were literally glowing with joy at his endearment, at his gentle touch of his fingers to my face.

  “Stand up and take a look in the mirror,” he urges me.

  I grip his thigh to help haul me onto my feet and feeling punch-drunk, stagger over to the mirror. Turning around, I raise the hem of my shirt and peek over my shoulder.

  With memories of Rosalie’s glowing ass after her session with the corporate lawyer, I’d expected something similar. It’s pink. No bruises. No hand marks. Almost like the skin has chafed, it’s a little raised but nothing terrible.

  I’m kind of disappointed. Feeling like a wuss, when the results aren’t that spectacular in comparison to the hard, burning sting I’d felt while receiving the spanks; a sting that’s still there.

  When I turn on my heel and walk back to him, I can see the knowing glint in his eye, but he doesn’t comment, just points to the ground in front of him again. I manage a little more decorum this time and manage to kneel without stumbling.

  “How did that feel, Marina?”

  “Different.” At his glance, I quickly tag on, “Nate.”

  “How?”

  “It hurt but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t endure.” Remembering his hard on, I murmur, “It feels good knowing I pleased you, Nate.”

  That’s no lie. It does feel good. I feel good. Purged? I don’t know, maybe that’s too strong a word to use. But knowing Nate’s aroused makes my own arousal feel more normal. Mutual. I’m not alone in this. We’re a partnership and I guess, in the five years we’ve been together, we’ve never actually been partners.

  “That was a good answer, Marina. You get a reward.”

  “I do?” I’m almost embarrassed at my squeak, but Christ, who gives a fuck? If he’ll just touch my pussy again, I think in four pinches of my clit, I’ll come. Taking into consideration last night’s abrupt cease of play and then the heat from this episode, I’m ready to explode. I need to climax. Badly.