by Wolfe, Layla
My confusion added to my passivity when he pressed me against the wall inside the house. I gasped loudly when he angled his mammoth penis against my mons pubis. It was almost as though he was dry humping me like a high schooler up against a locker. His prick was stiff and thick, and he lunged it against me so expertly it was like he massaged my clit with it through several layers of clothing. I even found myself angling my pelvis up toward him, to give him a better slant on my button. The power of the chase had probably stimulated him, that was it—and the evidence of his arousal had him absolutely panting with testosterone.
Lord, he was handsome. His anger and lust combined to only heighten his craggy virility, and he mumbled at me, “You’ll learn to never disobey me again.”
We both panted with the stimulation of the chase. I bridled at being pinned so completely. I wondered what he’d do if I rebelled. So I squirmed, making sure to roll my hips from side to side. If he thought he was going to lord it over me, I could at least weaken him by turning him on. I could barely move in his steely grip, so I thrashed harder. “Let me go! You have no fucking right to toss me around like this. You don’t even know what I was doing at the nail salon.”
He took both my wrists in one of his broad hands, pinioning them to the wall above my head. His penis pulsed against me, flexing itself, asserting its dominance. It was a thrilling new way of being handled, exciting me to my core. Now his entire torso was pressed against mine. I’d never felt such power, such pure brawn. It nearly overwhelmed me, and I wondered if my knees would give out.
“The nail salon has nothing to do with this,” he growled. “You were in incredible danger, and you put everyone else at risk. I know your type. You think it’s cute or rebellious to not listen to orders. There’s only one fucking way you’re ever going to learn.”
And just like that, he was whipping me down some hallway.
I nearly got whiplash, he was shoving me so fast. The first room seemed to be Lytton’s home office. A possible invasion of privacy didn’t stop Sax from shoving me in there and slamming the door behind me. I started going around the back of Lytton’s desk for safety, because I was beginning to fear Sax. He was obviously completely capable of ruining me, physically. That was a given.
I’d only known one Dom in my life, and this wasn’t Roscoe’s style at all. By now, Roscoe would have been whacking my arms and thighs with his cane and screaming all kinds of obscenities at me. Instead, Sax was a smoldering fire of a man, pacing like a caged animal.
His thumbs were hooked inside his jeans pockets, enhancing the outline of his colossal prick. Its sheer size terrified me. Roscoe wasn’t so much about the fucking, about the authority of the cock. He liked to don a latex harness, the hood, the whole shiny and zippered nine yards. He liked to strut with his gauntlets and his spiked boots like a neo-Nazi, displaying his authority over me. It was more of a mind-fuck than an actual fuck. He rarely ever took his johnson out.
Now, this man was all about the actual fuck. I allowed my fear of him to keep me from running, transforming it into desire. In a way, my terror heightened my desire. I was on pins and needles, wondering what he’d command me to do. Above all, I was swept away by the idea that he wanted me. He truly wanted me. He craved me, he desired me. I turned him on. That meant I was desirable. I was wanted. That had never happened to me before.
“Take off your shorts,” he commanded. “Now. Leave on your shoes.”
I interpreted his command literally, stepping out of my practical little gardener’s shorts but leaving on my white cotton panties. He watched me voraciously, like a leopard watching from the dark shadows. Not knowing what else to do, I started hanging the shorts over the back of Lytton’s wooden swivel chair. But again, like the wildest sort of animal of all, Sax pounced.
Like lightning he flashed around to my side of the desk. Suddenly he was in the rolling chair, rolling backward, taking me with him. I was a jumble of limbs on his lap, and I was forced to hold onto the back of his hot neck to keep from falling off.
Grabbing a handful of my hair, he yanked my head back, not hard enough to hurt, but it disoriented me. Like a vulnerable prey animal, my throat was exposed to him, and he could have slayed me with one swoop.
But he didn’t. He had careful, total control over his actions and therefore mine.
“You’ve been a wicked girl,” he rasped. The fingers of his other hand deftly undid the buttons of my starchy, plaid shirt. “Do you know how much you worried everyone?”
I knew how to play the game—or so I thought. “I know, Sir. I’ve been horribly bad.”
He yanked apart both sides of my shirt. I cringed to realize that such a worldly, experienced man was viewing my childish bra, my small breasts. The bra wasn’t even underwire. I didn’t need that, with such small boobs. Roscoe often made fun of my flat-chested status. He yelled that it was a sign I wasn’t a true, real woman.
Sax didn’t yell anything like that. His hand hovered above one small boob. I could feel and hear the raggedy edge in his breathing, his words. It was almost as though…he didn’t mind my chest? He might even…like it? I sat directly upon his engorged cock like a worm on a hook, and the outer lips of my pussy acutely felt his enormous horse’s prick pulsing with bloodlust.
But he didn’t touch my breast. That might’ve enflamed me all the more.
“You’re been a terribly disobedient little girl. Father’s punishing you right now.”
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 fucked 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 desi
re, pleasure, and pain. The idea that he could see my actual pussy 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 pussy 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 fucking 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 fuck 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 fuck 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 fucked 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 pussy, 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.
And then he’d never be able to leave me.
“No! Stop touching me! I didn’t give you permission to touch me, father!” I loved playing the twisted sort of Daddy Dom/religious game. It suited me, and it obviously suited him. I wasn’t sure which way Sax was approaching it, but they both worked for me.
Slap! Another wrench of my hair. “I didn’t give you permission to talk back to me, Sister!”
Dear Lord! The idea that he’d discovered my dirty secret, that I’d been a novitiate, that I’d been studying for my vows, had me giggling, laughing lasciviously like a drunken slut.
This time his slap connected directly with my soaked pussy lips.
“Ow!” I dared crank my head around and glare at him angrily. He was angry, too, probably for a different reason. His eyes flashed with a diabolical authority, and I knew I could never top him at his own game. Because the next thing I knew, I was on my ass on the carpet, and he was looming over me.
All brawn and muscles bulging, his nipples poked like pebbles under his wifebeater T-shirt. From this angle, the shelf of his erection loomed even more massively, and I was sure, in the slant of dusty sunlight coming through the blinds, I could see the outline of the mushroom head.
I just sprawled there stupidly, my panties around my knees. Was he stopping our scene because I’d dare push back? I sat dumbfounded, making a wet spot on Lytton’s carpet.
“Enough!” he barked. “You’ve been—you’ve been punished enough.”
But his words didn’t have the ring of authority, and he seemed unsure what to do. He seemed… flustered. Sure, he was probably overwhelmed with lust for me. I was learning about lust quickly. I was learning there must be a strange, obscure something about me that attracted certain men. I could play that up, if I could just figure out what it was.
I hung my head. “Yes, Master.” Then I remembered our scene. “Yes, Father. Your spanking has taught me that I should not go places alone until Tony Tormenta has been caught.” I meant killed, but as a former novitiate that was still hard for me to say.
His frustration must have built up, for he exploded. “God damn it it, girl! While you were out getting your nails done playing fucking Nancy Drew, do you know what was going on? Your BFF Brenda Ridings has been slashed to smithereens by that maniac Tormenta.”
What? Our sexy, exciting scene instantly evaporated from before my very eyes. I even tried to stand, forgetting where my panties were, and wound up wobbling like a newborn colt.
Sax reached to help me, no longer the Dom in charge. He pulled my panties up for me as though dressing a small girl.
I stumbled toward my shorts, crumpled on the floor. “What do you mean, Sax? How the hell did he get ahold of Brenda? She said she was going to hole up in Harte’s house for a few weeks, not even go down to the clubhouse, to hide like the rest of us while all this blew over.”
“Blew over? Girl, do you know what sort of wasp nests you opened up with your bounty offer? I’m almost positive word has gotten back to Tormenta, thus why he slashed Brenda. The only way we even figured out it was Brenda was because Tormenta referred to her as ‘Smoky’ in his Facebook posting.”
“Facebook? You’re fucking kidding? I thought he stopped doing that childish crap a long time ago?”
“Apparently the taunt you gals issued was too much for him to take sitting down.” Sax even helped me button my shorts. He was suddenly very gentle, for a guy who had just been whaling on me to beat the band. “I’m just wondering if that Santiago Slayer joker somehow blew something, like stopped to comb his hair in his rearview mirror, or posted a music video about his quest on YouTube. Did you…you didn’t happen to tell anyone about the bounty, did you?”
“I…doubt it.” I wasn’t certain, though. Word of something that huge would be sure to get around. That was the point, really, wasn’t it? We welcomed even more bounty hunters—in fact there was word that the famed Lock Singer of our brother club, The Bent Zealots, might have time to track down Tormenta. Lock actually had a bounty hunting business that tracked fugitives, bail jumpers, over in Lake Havasu City.
“Are you sure? Could there have been anyone, even someone you thought was trustworthy, outside your circle of sweetbutt—”
“Harte.” It struck me like a wooden dagger to the heart. “When I was waiting for you at The Drawing Board, when you went out to Winona. A few other sweetbutts were still hanging around, although Brenda had gone to Harte’s. We just started…” I shrugged. “Talking. Harte’s always been our friend, Sax. He’s always been on our side. We couldn’t not tell him about the bounty. He was the only one who came running when Cassie got slashed. He was the one who thought of hiring Lock Singer.”
Sax even straightened out the lower hem on my shirt. He brushed it off as though it had cookie crumbs. “Never mind. Don’t worry yourselves about it. We should’ve made a better plan for covering our asses, maybe just kept it between us and Slayer. But listen, before we go back out there. We need a safe word.”
“A…what?”
/> Sax almost rolled his eyes, as though it was typical I would have no clue what he referred to. He patiently explained. “A safe word. A word you—or I—can use when we want the scene to stop, when it gets too intense for us.”
I thought I’d heard of that idea before. It was a good one. “Oh. Okay. Although I doubt we’ll have need for anything like that.” I grinned. “You seem to have everything under control.”
He seemed pleased by my observation. “That’s the general idea. All right, how about ‘postulant’ for our safe word?”
My mouth opened before my cheeks colored. I must’ve looked a stupid sight standing there like a damned child, my tangled auburn hair all mussed, my butt burning bright red, and Sax teasing me like I was born yesterday. “Postulant?” I managed to utter. “What made you think of—”
He squeezed my ass, but it was much gentler, more affectionate, and his hand didn’t linger. “I suspected about as much about you, Sister Colette. You thought you could hide a thing like that? We’ll discuss it later. Right now I’ve got to get back out, find out what’s going on with Brenda. But I’m glad to see you’re not wearing that stupid collar. You deserve a much better one. One with a much better intent behind it.”
What did he mean? My hand went to my throat. “Oh, that? It just fell off. The buckle broke.”
He grinned. “It was symbolic. Meant to be. Now, I’ll tell you something that would please me very much. Would you like to please me?”
It was embarrassing, how eagerly I reacted. “Oh, yes, very much! What would you like?”
“I’d like it if you’d call that twatwaffle fake ‘Sir’ of yours and tell him it’s over between you. Makes me uncomfortable, sharing you with someone else. Also makes me uncomfortable the way he beats you. That’s not true S and M. That’s plain old sadism, unleashed, with no holds barred. I’ll teach you the real thing. See what we’re doing here? I didn’t just dump you and leave you on the floor. It’s called ‘aftercare.’ And you probably need a sugary drink.” He was so supremely confident that I would just dump Roscoe without so much as a bye your leave!
