by Jaye Peaches
“Impressive, yes?” Marco tapped the window. “Feels like glass, but it isn’t. It’s generated by a force field. Nobody can see us as it looks metallic from the outside. So when I bend you over my desk and spank you, don’t worry about your ass being on display.”
She snatched her hand away from the window and felt the heat rush into her cheeks and neck. “You’re still going to punish me?”
“Of course. I said I would and I’m a man of my word. I want to do this properly. When you are punished by me, you must do as I say.”
Freya raised her eyebrows. He implied this wouldn’t be the only time he’d punish her. What did he have up his sleeve? She was starting to think something more than a spanking was going to happen. Did she mind that he was concocting some other plan for her? How much of a say would she have in it?
“What do you want me to do?” For now, she’d keep calm and stay on the ball. Let him lead and see where she ended up.
“First, you will address me as sir. I prefer formality during punishments. It helps differentiate.”
She waited, but he didn’t expand on his statement. Differentiate from what?
“You will be bare. Humbleness is essential.”
She was fighting not just nerves but sensation of yearning. She clasped her hands together and tucked them in front of her belly as if they could hide the multitude of butterflies that stormed inside her.
“Now, Freya, please remove your clothes.”
She froze for a few seconds. It wasn’t as if she had much to remove—a shabby overall and a pair of sandals—but the attire suddenly seemed to hang heavy as if a great weight entombed her.
He waited with a degree of patience she didn’t expect. The black uniform, which had the potential to make him appear foreboding, worked in her favor. Its tailored jacket accentuated the contours of his physique—a v-shaped torso, which began at his broad shoulders then tapered to his neat waist. He breathed in and the plateau of his chest rose, then fell when he exhaled. She wished her breaths were as steady.
She lowered her gaze, finding his eyes too intense and she skipped over his midriff because his pants had bulged slightly—he hadn’t mentioned sex, not explicitly, but his behavior wasn’t platonic either. What he’d said down in the canyon implied more was to come. Instead of dwelling on the unknown future, she focused her attention on his thighs while at the same time she undid the fastenings of her overall with fumbling fingers.
What thighs they were too. She imagined her hands ringing them, feeling their girth, their firmness and strength. The governor possessed the frame of a body builder, not a bureaucrat. The last fastening popped open and she shimmied the coarse fabric off her shoulders and let it glide down her arms and back, exposing her breasts and pointed nipples.
Marco drew in a sharp intake of air. It dawned on her, watching that snatch of breath, that she had some kind of power over him. Yes, he could force himself upon her, tear off her clothes, and crush her with his indubitable strength, but he hadn’t; instead, he’d held her hand when he escorted her into the building and he’d spoken of taking care of her. Hardly the actions of a tyrant.
The way he made her feel—sexy and frankly turned on—was no accident. He wanted her to desire him. He’d pushed her buttons and regardless of rational thoughts telling her otherwise, she would respond positively, compliantly, and perhaps tempt him further.
She wriggled her hips and the overall dropped to the floor, looping around her ankles. His eyes widened into saucers and he clenched his fists into balls.
Oh, yes, this man needed her submission; it was paramount to whatever plans he had for her.
Freya stepped out of the leg holes and slipped off the sandals, leaving them in a heap on the floor.
“Place your hands on the desk, palms flat down.” He moved over to the desk with its embedded console displays and punched a pattern on the key lock. The consoles vanished into blackness.
She made a note of the pattern. It came with her training to file away the odd things she noticed.
Marco made space for her. “Bend over, Freya.”
With her back to the magnificent view, she pressed her palms onto the cool surface. There was nothing else on the desk. The console with its touch-activated panels was deactivated. The shiny black surface reflected her face, the tangled knots of hair that swung down and the feverish fire in her eyes.
Why didn’t she look alarmed or scared? Flushed, certainly, her cheeks tinged with pink, but it wasn’t due to heat nor shame. Her nudity hadn’t shocked her this time. No, something else—excitement? More likely lust. Her clitoris buzzed, wired to respond to the presence of an attractive man, and the silly organ continued to betray her true desires.
“Elbows down,” he said softly.
She bent lower and rested on her forearms. Her bottom had lifted higher than her shoulders. She breathed on the desk and a misty haze formed on the surface hiding her reflection.
“Legs apart.”
He delivered the command in a firmer voice. She needed it. Showing him her cleft, the bare lips of her sex, took more courage. She slid her feet sideways.
“Good,” he murmured.
A wave of goosebumps tingled down her back and legs. Why did it matter that he was pleased? This was his demand—this spanking, his choice of punishment—she’d not initiated any of it. However, his enforcement of the ‘be good’ command was working. She spread her legs wider and offered him a better view.
“A few with my hand, then,” he moved closer, “I’ll punish you properly.”
Properly! What the hell did that mean?
He rested his hand on the base of her spine, steadying her as her legs began to shake. She gritted her teeth and all the muscles in her body locked solid.
The smack rebounded around the room, unlike the acute smart of his spank—a brief sting on her left buttock, then gone.
“Try not to tense up. It won’t help you.”
She nearly snapped at him, but didn’t. She smirked to herself. He had the upper hand in this, not her.
The governor was precise. He landed his steely palm right on the tight curve of her raised globe, where the skin was drawn tight and smooth.
“Tell me, Freya. Did your friend force you to go to that den?” he asked the question before delivering a slap on the other cheek.
“No, sir. I suggested it.” She flinched. The third smack had come swiftly after the second.
“What did they think of your idea?” He swiped her bottom again, harder. Much harder.
Freya screwed up her eyes. So far, she’d managed to keep still, but for how much longer?
“It was a bad idea. Risky.” Saying it, confessing her own stupidity, had sealed her fate.
Marco tut-tutted. “I’m not punishing you for helping a friend. I’m punishing you for your impulsive lack of care.” A volley of smacks landed in quick succession to accompany his words.
She dredged up her excuses. “I just thought… I could make a difference.”
“Like your spying? Discovering the secrets of terraforming, so you could save your fellow humans?”
“Yes,” she finally snapped. “What’s wrong with serving your planet?”
“Sir. Remember to be respectful.” He emphasized his correction with a round of smacks, whipping his hand back and forth between each cheek. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with it. It’s admirable. However, here, on this ghastly hell-hole, your number one priority is your safety, Freya. Look after yourself and you’ll serve me.”
During his spanking he punctuated his words with slaps before ceasing and then rubbing circles around her flaming cheeks. The heat was resilient and the soreness lingered longer and longer after each set of spanks. However, she guessed this spanking wasn’t the full-on version she’d anticipated.
“Serve you?” she murmured. How? What was he alluding to? “Spy for you, down there?”
“Gracious, no,” he guffawed. “That would be dangerous, quite the contrary. I h
ave something else in mind. We’ll discuss that when your punishment is complete.”
He strolled around the desk and she watched him, lifting her chin and tilting her head to one side. He slipped off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. His shirt shimmered as the satin-like cloth reflected the sun rays. Reaching a bank of drawers, he pressed the release mechanism and one of them sprang open.
He fished inside the compartment. “I had a few things brought from Earth. There are no animals on Tagra. Insects and reptiles, but no mammals. Consequently, no fur, not that you need it here, but also, no leather products.” He picked up a long strap, which was two inches thick and amber in color.
Freya swallowed hard and pressed her thighs together.
He folded the strap and held it at the ends. When he slapped it against his palm, she jumped.
“Six. Six reminders that you don’t act unwisely. You’ll forget those spying tendencies of yours, won’t you?”
“Yes. Sir.” Her mouth suddenly was parched. One was too many. Her poor ass was already on fire.
Chapter Six
He flexed the strap in his hand. Would this work? How much of this deep-seated need in him for discipline would she understand? It wasn’t just about spanking her; it was everything else, the whole package. As she watched him stretch the strap and snap the two sides together, her mouth gaped slightly. Her bright eyes reminded him of the fire rabbits he hunted as a young boy on planet eleven. The name came from the amber glow of the rabbit’s eyes. The color was different in her eyes but their intensity had triggered the pleasant memory.
He circled around the desk, approaching her from the opposing side. She was balancing on the tips of her trembling toes and her knees were knocked together, locking her slit out of sight. He tapped her heels with the end of his boot and slowly nudged her legs back apart.
Such an ass. He’d admired many a fine ass in his time, but this girl had one that could take the crown for best ass. The lobes formed perfect semi-circles at the tops of her thighs—two smiles to greet him. The skin was smooth and until he’d spanked her, the color had been an even shade of pale pink. Now each buttock had a round red patch in the middle. His handprints had merged together exactly where he intended to strike with the strap. He’d prepared her well. Too little and the strap would be intolerable; too much and the rawness would break the skin’s surface.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she implored. She twisted her head around and looked over her shoulders with those startling eyes.
“I’m punishing you,” he reminded her. “Don’t expect this to be easy. You must remain in position. If you move excessively, I shall repeat the stroke.” He was resolved. He had to remain firm and consistent. It was the mainstay of his leadership technique—don’t deviate from a decision.
Her lower lip trembled, but she kept bent over and her legs apart. He positioned himself, raised his arm, and slapped the strap across both ass cheeks.
She bolted upright, cried out, and clutched her bottom with both hands.
He sighed. “That one will be repeated, Freya. Back down.” He pushed her between the shoulder blades, encouraging her to return to position. She whimpered, a little sound, but complied. He examined the mark—a single line had formed a welt. He traced his finger along it and noted it was hot, but the skin was intact. The next would strike a little lower.
He switched sides and whipped the strap across her rump with a backhanded flick of his arm.
Once again, she jerked, but managed to halt in time. “Better. That one will count.”
“I can’t do this,” she sniffed. “I can’t hold position.” She clawed at the smooth surface of the table. He understood. Her need to stand up was unintentional; a reaction, not a decision.
“I can help you, but you have to trust me. I can tie you down.” He waited, gave her time to consider the option. The second red line on her bottom had lifted, giving her two parallel marks. She was so unlike the other women he’d spanked. One Vendu woman had taken thirty strikes before uttering a sound. Vendu women were hardy but often seemed to him detached and dispassionate. He had to spank them for a long time before they surrendered to him.
“Please help me,” she finally uttered.
He laid the strap on the table and returned to his secret supply. Implements he’d brought with him, which he’d collected over the years from various locations, including Earth with its delightful supply of soft leather.
He selected leather cuffs and a thin rope. “Hold out your wrists.”
She blinked away the tiny tears as he carefully slid the cuffs around her wrists and linked them together. Then, as she lowered her body onto the desk, pushing her breasts against the console, he crouched down and hunting beneath the table, he located a small hook, something that probably was used to carry cables. It was perfect for what he needed. He coiled the rope around it, snapping tension into it as he forced her arms straight out in front of her head. She clasped her hands together.
“Legs too, I think.” He had leg cuffs and they easily fitted around her slender ankles. He tied each one to the corner legs of the table, stretching her wider and in doing so, parted the folds of her glistening pussy. He resisted the temptation to graze his fingers along her slit and feel the wetness. Now wasn’t the time. Just as he had to control his stiffening cock, he had to hold back on the caresses.
“Ready?”
She muttered something. He guessed it wasn’t appropriate. Earthlings enjoyed humor in times of difficulty—a perverse reaction, but one he might come to appreciate.
“I asked a question,” he said sternly.
“Yes, sir.”
He aimed carefully, ensuring he didn’t land the strap on top of the two previous blows. Accompanied by a loud thwack, the leather thong collided with her ass and she jolted, cried out, but remained held fast to the table.
He inspected his handiwork. The line was horizontal and slightly above the natural crease between her thigh and ass. “Two. You’re doing well. I understand this is difficult for you, but I will complete this punishment.”
She released a tiny sob and buried her face in her outstretched arms.
He waited. She needed to process the pain. Unlike Vendu men, who when flogged or whipped were treated to a barrage of blows in rapid succession, women were punished differently. For men it was about demonstrating their mettle and enduring the pain and brutality of military discipline. For the women, it was showing humility and meekness. If she understood this, then he hoped she would meet with his other requirements.
When he whacked the strap against her bottom, the loop of folded leather cracked together. The noise made her jolt and its purpose was intentional. The sound exaggerated the effect of the strap, tricking her into believing he was inflicting a harsher punishment.
“Fuck!” She pulled on the rope.
The word had other meanings, he’d learned from listening to the broadcasts on Earth. Leaning over her, he inspected the cuffs. There was no evidence they were harming her. He noted two teardrops on the desk. “Nearly there,” he murmured into her ear.
He backhanded the next. By switching sides he ensured the marks were evenly distributed along with the pain. She screamed with the penultimate lash of the strap. The noise wouldn’t bring anyone running to her rescue. He’d given strict instructions not to be disturbed.
The last one had to count. He waited for her to catch her breath, for the white of her knuckles to fade as she unclenched her fists. The fire in her ass must be close to the edge of her tolerance. This first spanking of his had to be the least amenable for her. The next, if it came to happen, would be different. He would prefer her over his lap and under his hand. Then, of course, if things went well between them, she would be introduced to other forms of punishment. He eyed the little star of her anus. That was one place he liked to discipline.
He drew back his arm, lifting it more than previous times, and swung it fast against her bottom. Not a sound escaped her mouth. It was as i
f she had shut down. Her ability to adapt, to learn to cope was commendable.
“Done,” he declared. He dropped the strap on the table and swiftly dealt with the bindings, releasing her quivering limbs. She was sobbing so softly, it wasn’t until he helped her up that he saw the tears streaking down her cheeks. He brushed them away with the tips of his thumbs. “Brave girl.”
With the punishment over, he wanted to move on. No more holding back. He combed his fingers through the loose strands of her hair, coiling them into a ponytail and tilted her head back. He pressed his mouth against her breathless one and kissed it hard. She moaned and closed her eyes, releasing more tears as she squeezed the lids down tightly.
She clawed at his shirt with her fingertips. With her back arched, she fitted her body against his and when her belly touched his waist, she felt the presence of his erection and recoiled, disengaging her lips from his.
“Yes,” he said. “You’ve made me so hard.” Painful, too. His cock ached for the freedom to move. The bulge had pushed against his pants, tenting them.
“Yes,” she agreed and without a pause, she added, “Yes, I want it.”
Her eagerness surprised him. He expected he would have to labor the request with kisses and caresses. Even with the consent, she had to understand what it meant to be fucked by a Vendu. “I have to be sure you can do this, Freya. Vendu men are demanding. Our cocks stay hard.”
“Good,” she smiled. She lowered her hand and touched the ridge he’d created. She rubbed her palm slowly along the outline of his rod. He sucked in a breath. The sensation was more than delightful.
He snatched her wrist and held it away. “It stays hard until I’m spent. Typically, I come two or three times before I’m fully spent.”
Those blazing eyes widened and her cheeks flushed bright pink. “Seriously? You get off several times before it…” She drooped the forefinger of her other hand.
