by Linnea May
"My family lives at the East Coast," he continues. "I grew up in Manhattan, but fled there when I left for college. Their world is very different from mine. I don't like it one bit."
"I'm sorry," I say, reaching over to touch his hand, but he pulls away from me.
"Why would you be sorry?" he wants to know, furling his eyebrows.
"For assuming that you're only benefiting from your father's efforts," I explain. "That was presumptuous."
He looks at me, arching his eyebrows. "You're right. It was."
"I'm not getting punished for that, though, am I?" I ask, looking at him with a coy smile, attempting to lift the mood.
He smirks at me.
"No," he retorts. "It's not going to be that easy, little girl."
Chapter XIV
Lux
She's walking steady this time when we reach my place, taking long, graceful, and well thought-out steps. Even in casual clothes, she still carries herself with the elegance of the swan she was impersonating just a few hours ago.
When we reach my place, I close the door behind us and watch as she stands and turns around in my living room, taking in everything as if it's her first time here. Then she turns around, looking up at me with expectant eyes.
"What would you usually do after a performance?" I ask her, as I remove my suit jacket.
Her eyes glow with pleasant anticipation, but she's wrong if she thinks I'm going to be the one getting naked first. That's not how things work around here.
I hang my jacket on one of the hooks at the wardrobe to my left and approach her, while Sara lowers her eyes and smiles sheepishly.
"Honestly?" she replies. "My feet are killing me. I usually let them soak in ice water for a while, while having a glass of wine. Then I draw myself a hot bath and let my body relax..."
She pauses and looks up at me, as if she was asking for affirmation from my side.
"Ice water, huh," I remark. "That can be arranged. I don't want your feet to suffer. But I have one condition."
She purses her lips and tilts her head to the side. "And that is?"
"There's something you need to know about me," I begin, approaching her. I place my hands on her shoulders, delighting in her reaction as she shivers beneath my touch.
"I like to take control," I say. "Unconditionally. My word counts, you do what I say, and if you don't obey-"
"There'll be punishment," she completes my sentence. "I had a feeling it would be like this."
"Are you up for this?" I want to know. "Will you submit - for my pleasure and your own?"
She contemplates for a moment, biting her lower lip. My hands start wandering, first up to her delicate jaw, my thumbs tracing along the outline of it, and then my hands move further until I’m framing her face with my hands. I lean forward, my face so close to hers that I can feel her breath on my skin.
"I... think so," she says.
"That's not good enough," I reply. "I need you to confirm your desire to submit to my will. Otherwise, this won't work."
She furls her eyebrows.
"I've never done this before," she interjects. "How am I supposed to know if I like it? Or if I can do it?"
"Never done it before?" I ask, somewhat surprised.
"Not like this," she confirms.
"Okay, then tell me this," I say in a softer voice, leaning in closer until our lips meet. She's ready to kiss me, eagerly opening her lips for me to claim her, but that's not what this is about. Instead of going in for a full kiss, I plant little pecks on her trembling lips, slowly making my way along her left cheek, leaving little kisses that are merely a suggestion. Her breathing accelerates, rapidly turning into a faint panting.
"How does this feel?" I whisper close to her ear. "Do you want more?"
"Yes," she breathes.
"What would you say if I told you that only good girls get more?" I want to know. "Would you be a good girl for me?"
"Mmhmm," she replies, biting her lip. I'm barely touching her, just letting my proximity, the hint of my lips' touch and my voice do the work, but she's reacting to it just as I expected.
"Good girls obey," I remind her. "Obeying will get your rewards. Is this what you want?"
"Yes," she breathes out in a hoarse voice.
Her blue eyes are fixated on mine as she suggests a little nod. It's all I need, to know that she's ready, awaiting her first order. I plant a kiss on her lush lips and straighten up, taking a step back while I observe her.
"Undress," I say, voicing my first order.
"Here?" she asks, her eyes scanning her surroundings, as we stand in the middle of my living room.
"Yes, here," I confirm. "Now."
She gulps and takes a deep breath. She lets her bag fall to the floor, and starts unwrapping her ridiculously big scarf. She lowers her eyes when she lets the scarf drop next to her bag, which reminds me of another condition.
"Look at me," I tell her. "The entire time, you have to look at me."
She sighs, but nods, willing to go along with the order.
It shows that she’s a dancer and able to hold her balance even in the most awkward positions, and while keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. She gets rid of one item of clothing after another, never wavering, even when she steps out of her tight-fitting leggings. By the time she's only wearing her underwear, this becomes a challenge for me just as it is for her. My eyes want to wander and take in the sight of her perfect, petite body, but I refrain. It's not time yet. Patience is a virtue that many men don't possess in a situation like this. Having a beautiful girl like Sara undress in front of you, her consenting eyes focused the entire time on you, just waiting for you to take her, to claim her - it takes a lot of restraint not to succumb to the natural, arousing urge building up inside.
Of course, she hesitates. They all do at this point. Underwear is similar enough to a bikini to provide the minimum sense of comfort. Getting completely naked in front of another person is a very different thing.
I expect her to wait, to ask me if she's to continue. Most girls need a reaffirmation at this point.
Sara merely needs to take a deep breath, before she moves her hands behind her back to unfasten the clasp of her bra. I confer her an affirmative smile, which she reciprocates with one of her own. Even when her bra falls to the floor, my eyes never leave hers. We're locked in place, sharing an intimacy that has very little to do with the fact that she is basically naked at this point.
Her hands move down to her slim hips, where she pauses for another moment, before pulling her thong down, not wavering one bit when she lifts up the first leg, then the other, to get rid of her last piece of clothing.
"Good girl," I praise her.
The way her eyelashes flutter at my words is almost more enticing than having her standing naked in front of me.
I break eye contact to take in the vision before me, the dainty-looking body that I'm about to play with. Her skin is pale, and there's almost an anemic quality to her. I'm sure she bruises like a peach, but I also assume that she doesn't want me to leave any marks. It would show. She's dancing around in see-through tights and a pure white costume on a regular basis. A bruised swan would give cause for concern. It's a pity, because I like leaving my mark on my little play things, but I will respect her wish.
“Don't hurt me,” she had said in the car. “You can't hurt me.”
I won't take anything from her that she's not willing to give. But I will make her mine.
I give her my next command. "On your knees."
The hint of a frown travels across her face before she utters the only word I don't want to hear from her lips. "No."
"On your knees," I repeat.
And she responds with the same word. "No."
She's impossible to read. I did not expect any defiance. She seemed so eager, so ready to please.
"What have I told you before?" I ask her, trying to understand her motive for denial.
"Good girls obey," she whispers. "Bad girls
get punishment."
"Is that what you want?" I ask. "Punishment?"
A sassy smirk graces her pretty little face.
"What would that look like?" she asks.
Oh, so she's curious.
Well, two can play at this game.
She gasps in surprise when I dart toward her, wrapping my arms around her tiny body to lift her up. There's no resistance, no fighting on her part, as I carry her through the hallway, heading for the play bedroom.
There are so many things I could do to her right now, but I opt for one of the most simple and quickest options by throwing her on the bed. She's a true lightweight and has excellent control of her body, catching her own fall with exquisite grace.
She's in no mood to follow orders, so I don't wait for her to obey my words, but take up the reins by flipping her over on her belly.
"Ass up!" I command, surprised at the volume of my own voice.
To my surprise, she immediately obeys, hollowing her back, protruding her ass up in the air for me. I pin her down with one hand, while caressing the small curves of her perky ass with the other. She's trembling under my touch, fueled by anticipation. She knows what's coming.
The first smack is more like a gentle pat on her light skin, but she yelps nonetheless.
I use more force on the second one, leaving a faint print on her cheek and causing her to retreat.
"Oh, no!" I warn her. "Keep that ass up. Take it like a good girl."
She inhales audibly and returns to her hollowed position from before.
Another smack lands on her cute little behind, and when I add another one, the skin begins to turn red. I rest my hand on her curve, my palm almost covering her right cheek entirely. Sara moans and - to my surprise - leans into my touch.
"Are you enjoying this?" I ask.
Instead of giving me an answer, she buries her face in the sheets, evading my eyes.
Smack! Smack!
Each slap is accompanied with a cute little yelp escaping her lips, suffocated by the duvet cover as she continues hiding her face. I pause for a moment, caressing her reddened skin, while she's quivering with combined fear and lust.
Smack!
Sara groans into the sheets, clenching her little fists as she clutches to the fabric.
Smack!
This one must have hurt. She flinches, squirming beneath me as she deals with the pain. But she never loses position.
I give her a few seconds to process the sensation, before I add the final blows. A sequence of hard slaps lands on her perky ass, deepening the red color and sending tears to her eyes as she shrieks in response to each one of them.
"You can yell all you want," I hiss, leaning close to her ear. "You wanted this."
She moans into the sheets, shaking her head. "No."
Again, that word.
"Don't lie to me," I say. "I know you're lying. Do you know why?"
She squeals and moves her athletic body as my hand travels between her legs.
Chapter XV
Sara
No, not there! I want to fight him off and close my legs to prevent him from touching me, but my body betrays me. Aimless squirming is all I manage, and while my mind battles with his intrusion, I find myself hollowing my back, craving his touch.
My ass is on fire, still tortured by burning pain when his hand caresses across my skin before traveling further down. Despite my inhibitions, my legs move apart for him. I've never been spanked like this before, and I'm confused by the effect it had on me. Tough handling, choking, hair pulling - it all had its own allure, but this was new. The tingling between my legs is new. I've never been this aroused without having been touched right where it counts.
He parts my folds and doesn't hesitate intruding further, sliding along my entrance with one finger, a satisfied hum accompanying his actions.
"You little brat," he says in a soft voice, right next to my ear. "I think you misunderstood. This was a punishment - but you clearly enjoyed it, didn't you?"
I don't even know if he expects me to reply to that. What am I supposed to say? I don't know why my body is reacting this way. I don't know where this prickling and tingling is coming from, why I'm burning with lusty heat and involuntarily grinding against his touch, yearning for more, groaning with pleasure when he lets one finger slide inside of me, then another one.
I don't know how he could get me here this fast, by doing what he did.
I just know that I want this. I crave it. I crave him.
"I should be proud," he adds, still toying with my sensitive sex. "Such a good little girl, all wet and ready for me, taking her punishment like a champ and turning into a bitch in heat just for me."
I moan helplessly, unable to respond any other way.
"Turn around," he snaps, withdrawing his hand from my entrance so suddenly that I flinch in surprise.
This time, I don't hesitate to obey. I wanted to test him, to see what he would do if I didn't go along with one of his very first orders, and it got me here. The spanking hurt, but it left me in a needy frenzy, willing to do whatever he asks of me.
I grimace as I turn around and my ass is pressed against the sheets beneath me. I know he restrained himself. With the way he looked at me, it was obvious there are more things he wanted to do to me, worse things. Things that would leave a lasting impact.
He reciprocates the display of pain on my face with a naughty smile.
"Hands above your head," he orders next, and as I lift my arms, he starts loosening the tie around his neck.
I was hoping to finally get another glimpse of his undoubtedly well-sculptured chest - and the sexy tattoos adorning it - but the tie is the only piece of clothing he's taking off. He leans over me and uses the tie to bind my wrists together before attaching them to a rod at the head of the bed.
"Stay," he commands, as if I have a choice.
He bends over me, his eyes never leaving mine until our lips touch and we entwine in a greedy kiss. I can't help but moan, greedily arching my back as I yield to my yearning for him, silently asking for more than he's willing to give me at this point.
He ends our kiss, and my eyes follow him as he climbs off the bed and walks across the room, heading for the dresser next to the door. He opens one of the upper drawers and rummages for a moment, and then he takes something out. I can't see what it is until he comes back to the bed and holds it up in front of my eyes, reveling in my reaction when I inhale sharply.
He's holding a steel handle with a little pinwheel at the top. The wheel has evenly spaced radiating sharp pins that rotate as he rolls it across the back of his hand. My eyes widen with worry.
"This won't leave any-"
"Do you trust me?" he interrupts me, his eyes burrowing into mine.
I look up at him, nodding. "Yes, I trust you."
He smiles at me and climbs back on the bed, placing himself between my legs before I get a chance to close them, protecting myself from whatever he may have planned. I lie naked and exposed in front of him, my hands tied up above my head to the bed, keeping me in place.
My eyes widen when he moves the pinwheel closer to my leg, his eyes searching mine for confirmation, just before the steel comes in contact with my skin at my lower thigh. I inhale, preparing for the worst, when there's not even pain. He doesn't apply pressure when he rolls the pins along the inner side of my leg. It tickles and causes me to let out a girlish giggle at some point, but the closer he moves up to my center, the more sensitive I get.
He slaps against the inside of my upper thigh, beckoning me to move my legs further apart, and I comply immediately, exposing myself even more. I don't know if he increases the pressure of the wheel against my skin, or if it is merely the fact that he's approaching a more sensitive area of my body, but the pins’ sting gets worse with every inch it moves.
Just before he reaches my core, he stops and lifts the pinwheel, repeating the same procedure on my other leg. I'm trembling, waiting for the pain that doesn’t seem to be h
appening. The sting of the pins is bearable and feels like more of a tickle than an actual ache, but I know that's just because of the way he's handling the wheel so far. He's in control, he's moving the pins across my skin, and he decides how much of it I get to feel.
He surpasses my most sensitive area, playing with my head as he circles around my mound, almost approaching my labia, but retreating every time he gets too close, turning directions and traveling along the side of my torso instead.
A moan full of worry leaves my lips when he moves the pinwheel across my breasts, closing in on my sensitive nipple. I hold my breath, knowing what's coming. He pauses for a moment, observing my reaction before he moves the wheel further and lets the pins dance across my left nipple.
I can't suppress a little yelp when he does it. This hurts. My nipples have always been the most sensitive area of my body, tender to any touch. But just like before, my body doesn't react to the pain the way I expect it to. Instead of retreating, moving away from his prickling, I find myself leaning in, my chest heaving as if I was asking for more.
I gasp with worry when he moves over to the other breast, threatening to repeat the same thing on the other side. I hold my breath, trying to control my racing pulse, but it doesn't work one bit. When the wheel travels across my breast, biting into my soft skin, I groan in pain and squirm in agony. I try to accommodate myself by shifting into a different position, trying to evade the ache, but relishing in it at the same time.
This feeling is so bewildering. I'm hurting. There's nothing pleasant about the pain he's inflicting on me as he’s doing it, but as soon as he lets go, I find myself wishing for more. I don't know if the sigh that leaves my lips when he withdraws the pinwheel from my nipple is a sign of relief or regret.
He puts the tool aside and leans forward, cupping my tiny breasts with his big hands.
"You did great," he praises me. "What a good girl you are. I knew you'd like this."
I bite my lower lip, speechless once again.
He kneads my breast, gentle at first, prolonging the faint throbbing that's been left by the stinging pain. I moan, floating in pleasure, as I realize what his treatment does to me. I'm shivering, dizzy with arousal, as my hip shifts on the bed, my legs spread so far apart that I couldn't possibly be any more exposed in front of him than I am right now. But I don't care. I want him inside me, and I want him to know that.
