The Assassin and the Soldier

by Carly Morgan

  Callan took the waistline of her panties in his fist, tempted to tug them straight down to her creamy thighs. But, no, not yet, he’d let her keep at least a bit of her modesty for now. Instead, he drew them up tightly, the extra material riding into her crack and her two, pale orbs spilling out like grapefruits cut forth from a sack.

  “Hey!” she protested, but was quickly cut off by a deafening crack that filled the room as his hand collided with those twin mounds of flesh. She gasped, but it was more in surprise than real pain. Well, Callan would soon change that. “Did you actually just slap my ass?”

  “I did,” Callan confirmed, and smacked her again. She drew in a tight breath, and Callan was sure he heard the ever so softest of whimpers. She wiggled, but Callan held her firmly, feeling every muscle in her body fill with an uneasy tension. “You’re not getting away,” he reminded her softly. “Not until I’m done with you.”

  “And when will that be?” She still managed to sound sassy, despite her current circumstances. Callan chuckled to himself softly. That would soon change too.

  He looked down at her bottom, already blooming with the red imprints of his fingers on one side of her delicate, slightly parted butt crack, while the blotchy imprint of his palm was on the other side. Callan sort of liked the look of it—his mark on her. Wait, had she spoken? Callan was having trouble concentrating on anything but her curved, quivering bottom cheeks, so vulnerable and defenseless upon his lap. Well, whatever she had said, she wasn’t about to get the form of response she wanted.

  Callan lifted his hand again, this time letting it come crashing down on Kaelia’s upturned posterior over and over in rapid succession. He was vaguely aware as she called out in alarm, her whole body contorting into some kind of swimming motion as she tried to wriggle away from the pain that was undoubtedly blooming all over her ass. Callan watched in a sort of mesmerized fixation as the pink handprints he left on her blended together until her whole backside glowed with a deep blush, as his palm continued flattening her meaty bottom each time he struck her, the flesh instantly rebounding back again.

  “Stop, stop!” she cried at last, and her hands flew back to cover her hot bottom, the backs of them crisscrossed over one another across the center, forcing him to pause her spanking. “When will it stop?”

  Suddenly he recalled what she had asked him earlier regarding the duration of her spanking, feeling immensely satisfied. Instead of the bratty tone she had taken before, this time, her words echoed with pleading forlorn desperation. Callan had a very strong hunch she’d never felt so overpowered and humiliated before in her life. He wondered if she’d had enough, after all, a wavering heat rose off her bottom and it was obviously tender to the touch. But no. This was the part when her lesson would really begin.

  Gathering her wrists in one of his hands, so incomprehensibly large in comparison to her own delicate fingers and slender palms, he tucked them both away between his belly and her side, holding them there. Then he repositioned her, as she had flopped around quite a bit during her struggle to escape her spanking. Clutching her around her tiny waist, he propped her up on one leg while he clamped the other one down over her thighs, feeling her whole body tense in response. Then he lifted her bottom up higher, so that the rest of her hung at an even more severe angle, and bent low over her back to speak.

  “It will stop when you learn how to be a good girl,” he said, his voice low and nearly taunting. His fingers grazed over her bottom, so very flushed and warm with heat, and then found them hovering over the hem of her panties again. Oh, modesty be damned, after the way she had acted, she very much deserved this spanking on the bare. With one swift tug, he whisked those panties down over her plump cheeks, leaving them to bunch into the crevice around her thighs.

  Her whole body bristled as Callan took in the wonderful sight of her wholly naked ass, admiring the color he’d put on there with new appreciation. Her bare cheeks clenched and relaxed, driving him crazy with a desire he’d never truly known before. Suddenly, he couldn’t control the vision of his penis, hard and fully erect, plunging deep in-between those two, quivering cheeks. Callan could just barely see the soft lips of her vulva, slick and glittering with moisture. His breathing quickened and he was pretty sure he felt hers do the same.

  “No,” she started to say, her voice barely a squeak, but Callan cut her off as he smashed his hand down over her pink, swollen cheeks, distracting himself from where his mind was attempting to go. He spanked her as if he were hammering a post into the ground, alternating his smacks to cover her whole, jiggly backside, and then concentrating on one spot for several moments to really drive the lesson in, listening as her cries intensified during those intervals. The pink shade very quickly gave away to a muddled maroon, and Kaelia wailed long, guttural, piteous sounds of remorse.

  “Oh, please!” she began to beg, her words vibrating from the motion of her being body jolted up and down as she was spanked. “Oh, please, it hurts! I’ll train with you now, I’ll train!”

  Callan was satisfied by the sounds of her distressed promises, almost as much as he was by the way his palm sank deeply into the meat of her bottom, and then watching the shape of his handprint left there fill in again, slightly redder than before. Again and again his palm smacked down against those gloriously bright red, bouncing, swollen cheeks while she sniffled and shrieked. Her body began to go slack in its struggle, until at last she seemed to collapse over his lap, which made her torso bump back and forth from the impacts of each spank with an even smoother, more gratifying rhythm. Callan could hear tearful moaning and feel light sobs ricochet through her whole body as she hung limply now, the fight completely gone from her.

  “Are you ready to be a good girl now?” he asked her, nearly tantalizingly as he began slowing the rate in which he delivered the heavy smacks to her now very punished bottom.

  She whined and kicked one foot against the ground, the action ambiguously defiant, though her words were contrite. “Yes,” she whimpered, clearly beside herself, and Callan decided to let the gesture pass. “I will.”

  “Good,” he conceded, giving her one final swift, earsplitting spank. She yelped out mournfully, her bottom a uniform deep crimson now, from the very center of her ass down to where her buttocks almost met her thighs. Callan had been careful not to spank her too high, where he might come in contact with vital organs, or too low, where the marks of her discipline might easily be visible in the skimpy attire she seemed to like to don.

  He rolled her gently into a heap on the bed, where she curled into herself on her side, still sniffling, bringing her knees to her chest, her bright red bottom glowing like Mars on a clear night. Suddenly, he found himself reaching for her, very lightly tracing his fingers along the small of her back in what he thought might be a comforting way. She let him do it for several long moments, and for an instant he got the urge to gather her whole body up in his arms and hold her against him. But just as he shifted towards her, she propped herself up, reaching back to draw her panties back over her ass even as she scowled at him with effective, unwavering suspicion.

  Chapter 7

  Kaelia

  “How did you do that?” Kaelia demanded, her words as hot as her bottom, feeling now very sore and prickly against the material of her panties, as if she were sitting right down on top of the points of a million tiny needles.

  But instead of answering her directly, Callan shrugged dismissively. “You were acting like a naughty little girl, so I treated you like one, and I’ll do it again if you give me a reason.”

  Kaelia blustered, annoyed at the demeaning way he spoke about her. But she couldn’t let that bother her now. She had bigger things to worry about. “No, I mean, how did you…You held me down, you… you…”

  “Overpowered you?” Callan arched an eyebrow at her, coolly. “Well, let’s see, I’m a guy, and you’re a girl. We tend to have the advantage physically. Now put some clothes on. It’s time to start training.”

  He stood, turn
ing his back to her. Kaelia felt her heartbeat quicken with questions. “But I put you on the floor yesterday,” she began to stammer.

  Callan whirled around, his expression superior. Kaelia noticed a light bruise on his upper cheek. A bruise she had put there. How was it that she managed to put the beat down on him one day, only to be turned over his knee and spanked like a child the next? No, there was something that wasn’t right about this. Something completely amiss.

  “Did you?” Callan said, smiling complacently, folding his arms across his chest. “I bet you’re used to putting men twice your size on the ground, aren’t you?”

  Kaelia furrowed her brow, confused with where he was going with this. “I trained as a killer,” she struggled to explain herself, even though she didn’t owe him an explanation. Didn’t owe anyone one. “I’ve trained in the martial arts and fighting since I was…”

  “Since you were eleven,” Callan finished for her, his eyes narrowing. “Right. You told me as much yesterday. Now go get dressed. If I have to tell you a third time, I’ll spank you again.”

  Kaelia’s mouth nearly dropped open, her eyes staring at him in puzzlement as it dawned on her she didn’t really have much of a choice but to listen. Not without being subjected to this barbaric treatment of getting spanked again. She felt strange all over as emotions crept upon her she’d never felt before. Humiliation, that’s what it was, not only to be treated like a misbehaving child, but because she realized Callan had played her along, leading her to believe she could best him when he had always had the upper hand. It’s was a huge blow to her ego to come to terms with.

  Kaelia turned on her heels and stormed into the bathroom, overwhelmed and badly in need of some privacy. She glared at her reflection in the mirror, her nearly black eyes darker than ever, leaning over the sink and bracing her hands against the edge of the counter as she fumed. She was very aware of every inch of her bottom, still red and throbbing with pain, and recalled the way Callan’s hand had seared into her flesh like a burning hot branding iron.

  But it couldn’t be. Her pain tolerance was higher than a regular person’s. Though Kaelia was usually the one doling out the hits, she had taken plenty of them before, had taken volts of electric shocks, too. She always shook them off as barely an inconvenience, yet now here she was with her ass sore to the very touch, feeling like she wouldn’t be able to sit down comfortably for some time. She remembered the guard at Krakian who had dared to use his electric rod on her for virtually no reason on one of her first days in the work prison. The next day, he wound up dead. No one could prove Kaelia had been responsible for it, but no one had ever shocked her again either.

  Callan had caught her unaware, that was it. Barging in here at the crack of dawn, dragging her out of bed half-asleep. She didn’t have to listen to him. Now that she was awake, his strength didn’t matter. Because that’s all he was. Strong. Strong enough to hold her down and spank her if she let herself be caught. Now she knew. Now she wouldn’t let that happen again, and she was going to prove it right now.

  She flung open the bathroom door, charging into a somersault as she vaulted through the air, enjoying the look of startled consternation on his face as her foot came hurtling towards it. Ha! She would take him down now, again. She would get her revenge for the spanking, for the way he had spoken to her so patronizingly. You’ve been a bad girl. She’d show him a bad girl.

  But then, out of nowhere, he dodged her, moving as quickly as some animal—something that wasn’t fully human. He did a somersault of his own, vaulting over her, so that just as she landed, he kicked her legs out from under her. Kaelia landed flat on her back, panting, not fully sure what had happened until Callan loomed over her, still on his feet. She gasped at the bored look in his eyes, at the little smile on his face, almost pitying.

  “Be careful who you do that in front of,” he advised her coolly. “You’re going to be on TV, ya’ know.”

  She extracted a ragged breath, the wheels in her head turning a mile a minute. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she hissed, still on the floor.

  He raised an eyebrow at her, as if she didn’t need his explanation. “I thought I told you to get dressed,” is all he would say, turning away from her.

  She scrambled to her feet and leapt at him, aiming her elbows for the spot on the back of his neck she knew would knock him out cold. But he reached out and grabbed her without turning around, flipping her over his back and holding her neatly on top of his shoulder.

  “Are you going to cut it out anytime soon?” he asked impassively, as if she were an irritating child flicking spitballs at him. “I will spank you again, ya’ know.”

  “Let me go!” Kaelia struggled against his boulder of a shoulder, twisting and writhing as he held her firm.

  “Why? So you can try and attack me again?”

  “Who are you?” Kaelia flared at him now. “How are you doing this?”

  “Who am I?” Callan chuckled. “I believe I asked you the same thing yesterday.”

  “Put me down!” She bucked and pounded the front of his chest, and he rolled her off him onto the bed. She faced him for a moment, laying propped on her elbows and hips, and then catapulted square into his chest, going for his face. He pushed her back like swatting away a gnat. Over and over and over.

  “Enough!” he finally snapped, knocking her a fourth time onto the bed, this time holding her down by the arm as he bent low over her. “Just stop! You can’t beat me, all right? You just can’t!”

  Kaelia felt inexplicable warmth flushing over her entire body, the same way she had when he had first pinned her over his knee and she realized she wasn’t getting away. She had never been overpowered before, and she realized there was something tantalizing about it. To finally have someone take charge of her, really take charge of her, gave her a carnal sort of pleasure she couldn’t control. She felt her breath come in fast, heady strokes as she lifted her eyes to his pools of turquoise lagoons.

  Their faces were exhilaratingly close, his lips hovering just inches from hers. She could smell him, a warm mix like sunshine and sand, as if he embodied his very own sultry paradise. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she wondered if this is what it felt like to desperately want to kiss someone. Except she didn’t want to kiss him. She hated him. Really, she just wanted to taste him. Just one small little taste. She bet his lips would be salty like the beach, and his skin warm and moist like air after a midday rainstorm.

  “What are you doing?” she managed to ask, her voice thick and throaty.

  He seemed to contemplate this for a moment; how close he was to her, the way he pinned her down against the bed, his body nearly on top of hers. It was almost as if he were having some internal struggle of his own. Kaelia felt unnerved, wondering what he was going to do next, and if she was going to like it.

  He released a long breath, his eyes on her as intent as a predator watching its prey. Kaelia liked the way he looked at her; like he was ready to devour her whole and pick his teeth with her bones. No one had ever looked at her like that before. No one with sense, anyway.

  “I don’t know,” he finally answered, his words laced with a touch of defeat.

  Kaelia felt something deflate inside her, and she realized his answer disappointed her. She twisted her arm from inside his grip, attempting to wriggle out from underneath him. “Then maybe you should let me go dress while you figure it out.”

  They trained for three mornings in a row, on a rocky strip of beach away from the others, and he matched everything she did with ease. No matter how fast she ran, how many sit-ups she busted out, or how deep or far she swam, he did it, too. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was Kaelia knew now he was holding back. That if they were competing against each other, he would probably outmatch what she did, and he would win.

  He knows, Kaelia kept thinking, again and again, each day as they trained. She could tell by the way he watched her, his eyes discerning instead of flabbergasted by her abilities,
as if he’d seen it all before. He knows, and he knows I know he knows, Kaelia told herself, as she did pull-ups under the long, slender trunk of a palm tree. The tree swooped low along the ground and then shot up, so Kaelia hung at an angle, her pull-ups crooked. Callan was doing the same on a matching tree opposite hers. “C’mon, No. 72,” he barked at her every once in a while. “You can give them to me faster than that!”

  She winced and sweated, the rough bark of the tree digging into her palm, the trunk thick enough it scraped her forearms as she clung to even stay on. She was on the verge of collapsing, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing it. All the other contestants had it easy; they did pull-ups on a metal bar on the outdoor training course set up within the resort. If Callan didn’t know what she really was, he wouldn’t be making her do this, she knew he wouldn’t. He was trying to get her to crack.

  Kaelia wondered what he was made of; what his genes were spliced with, because it was obvious now he had to be like her. She thought they were all gone, the girls she was raised with like sisters until she was eight when the DNA and Genetics Lab was shut down, yet here he was, right in front of her. There was no other explanation. Yet he wouldn’t outright admit it, only obscurely with offhand remarks. Why wouldn’t he admit it? Was it dangerous to admit it? Kaelia swung herself over her tree trunk and scrambled on top of it, balancing on all fours.

  “I’m sick of pull-ups,” she called to him, crouching on her hands and feet as she began ascending the slope of the tree. “Let’s do something else. A climbing contest. First one to get a coconut wins.”

  To her surprise, he pulled himself up and over his own tree trunk, though much more cumbersomely than her, grunting and straining and wobbling. “Spider monkey,” he called to her, just as he got himself up, and she detected just a hint of a question mark after his words, as if they were playing a guessing game.