Page 9 of Captive Ruin

His strokes are getting shorter, faster. His grip is so tight on my braid, it’s almost painful on my scalp. He’s holding me steady, not going so deep, not letting me move, and I think that means he’s close. I lick him as best I can, desperate for this to be over, the taste of his precum stronger.

Then his thighs tense beneath my palms, his breathing ragged. His body goes still, his cock just inside my lips, and with an explosive grunt, the first spurt of his cum shoots forcefully over my tongue. I shudder as I feel it, my eyes closing in revulsion, but that only makes it easier to taste him, so salty and thick. I catch the next jet and the next, then I have to swallow, there’s so much of it. It slides down my throat, inside my body, and he groans low, a sound of pure satisfaction.

“Lick me clean,” he breathes.

I haven’t spilled any, my lips tight around him. But at his words, my tongue plays over the head of him like it’s instinctive, licking every last drop. He jerks like he’s sensitive, pushes forward into my throat one last time, then slips out. He tucks himself away, pulls up his boxers and pants, but doesn’t bother to refasten his belt.

I look up at him, still swallowing, wishing I had a drink.

Am I expecting another ‘good girl’ now? Just let him dare.

But it doesn’t come. He simply takes a hold of my braid and pulls me to my feet, dragging me forward. “Over the table.”

“Wait!” I protest feebly, even as the edge of the wood bites into my thighs, and he pushes me forward. “I did what you wanted. No more. Please.”

I hate that I sound like I’m begging, but I don’t want to be spanked. Sucking him is one thing. Making him come is strangely empowering, even forced. But being punished like this? It’s degrading and humiliating. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman, not a child.

“I gave you the choice, and you opted for both,” he reminds me.

“I never fucking opted for any of it.”

He chuckles, unbothered. “But you’re not hating it, are you?”

Is that what he thinks? I really am, just not as much as I hate him.

One hand is still using my braid like a handle, forcing me down against the wood that’s cold against my breasts. His other pulls the back of my dress up to my waist.

Van Wyk leans over me, his mouth so close I can feel his breath on my ear. “Here’s another choice: you can apologize and beg for me to spank you, and then I’ll fuck your pussy. Or you can be recalcitrant, in which case I’ll take your ass.”

Three

Amelia

“I’ve done what you wanted me to!” I say desperately. “I’m sorry! I’ve said I’m sorry!”

“An apology, but I don’t hear you begging for a spanking,” Van Wyk replies.

That wasn’t me declaring my choice, it was just instinct, an attempt to stop him doing what he’s threatened.

Like there was ever a chance of that.

He rips my panties off, the lacy material giving way with a jerk. My last barrier to him, gone. Anticipation has my pulse racing, but my eyes screw shut in denial. A finger slides inside me, and I can’t bite back the cry that escapes.

“So fucking wet,” he murmurs. “I knew you were. What’s your decision?”

Why the hell am I wet?

I’ve told him I don’t want this.

And he knew I was?

I can’t think. Not pinned across this table, with him penetrating me. Either I demean myself further by begging and he fucks my pussy, or he’ll fuck my ass. The options his, the conundrum mine. If I don’t decide, he’ll take my ass anyway.

It’s not much of a choice.

“My pussy!” I cry. No, that’s not what he wants to hear. “Please… spank me…” My voice fractures on the words, and I press my face against my arm and sob in shame.

“Pardon? Didn’t catch that.”