Page 52 of In His Cuffs

“Stand up,” he told her, the words clipped and commanding.

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

She released her glass and followed his command.

“Bend over the stool.”

Her eyes widened.

He moved towards her and fisted her hair. “Now.” He waited a moment for her to safe word before forcing her down.

Her muskiness flooded his senses. The woman might fight him, but she was turned on.

This wasn’t meant as a punishment, more it was a reinforcement of their roles and a physical way to jar her out of her discomfort. “Count them,” he instructed as she grasped the stool’s legs for balance. He gave her the first spank with his open hand on her right buttock. “I said count,” he snapped when she remained silent. This was a battle of wills, and he wouldn’t lose.

“One, Mr Tomlinson.”

He gave her four more slaps in quick succession, forcing gasps out of her. Earlier he’d let her be in charge of the pace if not the number. This time, he took even that from her.

“Three, four, five, Mr Tomlinson.”

He moved to the other butt cheek.

She gasped and cried out, carrying on instead of counting. He wanted her tears, wanted to break through her resolve.

When her chest was heaving and her body blazed with his marks, he helped her to stand. He kept a firm grip on her shoulders as he said, “Thank me.”

“Thank you, Mr Tomlinson,” she whispered.

He liked her compliance. “You were right that you need spankings. Regular ones. Now that I know that, I’ll be sure you always have one. I’ll keep a belt or hairbrush handy. Back on your stool.” He helped her, and she trembled, keeping her gaze down.

Giving her a quick thrashing shouldn’t turn him on as much as it did. He told himself he should be able to deliver it dispassionately. Good Doms were capable of separating their corrective actions from their arousal.

There were moments with her, though, when that didn’t seem possible. Forcing her out of her self-conscious prison meant he had to rein in his libido. He released her and put the distance of the kitchen between them. He took the steaks out of the refrigerator and brushed on his homemade sauce before setting them aside to marinate. He poured his wine and swirled it in the glass before levelling his gaze on her. “Masturbate.”

“I… What?”

“Get yourself off. Don’t tell me you can’t. I know you’re aroused from my spanking as well as my dominance. Do it.”

To her credit, she didn’t look around. She kept her gaze on him, even if she did hesitate.

“My request is not negotiable,” he said.

She worried her upper lip.

Hard to believe this was the same woman who challenged him at every turn in the office. “Would you like me to put your labia clamps back on as punishment?”

“No thank you, Sir. I’m good.”

“Then get on with it.” He leant back against the counter while she parted her pussy lips. “I want to hear you. Be verbal.”

Once she got past this, being spanked and playing with herself in the kitchen, she’d feel no more embarrassment.

She moistened a finger and slid it across her clit. Still watching him, she repeated the move several times.

“That’s hot,” he said.

After a few more strokes, she closed her eyes. As he’d wanted, she expressed herself in whimpers and moans.

“Do you like that, Maggie?”

“Oh, definitely, Mr Tomlinson. My clit is pounding and it feels…” She tipped her head back. “Damn. So, so good. I’m pretending it’s you touching me.”

His cock hardened. Who was being punished here?

He shoved away the wine and went to find his wallet. Where in the hell had he left it? He found it on a table near the front door. Trying for the control he was nowhere close to harnessing, he dug out a condom. Cash spilled out and he didn’t care. His mind was filled with one thing—Maggie. “Such a good sub,” he told her when he returned to the kitchen to find her still toying with her cunt. “I have to have you now.” He shucked his sandals and pants then donned the sheath.

“Mr Tomlinson…”

None of this had been his intention. He’d planned a nice dinner, conversation in the living room then a long, deep fuck in bed. But the sight of her in a collar—permanent or not—as she pleasured herself was too much for any mere mortal man.

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