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He paused then ran his hand over her ass, soothing the sting there. Maybe she was slightly impressed. He had a fucking hard hand.
“You gonna tell me what you were thinking, or should I keep going?”
After two smacks? He had to be kidding.
“Huh? Did you say something? I just dozed off.”
He laughed, making her body shake against his. “Such a little brat.”
Yes, Sir!
“Your safeword is ‘red,’” he said, serious now. “If you don’t want to play, I suggest you say so now. Otherwise, you’re agreeing to be mine. For now.”
He waited. She pursed her lips.
“Since you have a safeword, I’m taking your stubborn silence as consent.” With that, he lifted her skirt and yanked her leggings down, taking her panties with them.
Holy shit. He doesn’t fuck around.
She dug her fingers into his legs and braced herself. Was she afraid of him? There weren’t many Doms that could inspire that in her. That sliver of fear, of uncertainty, was one of her favorite parts. She clenched her thighs together to relieve the ache there.
“Fuck, you have a gorgeous ass,” he mumbled.
Her face heated. Men loved it because it was round enough to grab onto, to hold while they fucked her, or to take a good beating.
Grunting, he adjusted himself underneath her body, muttering something about her killing him. She wasn’t sorry.
A moment later, he brought his hand down on one naked cheek. Hard. She gasped and shut her eyes as the pain peaked then faded. But then he did it again, just as hard. And again. He fell into a rhythm quickly—slow enough to make her feel each one, fast enough that she didn’t have time to recover before the next one landed. And he wasn’t holding back.
Her bratting must have hit a nerve for him to spank her so hard. Still, she was known in the scene for being a stubborn bottom. She had plenty of cushion back there.
Minutes went by, and he kept going faster and harder. At least it felt harder. Her ass was burning now. Worse than the last session she’d had with George, a top from the club. And he’d used an actual paddle.
Unable to stop herself, she started to squirm, trying to dodge the blows. He held her easily and kept up his unrelenting assault. Damn, he had a hard hand.
The pain was intense and she started to kick, then twist to free herself. Tears pricked her eyes. She was gasping for breath. But no way would she safeword for a fucking hand spanking.
Her suffering became obvious, to her shame, when she couldn’t keep the yelps and whimpers in anymore.
“Ambrose,” she finally pleaded, in a voice almost too small to hear.
He stopped.
“Did you have something to say about my hand?” He rubbed his hand over her sensitive skin.
Her thighs clenched as wetness pooled there. God, how could she be so horny after that?
When she didn’t answer, he flipped her to kneel between his legs. Her face was probably bright red, but she hoped he didn’t see the tears in her eyes. Thankfully, she managed not to let them fall. She was putting her reputation to shame. What kind of brat cried during a hand spanking?
“A brat masochist.” He tsked. “You are a handful, aren’t you?”
She didn’t answer, figuring the question was rhetorical. Also, she didn’t want to embarrass herself with a trembling voice.
“Did you think I couldn’t hurt you? Hmm?”
She nodded.
“And now what do you think?”
