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He anchored me to his lap with his free hand while maintaining a firm grasp across my body to my far hip. I felt deliciously trapped. Why couldn’t this just be a sex thing? I was too old to be disciplined like this.
“I say what’s necessary. You listen.” His hand came down and crashed into my ass so hard my teeth rattled. The second smack was lighter but stung more.
“Ow!”
“Quiet. You’ll wake the other guests.”
Smack.
That actually freaking hurt. I wrinkled my nose and tried to squirm around, frowning so hard my forehead hurt.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
He got into a rhythm, and the back end of my world went red and stinging.
And eventually sore.
Was he even counting? I thought men who were into spanking counted things out. He had to be at twenty or thirty by now, and my ass felt like someone had sat me on a stove element.
I sobbed once, burying my face against the couch cushion, not even caring that a lot of strangers had probably had sex on the damned thing.
“Ilya, please!” I whispered harshly, turning my head enough to get the words out. My whole body felt as if it was blushing, and my feet were kicking involuntarily with each slap of his hand. I struggled, but he held me on his lap, following my slow progress as I tried to wriggle off him.
Eventually, I got trapped, my legs spread over his thigh, my ass a fiery red haze. I wanted to get away, but he ignored my struggles. His thigh was hard and thick between my own, flexing with the minor effort he needed to make to contain me. I slowed my kicking, realizing my movements were rubbing my most tender bits against the rough denim of his jeans. I wasn’t enjoying this, and I was angry, but my body was betraying me. My breasts had tumbled out of my dress, and I felt vulnerable and helpless.
The man was still fully dressed, and the disparity was stupidly hot.
This was Ilya, not Bron, damn it! He was supposed to be the sweet one.
Abruptly, he stopped. His rough hand smoothed over the bonfire that was my ass, but I wasn’t sure if it was helping or adding more punishment.
Tears of pain and humiliation dampened the cushion under my face. I lay there, trying to catch my breath, far too aware of the tension in my lower belly that made me want to squirm against his stupid leg.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“I know you’re upset, but you need to remember disobedience doesn’t turn out well. You put yourself in danger. That is unacceptable.” One of his fingers drifted to the cleft of my ass and trailed along it as though by accident.
“Don’t you think I know that? I was the one who got attacked!”
I shivered as that finger trailed again, this time bumping over my asshole. Was he doing it by accident?
“Your poor round bottom is such a bright red, and so hot under my hand.” He patted me, the gentle contact still stinging. “I know you didn’t like that, but it needed to be done. It’s my job as your future husband to take care of you and make sure you are safe.”
Safe? Protected instead of always being the one in charge? The concept brought an overwhelming sense of relief, but none of this was real. I was going home in a few weeks, and I’d probably never see him or Bron again.
“I’m not really going to be your wife, Ilya.”
His hand stilled, and that finger of his circled my asshole, brushing lightly enough for it to tickle and make me press my pussy against his leg to get away from the sensation. My clit was enjoying the sensation of the rough denim, and the flames in my ass had left a lingering warmth that made me feel like I’d been a very bad girl.
He grunted and his non-answer set off some alarm bells, but his thigh shifted under me, and his finger prodded at me, not leaving me space to think about anything else.
“What are you doing?” I gasped.
He leaned over me and spat, and the warm wetness slid down the crack of my ass to his questing finger. He coated what felt like maybe his index finger, then coaxed it into my back hole in gentle, exploratory increments. I couldn’t help but rock with his motions, needing the pressure between my legs to make up for the burning of my ass cheeks.
When I realized I was basically humping his leg, I stopped, cheeks and ears flaming with mortification.
“Don’t stop,” he said hoarsely. “I know you must need relief after what we did to you at the club.” His finger stirred deeper, retreated. He gathered more spit and pressed inward again, stretching me.
“Why did you let other people touch me?” I asked, sullen.
“You looked so beautiful and helpless. I enjoyed watching the other women kiss you and taste your soft skin,” he admitted. “Watching the men touch you was different. That made me want to yank you away from them and reclaim what was mine.”
“I’m not yours!”
“That’s it—rock your hips for me. Fuck my finger deeper into your ass.”
I gasped, both at the sensation and at how bossy the man was getting. He was practically a virgin, for fuck’s sake!
He spat again and worked a second finger into me, twisting and spreading them, making my stomach cramp. I whimpered.
“What a good girl you are for me. Don’t stop rubbing your hot little pussy against my thigh. I love the feel of you soaking my jeans.”
I shivered and couldn’t help but obey him. My clit was too hard and uncomfortable, and I was so fucking close to getting off. His fingers in my ass were vibrating, and I caught my breath, grinding against his leg, desperate for relief. He gripped the back of my neck possessively with his free hand, and my eyes fluttered closed. My sore ass throbbed, and his fingers wiggled inside me, and his thigh was flexing against my clit, and his words were low and rapt and coaxing, like I was the best show he’d ever watched.
