AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Then she was standing before me, her eyes bright, wide, and frightened. I drew the moment out longer though, savoring her embarrassment, her vulnerability, twisting that knife just a little bit more. Simply because I could.
She needed to see that I was enjoying this. That forcing her to go through this, simply for my pleasure, was innately unfair. And it was precisely that unfairness that a tiny, mysterious part of her heart would respond to viscerally, sensually, sexually. She certainly wouldn’t understand it now. But in time, and with training to come, being forced to confront who and what she really was, there was a chance that she would finally see. That what I was offering her wasn’t bondage, or degradation, or beingless than.
What I offered her was freedom, and being the person, the woman she’d always longed to be.
“Over my lap now, girl.” I made no effort whatsoever to assist her, instead savoring it, watching her struggle to obey me in a way that wasn’t humiliating, that didn’t make her big breasts sway obscenely.
She failed in that endeavor, of course, and I loved every single second of it. Finally, she laid over my lap, her hip against my belly. The weight of her pressed down upon my erection, and I made no move whatsoever to hide it from her or do anything that would keep it from jutting against her. She needed to know, in the most visceral way possible, that what I was doing to her was exciting to me. There was a very interesting aspect of the female submissive sexual personality that had always fascinated me. And that was that women who were of this special, precious breed often got turned on—and massively so—by knowing that their travails, their ordeal, and even their pain gave physical pleasure to the man who controlled them. It took me a long while to accept that this was the case, and even longer to make sense of it. But I was at peace with that now, and if anything I relished forcing a woman to confront this truth about herself, for many females were either ignorant of this aspect of their personality, or pushed it down deep, denying its truth.
And it was part of my job as a strict, even cruel man to make them see in no uncertain terms what it was that they truly were. For getting a woman to accept this part of her psyche was to forge the deepest, strongest bonds possible between a man and a woman.
I made her wait still longer, stroking and caressing her bottom, reveling in the feel of her soft pliant flesh against my hands, and knowing that at the same time for every moment that this went on, the tension, the anxiousness within her grew and grew. Yes, it was a little sadistic of me to enjoy that part, but I did nonetheless.
“Are you ready, Lola?” I gave her left buttock a long, firm squeeze. “This is your last chance to change your mind.”
She took a deep breath, the sound shaky as she exhaled. “I’m ready, sir.”
CHAPTER8
Lola
I was so keyed up and frightened, the tension making my body tremble, that I wasn’t sure when the spanking actually began.
It just seemed that in the blink of an eye it went from his huge hard hand rubbing, squeezing, stroking my bottom such that I was about ready to moan, to suddenly that same hand coming down with merciless, implacable force. The first few cracks were hard, the noise almost worse than the heat of each smack. But quickly within a few more blows the heat had transformed into a burning and I began to wriggle with each ever harder spank. I buried my face against my folded arms lying across the couch, willing myself to be still, to be quiet, to do exactly as he said.
I didn’t know really why I was so focused on obeying his orders to the letter, but I certainly was. Perhaps it was me just thinking that if I did exactly as he told me, that it would make him happy, and that he would go easier on me as a result of that. But there was something else to it, and it was something I didn’t understand at all. It was this odd, almost alien urge to want to please him.
Where the hell is that coming from, Lola?
But at that moment I didn’t have the luxury of pondering that question. His hand began a merciless, ruthless march up one side of my bottom, and then down the other side, painting the entirety of it with marks of fire. In no time, I was yelping, then groaning.
His big hand caught me with a blow so hard it froze my body for a moment, and then I cried out, the pain clawing deep into my bottom in a way that I almost tried to get away from. But there was no hope of doing so. I’d never been spanked before, so I had no real idea what to expect. I knew it would hurt, yes, but it was the psychological part—being completely out of control, the display of my nudity, the unique vulnerability—that I couldn’t even put into words.
That feeling of being totally subject to him, to this strong cruel man. It was terrible, of course, but that didn’t explain why my pussy was practically flooding.
Yes, my reading choices were… rather risqué. Most of the books that I devoured were raunchy, and many of them were downright twisted. But I never made the connection that what I read in those books, even though they aroused me, was something that I could actually have in real life. Did Iwantthat in real life?
You picked a very interesting time to ask that question of yourself, Lola.
The heat in my ass was getting so intense that I couldn’t help but struggle against it and still he said nothing. The fact that he soundly punished me, hurting me without saying a single word shouldn’t have turned me on. Yet, it was apparent my pussy was not getting with the program, and it was practically dripping by the time his hand moved down further and began turning the backs of my thighs into pools of lava.
I actually screamed at the first harsh spank across the middle of my left thigh, and I kicked my leg. He surprised me by stopping, a deep growl sounding from somewhere above me.
“You keep those legs still while you’re being spanked. Take your punishment like a good girl. I know it hurts. But that’s entirely the point. Now, be still.”
Incredibly, the words ‘I’m sorry’ were on my lips, as absurd as the notion was of me apologizing for struggling while having my ass set on fire. But the apology was there, nonetheless. I hadn’t a clue what it was he had done to me; it was some sort of mind control, or psychological alchemy. But I also couldn’t argue with what his words had stirred within me.
He was right.
But that didn’t mean that I was just going to go along with this. At least not after the hour was up. By the time he was done spanking my thighs I was crying out with almost every blow, my face burning almost as hot as my ass. He’d long since clapped an arm down over the small of my back, pinning me hopelessly in place. The feeling of being held down, utterly helpless, if anything amplified my nascent, twisted arousal at what he was doing to me.
What kind of whore gets turned on by getting her ass beat?
Apparently, I was just that kind of whore.
Then, quicker than I ever would have believed, the pain was simply too much to process and the tears began to fall. It was such an alien sensation to me, that almost involuntary eliciting of tears, and then crying. But the pain was just too much to bear.
And somewhere in there the spanking stopped. For long moments, perhaps minutes, I laid there over his thighs surrendering to it, letting go of all pretense, dignity, and defiance. It was at once a shattering and a freeing experience, too. I had no idea how to even conceptualize what he’d just done.
