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“It’s not a good idea, Addison.”
Rationally speaking, I know this. After the emotional day we’ve just had, he’s right. It’s not the best time to jump into a spanking session. But I want it, need it. Shouldn’t I be the one to decide when I get spanked or don’t?
“Please, Sir. I’m okay. I want it.”
His eyes flare molten, but his body hesitates for just a second like he still isn’t convinced. But before I can question him, or myself, he throws me over his shoulder and makes his way down to the dungeon. Decision made.
He places me on a bench with padded rests for my arms and legs, bending me slightly at the middle, and presenting my ass to him. He makes light work of my pants and panties, a rustle of fabric the only sound in the room as my clothes drop to the floor.
“Just my hand, kitten?”
Shaking my head, my blood is rushing in my ears. I need it to hurt. “No, Sir.”
Clenching my ass cheeks together, and releasing them a few times, I sag into the leather padding of the bench. The swishing sound of him rubbing his hands together sends a sliver of lust between my thighs before he grabs my ass cheeks. Running his hands over my skin, he warms me up. Grabbing, kneading, rubbing, even dragging his short nails across me. By the time he’s done and the first slap lands, I’m a puddle of need, and my begging for more comes out a jumbled mess of mumbling.
The escalation from warm up to stinging, burning, aching smacks is fast, maybe too fast, and the number of check ins are fewer than last time he spanked me. It’s as though he knows I can take more, need more, would demand more if he didn’t give it to me.
He’s holding back, though. That much I know for sure.
“The paddle, Thor. Please? Can we try the paddle?”
Pretty sure the coolness between my legs is my trickling arousal. I never knew I was a squirter until Thor drove me senseless with need. It’s messy, it’s loud, but the more I squirt the more savage and unhinged Thor seems to get.
He fucking loves it. He fuckinglivesto drive me to destroy the furniture with arousal and cum.
It’s hot as shit.
He barely gives me warning before the first paddle smack lands. It’s cold wood against hot skin, a sharp thud, followed by pain radiating throughout my ass cheek. My body releases more tension as I let the feeling pass through my body.
Fuck.
I like it.
“Again.” The word escapes my lips on a pant, and my body trembles waiting for the next hit to land. When it does, my body seizes, that one was a little too hard. I try to twist to look at Thor, but I can’t angle my body that way. The burn rolling through my ass is hot, and deep, and felt like quite the step up from the previous one.
He’s usually good at stepping up between each impact. That was a doozy. Hissing a breath out between my teeth, I shake my head. Maybe it wasn’t that bad, maybe it’s just because it’s the paddle and not his—fuck. Another hit lands on my other ass cheek, and it’s not just me.
“B-b-black.” Body sagging against the cushions, I wait patiently for him to rescue me. To pick me up off the bench and carry me to safety. So when another smack lands, ripping a blood-curdling scream from my body, the world kicks into crisis.
Tears stream down my faces as I chant “Black, black, black, black,” body shaking, pain radiating through every muscle, not just the one he smacked.
I jump up off the bench, holding both hands up as I stumble away from him.
“What the fuck? Addison? Addison?” The alarm in his voice mirrors the same panic charging through my body.
Fight, flight, or freeze has kicked in, and despite being half naked, and barely able to stand on shaky legs, I need to flee. I don’t understand why my reaction is so extreme, but there’s no time to unpack it.
When he tries to approach me, to pick me up, screams rip from my body like a banshee. “Don’t touch me. D-don’t touch me.”
He’s never hurt me before. He stopped last time. All the rational self-talk I can think of isn’t helping me calm down from whatever the fuck has me so spooked.
“Addison, what happened? Talk to me. Why are you freaking out?”
The room spins as I sway on my feet, he surges forward to catch me, but I can’t let him touch me. Whatever trust we had between us when we walked through the door to the dungeon together, is broken. Maybe even gone. I felt so safe with him. He’s never hurt me before. He’d never hurt me on purpose.
Fuck. Fuck. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed him. He said it wasn’t a good idea, and I made him. Fuck.
Anguish creases his face as he searches mine for answers. “Talk to me, kitten. What happened?”
