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A chair appeared, and I hadn’t conjured it. You took a seat then patted your lap. “Over my knees, woman.” When I didn’t scramble, you bellowed, “Now!”
I heaved myself over your broad thighs, my tits pressing into your leg, my bare ass in the air.
“Arms behind your back. Wrists crossed.”
I did as you said, forcing my arms back, which pushed my nipples into the fabric of your clothes, creating a friction that made me squirm.
You looped something silky over my wrists, twisting the strips of fabric around then through, tightening my arms, skin to skin, and latching them together.
“Safeword?”
You should have known this already, but as you’d said, you didn’t remember.
“Stubborn.”
You snorted, amused as you always were when I told you my chosen word.
You didn’t give me any warning, not that I expected you to. One second you were tugging on my arm restraints, positioning me closer to your torso, the next your palm landed with a heavy slap against my ass cheek.
It more than stung. It burned like a thousand suns and the jolt radiated up my spine. I moaned through it but that didn’t mean anything to you, because you smacked my other cheek, no doubt leaving behind a perfectly formed handprint.
I clenched my ass muscles without meaning to and that just made it all the worse when you repeatedly and furiously slapped one cheek then the next, giving me no time to grow accustomed to the hits, no time to moan through the burns.
You were relentless, heavy-handed, and just when I thought I’d have to scream my safeword, you slipped your fingers along my slit, pulling my attention away from my ass. You circled my clit and rubbed my juice around my hole, pumping me with your thick fingers, stretching me out while my ass radiated heat like a furnace.
I squirmed. You growled but didn’t stop your pumping, adding some pressure as you glided your fingers in to rub along my G-spot rather ruthlessly.
I wanted to buck, to roll over. You opened your legs and rubbed your jeans against my aching nipples. The fact that I was naked and you weren’t was another way you were torturing me. I wanted to feel your skin under mine, but you wouldn’t indulge me. You were denying me what I desperately desired, because deep down in your subconscious you must have remembered every single time we’d been together. You must have known how badly I wanted you.
You pumped me slow then fast.
My body was on fire, melting at your touch.
“You’re a bad girl, Charlotte.” Your rough voice raked my ears. “Careless with your actions.”
Yes. Yes. Punish me.
“You earned this.” You squeezed my ass cheeks together, bringing the sting to the surface in a different way. I moaned and arched my back. “You owe the pack an apology.” You squeezed harder.
I ground my clit against your palm.
I could come right now. I was already at the brink, but I tamped it down because I knew you liked to draw things out. If I came too fast, you’d make me pay even more.
You switched hands, replacing your fingers with a thumb pressing against my clit, rubbing vigorously while you cranked me up. I turned my head enough to see your hand held high, a look of sadistic glee on your face. I closed my eyes and waited for the hit, which came higher than I was expecting. You walloped my tailbone, then proceeded to smack down, heavy hits that had to be raising welts. You ground my clit with your palm now, big circles that ignited my climax even more, making me want to give up and give in to the rising pleasure that shot up my body and down my limbs.
I writhed on your lap, rocking my hips, maybe in an attempt to get away from your slaps, maybe as a way to make you rub harder. You did neither, though. You pulled both hands away then forced me to stand.
“If you move an inch, you’ll suffer for it.”
You positioned me in front of you. The chair was gone. Then you forced me to bend at the waist, my tits swaying, my legs shoulder-width apart.
“Not an inch,” you repeated.
I caught a glimpse of a cat-o-nine tails sweeping the floor. I knew I hadn’t conjured that. Toys had never been part of my fantasies. I hadn’t even considered the possibilities before now.
I didn’t have control—not of this dream, not of my werebeast. Sparks flashed down my spine, tantalized by the risk of you guiding this dream.
I waited for the bite of leather as I braced myself for the first strike. You didn’t leave me hanging for long. With one hand clenching my wrist restraints, you simultaneously pulled me back while you whacked me forward, the strips of leather more than a whisper against my skin but less than a whipping. They hugged my hip and tickled my stomach.
