I didn’t mean to defy my master. I meant to do exactly what he told me, but when he instructs me, halting sentience stops me. I’m trying to understand, but the harder I grasp the further awareness moves out of reach.
The others leave the room, and now we’re alone. I look to the floor, unable to look in my master’s eyes. He will punish me for not obeying.
And somehow, deep inside me, a very small part of me wants him to. Why do I want him to?
I shiver, confused by the fear and anticipation that wrack my body.
“Come here.” He sits on the edge of the bed and begins to loosen his tie. I walk toward him, eager to obey. To earn his praise. I want to tell him I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m not allowed to speak unless he gives me permission.
When I reach him he points to the floor by his feet.
“Kneel.”
I drop to my knees, eager to please him.
“Yes, master,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, master.” It feels good and right on my knees before him, like I’m supposed to be here, to show my sincere repentance. But he’s angry, so angry. The heat vibrates from him in waves that make me cower.
I flinch when his hand comes under my jaw and draws my eyes to his.
“Look at me.”
Why does he keep making me look at him? They rarely demand eye contact , but this one is bent on keeping my eyes on his.
“Sir?” I whisper. And this time, kneeling before him, when I look in his eyes, something shifts in me, like sun breaking through clouds. For one brief moment in time, I see everything, my thoughts on the very edge of remembrance. But then the clouds shift, and darkness covers awareness again.
“When I give you an instruction, you will obey,” he says. His voice is calm, but stern, and my body begins to respond with instinctive arousal. I’m not sure why, but I can’t control it.
“Yes, sir.” Will he punish me?
I need him to punish me.
I’m so confused, I feel as if I could laugh and cry, or sit and hide, all at once. Shouldn’t I be avoiding punishment? Why, then, do I need this from him? He removes his tie, his eyes never leaving mine, then lays it on the bed folded. Next, his suit coat. That joins the tie on the bed. He’s rolling up his sleeves, still watching me. I risk a glance at his corded forearms, thick with tattoos on either side. Are they familiar to me? I’m not sure. And I’m not sure why I expected they would be.
He loosens his collar before he crosses his arms on his chest.
“Stand.”
I stumble awkwardly to my feet. To my shock, he takes hold of my waist, his hands spanning my small frame, and bends me over his lap. I flail at first, taken aback at this weirdly awkward position. I’m falling, my head tipped down toward the floor, so unaccustomed to this.
His hand slams against my ass. “Stop that,” he orders. “Lie still.”
I immediately freeze when recognition dawns on me.
I’m over his lap so he can punish me here? But this is intimate and almost comforting, his warmth beneath me while he holds me down. Again, the clouds part and awareness threatens to surface, but as soon as I try to grasp hold of it, he spanks me again.
“You are mine now to do with as I will,” he says, holding me over his lap firmly. His voice tightens. “And you will fucking do what I tell you.”
I’m bared to him. Cool air sweeps across my skin. I submit to this. I welcome this. When he touches me, it isn’t the vicious pain I’ve undergone in captivity, but possessive and impassioned. Somehow intimate. Reminiscent of something we’ve shared somehow, awareness fading in and out like waves lapping on a shore.
Authority… protection… And hell, my body’s on fire. Punishment at his hands is deeply, undeniably erotic.
I need this.
With fluid grace, he captures my flailing wrists and with one swift movement, pins them to my lower back. I close my eyes, bracing for the punishment he will give me. Punishment hurts, and even though my body somehow longs for just this, my mind warns me to brace.
Holding me over his lap, my belly pressed against to his firm thighs, I can feel his strength beneath me for one split second before he whacks his hand against me again. And again. And again.
It hurts, but instantly arousal sweeps through me. Punishment and pain. Bliss and pleasure. My body’s been trained to crave this, and as pain builds, one stroke after another landing, pressure builds between my thighs. But I’m warring within myself to accept my punishment and grasp the edge of awareness. Something is just beyond my reach. Right there. Something that will make all of this clear to me.