Kriss relaxed and laughed. “True.”
He sauntered toward the chair, believing the relaxed posture had a calming effect. Her eyes remained huge moons. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Fear was something a soldier instilled in his enemy. It wasn’t right to do it in a woman, surely.
“Shayla,” he said, lowering his voice and stripping the harsh edge off it. “It’s going to hurt, it’s got to. But, I’m willing to keep it brisk and allow you to move and talk.”
“Move?”
Jago answered. “We restrain with pulleys or ropes those who are to be disciplined. But, Kriss is correct. You’re not a soldier or a droid, so we’ll forgo those.”
She nodded—was that her giving permission? Consent wasn’t something that entered into Kriss’s mind, but clearly it did with her.
He sat on the chair. The seat stayed rigid beneath him, but he pressed down the arms until they were as low as the seat. She gaped in amazement at the mechanics of telepathic furniture.
“You don’t have responsive chairs on Earth?” Kriss asked, amused. “Really useful. Over you go.”
She hesitated and stared at his two robust thighs. Jago nudged the small of her back.
“I’m watching,” he said. Jago liked to keep things in line. A firm, but fair leader and well respected by his troops. Kriss would follow him anywhere.
She folded her body over his lap. She weighed nothing. Her bottom, beautiful and bare, lifted into a curved apex. With her hands and feet planted on the floor, she should be rooted in place, except her limbs were trembling and the wobble transmitted into him.
He pressed the palm of his left hand onto her waist and steadied her.
“Her legs need to be further apart,” he said to Jago.
Jago crouched and took both of her ankles. He spread her legs wide, opening the groove between her ass cheeks until he saw the puckered hole.
“Fuck,” Kriss muttered under his breath.
Jago smiled. “Another time, brother.” He kept hold of her legs.
Kriss’s hand easily covered both globes, the heel on one, the fingert
ips on the other. There was already a warmth to her flesh and the softness was delicious. He’d expected the rigid rotundness of a droid. He lifted his right hand, but not too high and dropped it, using just the weight of his arm.
“Ow,” she hollered.
The hand print was bright red and instantaneous. He examined it with the tip of a finger. The rise in heat was also immediate. He liked what he saw, especially the glow of her skin. He mapped out the next location with the span of his palm. Slightly lower, where the thighs met the ass. He raised his hand and lowered it again. The smack echoed around the room.
She jolted and attempted to kick her feet up, forcing Jago to keep a firm hold of her ankles.
“Oh, God,” she cried.
He noted the puckered bud flexed. Was that an opening he saw?
Her ass was hot and firmer. She’d tensed, which must make the spanking more painful. What a crazy reaction. Couldn’t she stop herself?
“She’s not a robot,” Jago whispered, reading his mind. The telepathy wasn’t real, they were just very good at following the same line of thoughts.
“Yeah,” he snorted. “But, she’s working my cock into a rod and it’s only been two.”
“She’s definitely having an effect on you,” Jago said.
Kriss unleashed the third smack higher this time, careful to avoid her lower spine. He wasn’t an idiot.
On the fourth, she wriggled from side to side and paddled the floor with her hands. He worked out that the angle was critical—if he swept his hand across rather than down, it left a decent redness, but didn’t appear to upset her quite as much. He picked up pace while delivering lighter smacks. Small blotches of purple deepened alongside pink—she was turning colorful, like a painting.
She squealed rather than cried. There was something exciting about the way she squirmed and twisted, clawed at the floor with her nails and tried to kick her legs. She wasn’t resisting, she was responding. A droid would lie there and scream, because they were programmed to scream. What Kriss and Jago were witnessing was spontaneous and real.