11. Spanking
Chapter eleven
Spanking
(Nico)
T his woman is a complete whackjob , I think for the umpteenth time as I continue my struggle with the fitted sheet.
Three days into helping , and I’m already over it.
I need to get out of here already.
Not exactly an easy mission with this fucking bomb collar around my neck. How does she even have such a thing?
The worst part is that I’m starting to like my collar. I’ve only had it for a few days but I’m so hyperaware of it at all times. It makes my pulse race and my dick press uncomfortably against its cage.
The metal around my neck feels like someone has their hands wrapped firmly around my skin, just holding me, ready to choke me.
I don’t think Kiah would press that button, but I also didn’t think she was anything other than a helpless woman. So, who knows what she’s really capable of?
Miss Kiah seems to like hiding things from me. She clearly can’t be trusted.
Then why the fuck am I so turned on by her? Sure, she’s beautiful if you’re into older women with a nice rack (which, I’ve just found out, I am). But it’s been a long time since I let a woman distract me…
This whole situation is just weird.
And the insane heat isn’t helping me clear my thoughts.
Wearing clothes has become unbearable, so I’ve just given up altogether. It’s not like this woman hasn’t seen (and touched) every part of my body already—repeatedly, often when I wasn’t even awake. Not that I mind that part. I wish she’d spent more time feeling me up.
Kiah’s so damn hard to read, though; it drives me mad. The innkeeper didn’t even fight me on the no clothes thing; she just shrugged when I defiantly declared I wouldn’t put anything on. It made me furious, but I refused to let her see it.
Urgh, the lack of clothes is worsening my constant state of unfulfilled arousal.
If only she’d let me out of this fucking cage. It’s changing me. I don’t know how, but it’s making my mind think about things I wouldn’t usually think about, leaving less and less space for the demons that usually live rent-free in my head.
Focus, Domenico.
I don’t exactly have time to get sidetracked here. My father is dead, and everyone thinks I did it. I need to get off this fucking island and find a way to clear my name and take my throne as the rightful heir. Not play house with some deranged blonde having a midlife crisis.
Yet here I am, trying to figure out which side goes where with this stupid sheet, and I’m oh-so tempted just to set the whole lot on fire.
The piercing sound of laughter floats in behind me, and I snap my head around to find Kiah regarding me with what looks like amusement.
She arches a brow. “Lemme guess, nobody ever taught you how to make a bed?”
My only answer is a glare.
She’s right, though. Domestic chores were for domestic helpers, not fucking mafia royalty.
I expect a mockery, but instead, her face softens as she takes one corner of the sheet. “Here, let me help you.”
The stupid bottom sheet finally snaps into place, all four corners firmly secured. But when she tries to show me how to fold those fancy corners on the top sheet, I give up and walk off with an exasperated huff.
“Come back here,” Kiah calls without raising her voice. But something in her tone changes…
I’ve become like a dog, obeying that assertive voice’s every command.
Because that voice holds the key to both my dick and my life at this stage.
But that’s not the only reason…
I suspect I would go to that voice even if she weren’t holding my keys.
Clenching my fists at my side, I waltz back in, my jaw locked in a seething rage that’s becoming difficult to control. Taking orders is not exactly my thing. The only man whose orders I ever took is rotting underground by now.
“Watch carefully. See how I tuck this one in here?” Kiah starts patiently.
It looks simple enough, but when I try those dumb things she calls hotel corners, it doesn’t look anything like her example.
After my third failed attempt, a frustrated grunt shreds through the room. “This stupid fucking thing!”
I pull the sheet with all my might until a loud tear echoes through the room.
“Nico!” Kiah’s voice is loud and commanding, and I freeze, half-ripped sheet in hand.
“Useless,” I hiss.
“Put the sheet down,” she says slowly as she sits down on the bed.
With an exasperated grunt, I throw the sheet on the floor, my eyes glaring daggers into her calm gaze.
Kiah puts her right hand out, palm facing up, and looks at me expectantly. “Come here.”
We both know what that move means. She’s been training me—her words, not mine.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I remain firm, defiant. Fuck that ; who does she think she is telling me what to do?
This is the part where my mother would’ve lost her shit and beat me within an inch of my life in a blind fury. I have the fucking scars to prove it.
But Kiah’s punishments are not rash or impulsive. She’s composed, firm, and consistent.
“Nico,” she says in that sultry tone that makes my insides churn and my dick press uncomfortably against its cage.
“I-I don’t. St-st-stop…Fuck!” My frustration turns to rage as humiliation burns into my skin. Why am I fucking stammering? I haven’t stammered since I was a kid when my stupid cousins teased me relentlessly for my inability to string together simple sentences.
What is she doing to me?
Pull it together, Domenico .
Kiah doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just holds out her hand until my fit passes, and I reluctantly shuffle over to her, lifting my pathetic dick and putting the cage in her hand.
When she closes her hand around my cock, a mix of relief and primal need rushes through my veins. Her touch is firm yet soft at the same time.
“Nico…” It’s the same tone my mother would use when she was extremely disappointed in us, which was often.
Kiah tugs lightly on my dick, and I gasp, completely at her mercy. With a single finger, she traces S-shapes over my balls until I’m leaking pre-cum through my cage, whimpering like a little boy.
But she doesn’t let me come, she never gives me the satisfaction of finishing.
Not that there’s any satisfaction to be had in this cage. It’s been weeks since I’ve had a decent orgasm, and it’s all this bitch’s fault.
It’s making me so desperate, so needy. I’m usually a twice-a-day kind of guy when it comes to jerking off…
“What did I say about violence?” Kiah asks patiently, stroking the cage I wish wasn’t between our skin.
“Not necessary,” I give her the answer she wants, despite wanting to be a brat.
She smiles. “Exactly. Look at you being such a good boy.” The words of praise sink into my gut like a sharp knife, cutting deeper than the shard she jammed into my shoulder before. It makes my insides burn.
How can I be so affected by those simple words? Who the fuck would be so naive as to call Domenico a “ good ” boy? I’m not good. She clearly doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.
I don’t have time to ponder the psychological effect of her praise because Kiah bends me over her lap with a single command I follow like a hypnotized puppet.
The bed is low, and my bulky 6’1” figure bows over her like a bridge, the tips of my extremities touching the faded floorboards.
Trapping my cock between her thighs, she clamps her knees down around the cage, holding me in place.
“It seems you will need to learn this lesson again,” the innkeeper says simply, without rage, as she runs her hand over my bum in a move that covers my skin in goosebumps like a freshly plucked chicken.
Is she about to spank me?
What the fuck?
I’m a grown-ass man.
Fresh humiliation creeps up around my neck, flushing my cheeks, and I’m grateful to have my eyes glued on the floor, my face hidden from her.
“I want you to count with me. Just until ten. Okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Words, boy,” Kiah insists, and I respond affirmatively in a voice that sounds ridiculous—small.
How can she have this effect on me?
I’m Domenico Ricci, for fuck’s sake. I’d break someone’s fucking neck for humiliating me like this. I once fed a man’s eyeballs to his dog for accidentally knocking into me in passing.
Yet I lie perfectly still as the first flat-handed smack lands loudly on my ass, stinging me with pain as much as embarrassment.
“Count, Nico.”
I bite my lip and press out a strained “One.”
Why do I feel like crying?
This is crazy.
I could just get up. Even with the collar on, I know she wouldn’t kill me for refusing her punishments.
But I don’t want to get up.
I want this.
More than I’ve ever wanted anything from another person.
Because I deserve this.
“Count!” Kiah insists as the second and third smacks burn my skin.
I’m so fucking turned on right now, my dick feels like it’s going to break through its steel cage simply with the power of its hardness. There is nowhere left to grow, but it’s still growing.
Blows four and five fall in quick succession, and by the time eight rings out, my ass is on fire, stinging like a motherfucker. I can’t believe she’s doing all this damage with her bare hand.
When the final smack lands on my soft flesh with a loud whack, I can’t hold it any longer, I just let go, uncontrollable sobs ripping through my body.
I don’t know why, or what this unhinged wench has done to me, but I can’t stop the tears from coming.
I didn’t even cry at my own mother’s funeral. What the fuck is this?
Kiah helps me up onto the bed and then just holds me as I stain her shirt with my tears. Like I’m a baby, she puts her arms around me, rocking gently.
All I can think is that she smells nice. Like suntan lotion and fresh linen.
“Hey, shh. It’s okay. All over now,” she coos in a soothing voice, the total opposite of her assertive one.
She strokes my hair softly in a move so tender it hurts more than her spanking.
Why is she being nice to me?
Why does she care?
I don’t deserve this.
I deserve the spanking, all the punishment, being locked up, but I don’t deserve her stroking my hair.
The familiar self-loathing curdles in my gut. “ A waste of space just like your father ,” my mother’s cruel words come back to me.
Kiah holds me through all of it, asking no questions and demanding no explanations, just enveloping me with her warmth.
I’m crying for everything and nothing at all—all the tears I’ve kept inside for so long.
“It’s okay. Let it all out,” Kiah whispers, and I know I’ll never be able to look at her the same again, not after she’s seen me like this.
What is happening to me?