9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Erica
The sting of his hand on my ass is a white-hot flash of sensation. At first, it's just shock. Did he really just spank my ass? Heat fills the space where his hand made contact.
The sharp, intense pain brings tears to my eyes. He rubs the spot he just struck, the skin hot and tingling. His touch is a balm, a slow, soothing caress that only intensifies the strange, conflicting emotions raging through me.
"Every lie," he says, his hand coming down again, on my other cheek, "will earn you another."
I cry out again, the sound a choked sob. My body trembles, my hands fisting in the sheets. I want to fight, to struggle, to scream. But I don't. I stay there, on my knees, my head bowed, presenting my ass for my punishment.
It’s degrading. Humiliating.
And a dark, shameful part of me is arching into the touch, my body craving the next slap, the next sting of pain.
Another slap, this one harder than the last. A choked sob escapes my throat, a raw, broken sound that’s a mix of pain and something else, something I don't want to name.
In the wake of the pain is a heat that spreads through me, pooling in my core. My pussy clenches, a hot, wet ache of need.
He's rubbing my ass again, his hands slow, possessive. He's marking me, claiming me.
"You're so fucking responsive," he murmurs, his voice a low, dark purr of satisfaction. "You like this, don't you? You like being punished for being a bad girl."
I start to shake my head, but his hand comes down again, a pre-emptive strike.
"You liked being bought," he says, his voice blunt and hard. "You like being owned by me, don't you?"
I want to deny it. I want to tell him he's wrong, that I hate this, that I hate him.
But I can't.
Because it's a lie.
A soft, broken sob escapes my lips, a surrender I can't hold back. A tear tracks down my cheek, a silent, shameful admission of my own dark desire.
"That's what I thought," he says, his voice a low, triumphant murmur.
His hands continue their exploration of my ass, a slow, possessive caress that's both a punishment and a reward. I'm lost in a haze of sensation, a confusing mix of pain and pleasure, humiliation and desire.
My body is a traitor, responding to his touch with a hunger that nearly chokes me. I'm on my knees, my ass in the air, being punished for my lies, and all I can think about is how much I want him to fuck me again.
I've become exactly the kind of person I despise. Weak. Wanton. A slave to my own base desires.
He shifts behind me, and I feel the blunt, hot head of his cock nudging against my entrance. My breath hitches, my body tensing in anticipation.
"I'm going to fuck you now, Erica," he says, his voice a low, dark purr. "And you're going to take it."
"Yes, sir," I moan.
He pushes inside me, a slow, deliberate invasion that has me gasping, my body stretching to accommodate him. My body, already wet and ready for him, opens up, accepting him. The sting of my punishment is still fresh, a dull, throbbing ache that blends with the pleasure of him filling me.
The stretching, full sensation has me gasping, my head falling forward onto the bed.
He's right.
I love this.
I love the feeling of him inside me, the way he fills me, the way he possesses me. I love the loss of control, the surrender, the feeling of being completely and utterly at his mercy.
He starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that's designed to torment, to tease. He's drawing this out, making me wait, making me want.
My hips move with him, a silent, instinctual plea for more.
His hands grip my hips, holding me in place, a clear, unyielding control. He's the one in charge. He's the one who decides everything.
His thrusts become harder, more demanding. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a raw, primal rhythm that's incredibly arousing.
My body is a taut bowstring of pleasure, poised on the edge of release. I can feel it building, a hot, tight coil of pleasure low in my stomach.
"You don't come until I say," he grunts behind me, his cock impaling me over relentlessly.
I whimper, a desperate, needy sound. I'm so close, so painfully close. I don't know if I can hold on.
His pace is punishing, a rhythm that pushes me closer and closer to the edge. He's not holding back now. He's taking me, using me, and I'm letting him. I'm begging for it.
My body is a quivering mess of need, my mind a blank slate of sensation. I'm lost in a sea of pleasure, and I don't want to be found.
Then, one of his hands leaves my hip. I feel the loss of it like a physical blow. For a second, I think he’s going to spank me again, and I nearly weep with pleasure, but he doesn’t.
Instead, his hand finds my breast and cups the soft mound. He rolls a hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching, twisting. A sharp, electric jolt of pleasure-pain shoots through me, straight to my clit. I cry out, my body arching, my inner walls clenching around him.
He groans, the sound a raw, primal noise. "You like that, don't you? You like it when I'm a little rough with you."
I can't answer. I can only moan, a long, drawn-out sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
His other hand slides up my back, his fingers tangling in my hair. He grips a handful, pulling my head back, forcing my body into a deeper arch. The new angle allows him to go even deeper, and I cry out again, a strangled, desperate sound.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. "So fucking beautiful. So fucking mine."
His words are my undoing.
"I need to come," I sob out.
I feel more than hear his chuckle behind me. "You know what I want to hear."
It's cruel. He wants me to degrade myself even more. But I need to come. More than I've ever needed anything in my life.
"Please, sir." The words are torn from my throat. "Please, can I come?"
"Since you asked so nicely." His fingers leave my nipple and find my clit. He circles the sensitive nub with a rough, demanding pressure that has me seeing stars. His hips snap forward, burying himself inside me with a force that steals my breath.
"Now, Erica. Come for me now."
It's not a suggestion. It's a command.
And my body obeys.
My orgasm rips through me, a violent, convulsive wave of pleasure that shatters my senses.
It’s an overload, a complete system failure.
My vision whites out, my body going rigid as wave after wave of intense pleasure washes over me.
I'm screaming, a raw, guttural sound that I don't recognize as my own.
He growls, a deep, possessive sound. He fucks me through my orgasm, his thrusts becoming erratic, more forceful. He's chasing his own release now, using my body, my pleasure, to get there.
His grip on my hair tightens, his other hand digging into my hip hard enough to leave bruises. He buries himself in me one last time as he comes, a deep, shuddering groan ripping from his chest.
The heat of him floods me for the second time tonight.
He collapses on top of me, his body a heavy, suffocating weight. I'm pinned, trapped, completely and utterly possessed.
We lie there for a long moment, our bodies slick with sweat, our breathing ragged and uneven. The room is silent except for the frantic beat of our hearts slowly returning to normal.
I can feel the evidence of our sex, a hot, sticky mess dripping between my thighs.
He pushes himself up, and I feel the loss of him, a sudden, hollow emptiness. I flop onto my stomach, my limbs heavy, my body aching with a sweet, sated soreness.
I can't move. I don't want to move. Ever again.