Chapter 21 #3
“I’m asking you to give me what I deserve!” I shove away from him, the hugging too much all of a sudden. Too soft. Better than what I should be getting. “Give me what I deserve for being such a little shit!”
He studies me, the tension between us unbearable. Just when I’m about to start yelling again, he moves.
With predatory focus, he stalks me. I flinch and scramble backward until the backs of my knees run into the couch and I fall onto it.
He keeps coming, overtaking me, and pushes me down until I’m laying on it.
He crawls over me, holding me down with a hand on my throat.
He isn’t choking me, just keeping me where he wants me, but I…
like it. And I shudder, a fission of unexpected heat curling through me.
“You want correction, Tommy? Fine,” he says, stern and biting.
“I want to correct you. So that makes us even. You want to get what you deserve? What you deserve is a reminder to ignore those loud thoughts and listen to me. What you deserve is something to keep you from making this mistake again. You want me to hurt you? You want to replace one pain for another? You want me to make you feel small and embarrassed so you don’t have to feel those other, more confusing things? ”
An angry, wounded sound escapes my throat and I thrash under him, try to hit him, pissed off that he can see through me so easily.
He grabs my hands, manhandles me, and flips me over onto my stomach.
I try to push up but he’s shockingly heavy, and a knee on my back presses me into the soft cushions.
I shove my face into the softness of his couch and scream, furious and broken.
“There you go,” he says, replacing the knee on my back with his hands, stroking down my spine. “Let it out.”
“Fuck you!”
Smack!
I freeze. I don’t even breathe. A pulse of heat and pain blooms across my ass, and I just lay there in shock. “Did you just spank me?”
“You know your safe word,” he reminds me. “Are you saying it?”
Yes! I should be shouting it. But I don’t.
That humiliating feeling, that smallness, that corner-time haze prickles at the edges of my mind and I shudder, trying to decide what to do.
My breaths are short, shallow. I can’t think.
I don’t know–fuck, I’m all turned inside out.
Do I want to safe word? I don’t think I do.
What does that say about me?
“Are you saying it?” he dares.
“Fuck you!” I snap again, enraged that he’s asking me that so blatantly, forcing me to come to terms with the fact that I’m choosing this.
Smack! “That’s not the word, Tommy. You know what it is. It’s ‘red’. And if you’re not saying it, I’m going to spank you like a little boy, until you understand what I’m trying to tell you.” And he spanks me again just to prove it.
“Shit!”
“You’re not saying it.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I shove upward but he holds me steady, keeping me down on the couch, heavy and strong. “Let me up!”
“That’s not it, either,” he points out. And spanks me hard, several times in a row. It hurts, knocks my rage out of me, knocks my thoughts loose. And when he’s done I gasp for air because I guess I’d been holding my breath. My arms tremble beneath me and–
And–
And I slowly, jerkily sink back down onto my stomach, and give up the pretense of fighting it. I press my face into the cushion, hiding from the fact that I want this, and we both know it.
“That’s it,” he says softly. “Let yourself have this. I’ll give you what you’re looking for.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter, small and embarrassed. I put my hands over my head, wishing the floor would swallow me while also wishing he’d just… “And get on with it already.”
But he doesn’t. The atmosphere changes, and I tense, wondering what the issue is now.
“Tommy…” I hold my breath again at the new tone of his voice, foreboding and ominous. His fingertips brush the back of my hand–where Bruce wrote his phone number. “What is this?”
“Nothing.” I move my hand to hide it, but he pins it to the couch. I let him hold it there and nervously peek at him as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. My heart kicks into overdrive.
“I wasn’t going to call it,” I swear.
He dials the number.
“I wasn’t going to call!” I try again while it rings.
“Hello?” Bruce answers the phone. Young-gi stares at it, grim-faced and determined. “Tommy? Is that you?”
“Who is this?” Young-gi demands.
“Bruce. Who’s this?” Bruce asks, challenging him right back. Bruce’s name sparks a flare inside Young-gi’s dark eyes and he grips the phone so tight his knuckles bleach.
“Wrong number,” Young-gi says, his voice calm despite his anger. The hand holding my wrist down is also still being relatively gentle, and it almost makes it scarier that he’s so in control. He hangs up before Bruce can respond.
“You ran off to find him?” Young-gi asks me, tossing his phone onto a nearby chair. “You left me for him? Who is he to you?”
“He’s nobody!” I squirm, but his hand cracks against my ass again, and it stings even through my jeans.
I jolt like he just electrocuted me. He grabs me, hauls me up, and I let him resituate me so that suddenly, he’s sitting on the couch, and I’m laying back down on it, draped over his thighs, ready to get spanked.
This is real Daddy shit.
Panic hits me and I push up to get off, but he presses me back down over his knees. “You know your safe word.”
My mouth opens, but it gets stuck there.
I still don’t want to say it. Not yet.
“I wasn’t gonna call him,” I pant against the couch.
Smack! Young-gi lays a firm spank on my ass and I squirm. “But you ran straight to him, didn’t you?”
Another spank, knocking the truth out of me.
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“Be-because I, because he, I–” I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Spank! “Yes, you do. Don’t lie. You’ll hold soap in your mouth while I blister your ass, if that’s what you need.”
I groan, and it’s filthy. Heat flushes my cheeks and I hide my head again. Am I getting turned on by this? “He–I just wanted to go somewhere, be with someone–with somebody that wants me. I wasn’t gonna call him, I left him as soon as I saw him, it was a mistake–”
Three fast, solid spanks shut me up quick and I bite back a pained, horny moan. I don’t want to reveal how messed up I am about this; I want to hide it. So I swallow the sounds.
And I manage to keep them locked up…until I struggle just to feel him hold me down. He reacts to my fighting with a tighter hold, keeping me where he wants me, and that’s when the ‘fuck me’ noises rip out of my throat, loud and unmistakable.
Young-gi hesitates, letting us both fully process what I just did, then hums thoughtfully. His tone changes, gets less punishing and more sensual. “You’ve got a lie in your head, Tommy. You think he wants you more than I do? You’re wrong.”
Three more smacks, and I grunt and writhe and he yanks me tight against him so I can’t squirm away.
“No one wants you more than I want you. I want you the most. I want to take care of you more than he does, I want to keep you more than he does, I want to correct you and praise you and watch you all the time, more than he does.”
“I–” Smack! He lays them on me, five this time, and I jerk and bite my lip and elbow him as best I can, fighting back but not too hard, not hard enough to hurt him or to really get away.
Just hard enough to embarrass myself because I’m squirming on his lap and I feel so small and pathetic and it’s making me so fucking horny and confused and it feels so good.
I can stop this at any time with a single word, but that’s not what I want. I don’t want him to stop. I want him to–
“Prove it!” I snarl at him.
“You need proof?” Young-gi spanks me again, harder.
“You want to feel it? Here it is, Tommy. I’m gonna prove it right now, right here, and the soreness you feel every time you sit down for the next two days is gonna help you remember.
It’s going to help keep those lies out of your head.
You want to hurt? Then I’ll be the one to hurt you, Tommy.
I’ll give you what you deserve; correction, pain, praise, reminders.
You need that? Then it’s going to be me who gives it to you. ”
He lays into me then, painting my ass with heat and a stinging ache. I break into a sweat, sweltering in the jacket and the jeans I’m wearing, overheated and overwhelmed, thrashing against him just so he’ll hold me down and keep going.
“Fuck you!” I shout.
“We’ll go all day,” he growls back, his rhythm never faltering. “You want proof? How about I call him back, and make him listen to me correcting you? Make him hear that I’m the one who understands you, that I’m the one who gives you what you need, hm? Maybe he should know to stay the fuck away.”
And holy fuck, I like the sound of that.
He wouldn’t do it without my consent, I know that about him, but the threat is humiliating enough to push me past the edge of my control, and I finally settle, gasping for breath, panting like I’m in heat.
I just let him spank me while I lay there and take it.
Greedily, happily take it. Need it.
And I don’t expect it to hurt as much as it does, but even through my jeans, it aches.
My moans are just as much from the sweet pain as they are from being turned on by this, and soon my ass is throbbing and on fire and I collapse more fully onto his knees and scream into the couch again, raw and loud until I run out of air.
I’m choking on this, on the sensations and the unbearable, brutal vulnerability of this. It’s corner-time but multiplied by a thousand. It’s so much, it’s all there is, it’s everything.
And after I run out of screams, he stops, and I pant hard and heavy against the couch.
He pulls the back of my shirt up, and the cool air against my hot skin soothes me, even though it’s not where I’m hurting the most. He softly rubs my spine and makes those little shushing sounds again.