Chapter 18 Ronan #2
My breath hitched—barely there, but enough. “No, you—” His hand came up and caught my jaw, and I lost my words.
“You don’t get to make these calls alone,” he said. “Not when it affects both of us. Not when it puts you at risk.” His grip tightened to the point of pain.
“I know,” I whispered, voice thin. “I just—”
“You just decided you knew better.”
I swallowed.
Because… yeah.
I had.
“I didn’t want to ruin your trip…”
For a moment, he just looked at me. Really looked. Not at the surface—at the layers under it. The ones I didn’t show anyone else.
“Doll, you needing help regulating isn’t something that could ruin anything. I came into this relationship knowing that was something you’d need from me. But I can’t help if you don’t let me,” he urged.
“I’m sorry.”
He let go of my face. “I know. Take your coat off.”
I didn’t argue.
Didn’t hesitate.
I slipped my coat off slowly, fingers clumsy for once, and set it aside. My boots followed, left by the door in a neat pair that felt at odds with the tension crawling up my spine.
“Come here.”
I obeyed.
Each step toward him felt heavier than the last, like I was walking into something inevitable.
He didn’t touch me right away, just watched me stop in front of him, close enough that I could feel the heat of the fire at my back and the far more dangerous heat of him in front of me.
“I need you to understand that you’re being punished for lying to me, drugging me, and putting yourself in unnecessary danger by sneaking out. You are not being punished for having needs. Okay?”
My hands curled at my sides, and I nodded. “Okay.”
He reached out, closing his hand firmly around my wrist. “Come on. Couch.”
I let him guide me over, then pull me down across his lap when he sat. My heart was beating too fast and my thoughts were too loud.
“Hands on the floor,” he instructed.
The position was familiar, and so was the vulnerability that came with it, but I knew this would be different than my usual maintenance spankings.
Because this was a punishment.
“You’re going to take this,” he said, one hand settling at the small of my back. “And you’re going to take it properly.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with promise and threat, as his free hand moved to the waistband of my pants. My body tensed across his thighs, but I kept my hands planted on the floor, fingers splaying against the rug for balance.
Wes pulled my pants down. The fabric scraped against my thighs, bunching at my knees before he shoved them down further, all the way to my ankles. I kicked instinctively, trying to free my feet, but he pressed his hand harder into my back, pinning me in place.
“Stay still,” he growled, voice edged with that controlled fury I’d seen in his eyes earlier.
Next came my underwear—simple black briefs that did nothing to hide how my body was already reacting, my cock twitching half-hard against his leg.
He didn’t hesitate, gripping the elastic and peeling them down roughly, exposing my ass to the room’s warmth, and leaving me bare from the waist down, my balls hanging out and my hole twitching in nervous exposure.
I swallowed hard, heart pounding so loud I swore he could hear it. “Wes…” I started, but he cut me off with a smack to my thigh.
“Quiet.”
He grabbed the hem of my sweater, the soft wool bunching as he pulled it up.
I lifted my arms without thinking, but he stopped midway, yanking it only high enough that the sleeves tangled around my wrists, trapping them together in a makeshift bind.
The fabric stretched tight across my shoulders, restricting my movement, my chest now exposed too—nipples hardening in the open air, torso arched awkwardly over his lap.
“Fifty,” he announced.
I nodded, my bound wrists straining against the sweater as I braced myself. The first hit landed without warning—a solid, open-palmed crack against my right ass cheek. The sound echoed in the room, the pain blooming hot and immediate, my skin tingling under the impact.
“One,” he said.
I felt immense relief that he wasn’t making me count them myself. I counted our daily ten each morning, but ten was a whole lot different than fifty. Usually, by the tenth hit, I felt floaty and grateful and calm despite the stinging. Fifty… Well, we’d see.
The second came down on the left, harder, the force jolting my hips forward against his thigh. My cock rubbed against his pajama pants, sending an unwelcome spark of pleasure through the sting.
“Two.”
By five, my ass was warming, each slap building on the last, my cheeks undoubtedly starting to redden under his hand. He alternated sides methodically, his palm connecting with a meaty thud that made my flesh jiggle. At ten, the burn was definitely intensifying.
“Fifteen.”
His fingers splayed wider now, catching the curve where ass met thigh, the pain sharper there, radiating down my legs. I clenched my hole instinctively, trying to absorb the impacts, but it only made the next ones hurt more as my muscles fatigued.
“Twenty.”
I whimpered, sweat beading on my forehead, dripping onto the rug. My bound wrists twisted futilely in the sweater, the wool chafing my skin.
Wes grunted in approval, but didn’t let up. Twenty-five hit like fire, my right cheek throbbing, probably already bruised under the heat. I could feel the imprint of his hand forming, skin swelling with each blow.
By thirty, I was sobbing but trying to be strong, my ass a deep, pulsing red, every nerve alight.
“I-I’m sorry,” I cried, feeling my mind start to slip.
“I know,” he murmured softly. “You’re over halfway there, babydoll.”
“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, sorry,” I babbled brokenly, grinding against his leg without meaning to, the friction on my cock a desperate counterpoint to the agony.
“Forty.”
“P-p-please,” I stammered weakly, my face wet with tears, snot, and spit.
Still, he didn’t stop.
“Forty-five.”
I couldn’t manage to speak any longer, couldn’t even string together a thought. Everything was just Wes, and sorry, and hurt.
“Fifty,” he said, his voice barely registering in my head.
His hand rested on my scorched skin, rubbing in slow circles that made me hiss through the tenderness.
“Good boy,” he murmured, the praise cutting through the haze of pain. Then, without warning, he scooped me up—strong arms wrapping under my knees and back, lifting me effortlessly. My bound wrists dangled uselessly, sweater still tangled, ass screaming as it pressed against his shirt.
He carried me through the suite, the short walk to the bedroom feeling endless with each step jarring my bruised cheeks.
The door creaked open, and he laid me face-down on the bed, the cool sheets a shock against my heated skin.
I heard him undress behind me, the rustle of clothes hitting the floor, then the nightstand drawer opening.
Wes knelt behind me, his hands gripping my hips, thumbs pulling my cheeks apart.
I felt the cool squirt of lube directly onto my hole, then his fingers—two at first, circling the rim before pushing in knuckle-deep.
I moaned, the stretch burning fresh on top of everything else, but he didn’t stop, scissoring them to open me up.
“This is for your own good,” he said, adding a third finger, twisting them deep, brushing my prostate until I bucked forward with a cry. My bound wrists pressed into the mattress, limiting how I could brace, leaving me at his mercy.
“N-no,” I think I said, although I wasn’t sure if the word had actually left my mouth or not.
“Shh,” he hushed, continuing to work me open slowly. “You need this.”
I sobbed and tried to wriggle away as a fourth finger slipped into me, the fullness making my vision blur.
He pulled me back onto his fingers, and started whispering praises that I couldn’t understand.
Lube slicked his hand, dripping down my balls as he pumped in and out, my hole clenching greedily around the intrusion.
“Relax,” he commanded, free hand smacking my tender ass lightly, reigniting the sting as I yelped.
When he suddenly withdrew, I whimpered at the emptiness, but then his whole fist pressed against me.
“Nononono,” I cried miserably, my brain finally realizing what he was about to do.
He pushed slowly, the widest part breaching my rim with a pop that tore a scream from my throat. Inch by inch, his hand sank in, filling me impossibly full, my walls stretching taut around his wrist.
“I—no—help—”
“You’re okay, doll. Just let it happen. We’re almost done with your punishment.”
“Wes,” I gasped, head dropping to the pillows, body trembling as he twisted gently inside, fingers uncurling to press against my insides. The pressure on my prostate was relentless, building a coil of pleasure-pain that had me rutting back against him, cock leaking steadily.
He fisted me deeper, arm flexing with each thrust, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room.
My hole throbbed around him, slick and ruined, every nerve firing as he worked me over.
It built fast—too fast—the orgasm ripping through me without warning, cum spurting onto the sheets in thick ropes as I clenched hard around his fist.
I distantly heard myself scream again.
Wes didn’t stop, milking every drop, his own breath ragged. Only when I stopped moving completely and closed my eyes did he ease out, my hole left loose and gaping in the aftermath.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when warmth splattered onto my ass.
“Babydoll,” Wes cooed as I started to shiver. “What did you learn?”
It took me a few tries of opening my mouth until words seemed possible. “Tell you when I need help…”
“Good.”
My consciousness seemed to wane in and out, as each time I opened my eyes, Wes was doing something different. He held me close, pressed kisses against my skin, used a cool washcloth to wipe my body, rubbed a soothing cream on my ass.
“I love you,” I murmured the next time my eyes flickered open, feeling fingers gently combing through my hair.
Wes rumbled from behind me, “I love you too, doll. I love you more than anything.”