Chapter 7
SEVEN
Colt leads me away from the main room, his hand possessive on the small of my back. We wind through a corridor, passing doors marked with discreet numbers. He stops at the last one, sliding a key card through the reader. The lock clicks open.
"After you," he says, his voice carrying that same commanding tone that makes my knees weak.
I step inside, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The room is simple but thoughtfully arranged.
A large bed with black sheets, a padded bench, and a dresser with what I assume are implements I'm not ready to think about yet.
I catch sight of myself in the mirrored wall as Colt closes the door behind us.
I hover near the center of the room, unsure what to do with my hands, my body, myself. The vibrator is still inside me, silent now but a constant reminder of my failure, my disobedience. My pussy clenches around it, still sensitive, still wanting.
Colt forces me to face the mirror. "Look at yourself."
The woman staring back at me is almost unrecognizable.
My hair is a mess, tangled from Colt's fingers.
My eyeliner has smudged beneath my eyes, giving me a wild, disheveled look.
My skin is flushed pink from my cheeks down to where my chest disappears beneath my top.
I look thoroughly debauched, and we've barely begun.
Colt appears behind me in the reflection, his presence dwarfing mine. His hands settle on my shoulders, strong and steady, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror. "Do you see what I see?"
I shake my head, transfixed by our reflection. Him so controlled, me so undone.
He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear. "I see a dirty little slut who couldn't even follow one simple rule."
The words send a jolt through me, my pussy clenching again around the toy. I should take offense. Instead, I'm melting.
"Look at you," he continues, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. "Cheeks flushed, pupils blown, practically dripping down your thighs. And all because I called you exactly what you are."
His hands slide from my shoulders down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. One hand moves to my waist while the other travels up to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there. A reminder of his control.
"What are you, Tess?" he asks, his eyes locked on mine in the mirror.
"Your toy," I whisper, the words coming easier now, like a confession I've been waiting to make.
"That's right." His approval washes over me. "My pretty toy that needs some discipline."
His hand tightens slightly on my waist, pulling me back against him. I can feel his hardness pressing against my lower back, and knowing he's affected too sends another rush of heat through me.
"It's time for your punishment," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Remember your safe words?"
I nod, then quickly correct myself, knowing he wants to hear me say them. "Red for stop, yellow for slow, green for go."
"Good girl." His praise, even now, makes me ache for more. "And your color right now?"
I take a deep breath, searching myself for any hesitation. There is none. "Green."
His smile is slow and dangerous. "Perfect."
He steps back, breaking contact, and I almost whimper at the loss. "Take off your clothes," he commands. "Slowly. I want to watch you."
My hands tremble as I reach for the hem of my top. The fabric feels rough against my hypersensitive skin. Slowly, I drag it up my body, pulling it over my head and letting it drop to the floor. I feel exposed standing in just my bra, panties, and heels.
"All of it," Colt says, his voice brooking no argument.
I reach behind me to unhook my bra, letting it fall away. My nipples harden instantly in the cool air, or maybe from the intensity of his gaze. Finally, I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my panties, sliding them down my legs. The vibrator comes with them, falling to the floor with a soft thud.
Naked except for my heels, I stand before him, fighting the urge to cover myself. His eyes travel over me slowly, deliberately, taking in every inch.
"Turn around," he orders. "I want to see all of you."
I turn in a slow circle, my skin heating under his scrutiny. When I face the mirror again, I see a naked and vulnerable woman. But somehow I feel more powerful than ever.
Colt comes up behind me again, his clothed body a stark contrast to my nakedness. His hands settle on my hips, his touch possessive.
"Such a pretty toy," he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. "Even when you're disobedient."
One hand slides between my legs, finding me embarrassingly wet. His finger traces my entrance, gathering moisture before circling my clit. I gasp, my hips bucking involuntarily.
He chuckles. "Such a wet, desperate little slut," he says, his voice a mixture of amusement and approval. "But you'll have to earn your next orgasm."
He withdraws his hand, leaving me aching and empty. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, dark with promise.
"Now bend over the bench," he says. "It's time to show you what happens to dirty little sluts who come without permission."
I move toward the padded bench, each step magnifying my awareness of my nakedness, my exposure. The leather feels cool against my skin as I position myself, bending at the waist. My hands grip the edges, knuckles white with anticipation.
Colt circles behind me, his footsteps deliberate. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch, trailing over the curve of my spine, the swell of my ass. My body trembles slightly, not from cold but from the raw vulnerability of this position.
"Have you ever been spanked before, Tess?" His voice is conversational, almost casual, as if he's asking about the weather.
I swallow hard. "No."
"No?" His hand rests lightly on my lower back, a steadying presence that somehow makes me more aware of what's to come.
"No, never," I admit, my voice small in the quiet room.
"I see." His palm makes slow, gentle circles on my skin. "Since it's your first time, we'll start with five. Not too many, but enough for you to understand the consequences of disobedience."
Five doesn't sound like many, but the unknown makes my heart race. Will it hurt? Will I like it? Will I hate that I like it?
"You'll count each one," he continues, his voice dropping lower. "And after each, you'll thank me. Understood?"
The command sends a shiver through me. "Yes."
"Yes, what?" His hand stills on my back.
"Yes... I understand."
His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling just enough to tilt my head back. "That's not what I'm looking for, pretty toy."
Understanding dawns on me. We had discussed honorifics in our text exchange. Colt likes to be called Sir. Excitement flutters in my core at the thought of calling him such, the submissive nature of that one word. "Yes, Sir."
He releases my hair with a satisfied hum. "Better. Now, if you miss a count or forget to thank me, we start over. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir."
His hand leaves my back, and I tense, waiting. The anticipation is almost worse than what I imagine the pain will be—the not knowing, the waiting, the—
The first strike lands with a sharp crack that echoes in the quiet room. The sting blooms across my right cheek, shocking more than painful. For a moment, I forget everything. The counting, the thanking, my own name all disappear from my mind.
"I'm waiting," Colt reminds me, his voice stern.
"One," I gasp. "Thank you, Sir."
"Good girl."
The praise washes through me, soothing the sting. I relax slightly, thinking maybe this won't be so—
The second strike lands on my left cheek, harder than the first. The pain is sharper this time, radiating outward in waves of heat.
"Two," I blurt. "Thank you, Colt."
His hand rubs the spot he just struck, soothing the burn. "You're doing well," he murmurs. "How does it feel?"
"It... stings," I admit. "But not in a bad way."
"That's because your body knows what you need, even if your mind is still catching up."
The third strike catches me off guard. It's lower, where my thigh meets my ass. I cry out, unprepared for the intensity.
"Three," I manage after a moment. "Thank you, Sir."
I take stock of my body, my emotions. The sting is transforming into something warmer, deeper. My skin feels hypersensitive, alive in a way I've never experienced.
The fourth strike is the hardest yet, landing directly across both cheeks. I yelp, my body jerking forward against the bench.
I open my mouth, but the words stick in my throat as the pain radiates outward. My mind goes blank, overwhelmed by sensation.
"I don't hear you counting," Colt's voice cuts through the haze, sharp with disapproval.
"I—I'm sorry," I stammer, realizing my mistake.
"Rules are rules, Tess." His tone leaves no room for negotiation. "We start over."
My stomach drops. "But—"
"Are you safe wording?" The question is direct, but not unkind.
I take a shaky breath, considering. The sting in my ass is already fading to a warm throb. My pussy clenches at the thought of more. "No, Sir."
"Then we start over."
The strike lands on my right cheek again, slightly harder than before. I gasp at the renewed sting.
"One," I count immediately. "Thank you, Sir."
"Good girl."
The second follows quickly, landing on my left cheek with a crack that echoes in the quiet room.
"Two! Thank you, Sir." My voice is steadier now, finding a rhythm in the ritual.
"You're learning." His approval washes over me like warm honey.
The third strike catches the sensitive spot where my thigh meets my ass. I cry out but remember my duty.
"Three! Thank you, Sir." Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, not from pain but from the intensity of it all.
The fourth lands across both cheeks again, and I arch my back, pushing into it rather than away.
"Four! Thank you, Sir." My voice breaks slightly as tears begin to spill.
His hand rests on my heated skin, rubbing gentle circles. "One more. Color?"
"Green," I whisper, surprised by how much I mean it.
The final strike is the hardest yet. I sob as it lands, my entire body trembling.
"Five! Thank you, Sir." The tears flow freely now, my body surrendering completely to the moment.
Suddenly, his hands are on me, turning me around, pulling me against his chest. I collapse into him, trembling and crying, my naked body pressed against his clothed one.
"There you are," he murmurs into my hair, one hand cradling my head while the other strokes my back. "Such a good girl. You took that so beautifully."
I cling to him, overwhelmed by the storm of emotions. Pain, relief, arousal, surrender—they all swirl together until I can't separate one from another.
"Look at you," he continues, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "My filthy little slut, crying from her first spanking while her pussy drips down her thighs."
The degradation hits differently now, not as a punishment but as recognition, acceptance. Yes, I am exactly what he says. And somehow, in his arms, that feels like the most honest thing I've ever been.
"You're perfect," he whispers, the praise weaving through the degradation like golden thread. "My perfect, dirty toy."
I press my face into his chest, breathing in his scent as my tears gradually slow. His hand moves to cup my ass, fingers tracing the heated skin with possessive care.
"How does it feel?" he asks. His commanding voice vibrates through his chest, and I can feel the rumble against me as he holds me tight.
"Like I'm finally where I belong," I answer without thinking, the words coming from somewhere deep within.
His arms tighten around me, and for a moment, I feel something shift between us—something beyond the dynamic, beyond the roles. Something real.
He hasn't even fucked me yet, but from the look in his eyes, I think that's about to change.