Chapter 3
Air hits my lungs hard as I gasp, the sting of a leathered palm against my ass sharp and loud to my ears. Breathing regularly is impossible because everything about this is terrifying and erotic as fuck. I can’t stop thinking that if the spanking continues, I might just go weak in the knees.
That chuckle is back, and it sends a ripple of arousal through my body, as if the actual sound waves caress my skin.
I hold my breath, focusing on the touch and feel as another spank lashes across my bare ass.
I jerk into the wooden contraption that keeps me in place.
With my legs apart, I wait. Just one more slide of fingers against my pussy, which I’m sure is sopping and swollen, and I’ll be a goner.
I shouldn’t be this turned on, should I?
Evening out my breathing, I focus. Come on, Lizzie, you can do this.
I’ve heard about what it feels like to have leather inside you, the added sensation and pressure, the way my scent will seep into the fabric.
I’ve dreamed about it touching my skin in just this way—the slap, the heat, the added pain. But I’ve never experienced it.
Everything was always just a dream or a fantasy, something that I read about in books.
“B-books,” I say the word, stuttering on the consonant. I’m not even sure if whoever is behind me heard me say it, but this is straight out of some book that I would have found myself reading on the couch late at night while I waited for Reik to come home.
The spank this time is hard. And it’s right against my cunt. Clenching my eyes shut, I bite my lip to hold back the moan. I don’t want to give whoever this is the sick pleasure of knowing just how turned on I am right now, of how close—
Fingers ram inside me.
No hesitation.
No warning.
I think it’s two. They twist and turn in a near circle, the hard edges of the gloves rubbing inside me in a way that’s so tantalizing. I can’t stop the moan from escaping my lips now, from vibrating in my throat.
“F-fuck,” I mumble, trying to keep my voice as quiet as possible.
The slap is hard, seizing up my back and down my legs. But then there’s a thrust. Exactly like I want, hard and straight to the point. My shoulders push into the restraint, my large breasts hitting the cold wood with the next thrust.
“St-stop,” I say, but I don’t sound like I mean it. And how can I? This is deliriously wonderful. I never imagined it would be like this. The games I played, the videos I watched, the chats I had—nothing compares to the real thing.
“Stop,” I say again, more firmly this time. But nothing changes.
My pussy pulses against the intrusion, but not to push the fingers out. I want them deeper inside me. Harder. Faster. I can barely breathe. Air catches in my throat, making it impossible to inhale, to get enough oxygen into my lungs so I’m not light-headed, so that my knees don’t give out.
“Stop.” The word falls off my lips, and I’m sure it’s to deaf ears. No one is listening to me—no one ever does. Not even my own brain and body hear my words. “Don’t stop…”
The thrusts get harder.
One.
Two.
Three.
My ass cheeks are spread apart to the point that it hurts, but I don’t fight it. I want this. I’ve always wanted this. Not only is it what I deserve for having these fantasies and dreams, but it’s what I deserve for diving into the deep dark web to find someone who can make them come true.
My heart pounds against my rib cage, each thrust pushing my shoulders and wrists into the wood, giving me more splinters, tearing my skin, and bringing me to heightened pleasure. Grunting, I bite my lip to the point of tasting blood.
Another thrust.
Is this really all with fingers? Or is there a cock involved? Because I feel so stretched. I feel full to the point of bursting. My pussy tightens down, my toes curling into the cold cement floor as I keep myself upright and at the perfect angle to receive even more.
Because that’s all I want.
More.
My breast is grabbed tightly, the pressure of fingers digging into my skin and pulling away.
I’m going to bruise—no doubt about that.
My nipple burns as it's twisted sharply and then pulled.
I clench my eyes shut. Ripples of pleasure tear through me, curling my hips forward and tightening my stomach.
I cry out.
The fingers vanish from my pussy, and all I hear is wet liquid pooling around my feet.
“Oh god.” I wince. “D-did I j-just p-pee?”
Biting my cheek, I cringe. But I can barely focus on my damp toes because the pleasure still races through every nerve in my body. I didn’t think I’d actually cum. Well, I did, but this isn’t right, is it? I shouldn’t be… I shouldn’t have…
“You begged for this, remember?” That same altered voice reaches my ears. It’s no longer as harsh as it was before, and I hear the breaths, the inhalations from exertion, and they’re not mine. “You wanted this.”
I did.
I did want it.
I begged for it.
I wish I could turn around and see who stands behind me, to look on the face of the person who just gave me the best orgasm of my life, to know who finally made my rambling a reality. But I’m locked in place, and I have no idea if I’ll ever be let free.
The shuffling of boots against the cement brings me back to reality. Staring down, I see those black boots, the dampness from my body on them. The hand covers my face, fingers shoved into my mouth.
I can’t breathe. All I taste is leather and my cum. I gag. And then… I suck with wild abandon.