goal with you, sweetheart. To take you there.”
“I…I don’t know…” Her anxiety was mounting as she squirmed, and she realized she truly could not break from his hold on her.
“Ah, but I do. I can see it in you, the ability. The submissive response to even the most subtle tone of voice, the most subtle touch. It doesn’t have to mean you’ll ever be some kind of slave girl. There’s a world of difference there. Don’t you worry about that. Just be in the moment. Let it happen, as much as you can.” His fingers flexed on the back of her neck, the fingers of his other hand flexing on her wrists, a small reminder. “Breathe for me, now. Deep breath in, let it out slow. Like meditation. It
is
a sort of meditation, as strange as it may sound. As odd as it may be to think of being able to relax while I hold you down like this. But that’s exactly the point. You are in
my
hands.”
As soon as he said that, she did get it. She did as he said, pulling in a long breath, letting it out a little at a time. Trying desperately to quiet the voice in her head that was telling her it was time to panic. But his soothing tone instructing her to breathe, over and over, was drowning it out.
Time passed. She didn’t know how much. Finally he said, “Very good.” And spanked her.
“Oh!”
“Can you take it, Mischa?”
She paused, let out a panting breath. “Yes.”
“Are you being stubborn? Or do you really want it?”
“I want it,” she said without hesitation this time. She didn’t want to think. She only wanted to feel. And it was crucial that it was Connor doing these things to her.
He smacked her again, the sound ringing through the high-ceilinged loft. His hand came down once more, really stinging her flesh this time, and she gasped.
“Shh, you’re okay,” he told her, his voice a rough whisper.
He smoothed his hand over her tender skin. It felt lovely. His voice in her ears. His hand on her. The sting of the spanking. It all seemed to merge.
“Ready, my girl?”
“Yes.”
There was a long enough pause that she had a moment to wonder what was going to happen. Then his hand came down again. And again. A sharp volley of slaps on her ass, one cheek, then the other, in a kind of slow, even rhythm. His hand came down harder with each smack. And with the sting came pleasure just as sharp. In minutes she was soaking wet, needy. She tilted her hips, pressing her cleft into the sofa.
“Ah, none of that,” he said, the hand holding her wrists gripping tighter and pressing down a bit, into the small of her back, so that there was no question what he was talking about. “If you have a need,
I
will fill it. Do you understand?”
“Yes…I understand.”
Inside she was pouting a little at being spoken to that way. But she was also as turned on as she’d ever been in her life. That it was
him
telling her these things, laying down these rules for her.
For
her.
It felt like a small epiphany—the discovery, on some deep level,that this was truly for her as much as for him. But she couldn’t think now. He was spanking her again, faster this time. Harder. The pain built and built. And just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer, he let her wrists go and slipped his hand between her thighs and right into the soft folds of her pussy.
“Oh…”
“Ah, so wet. This is beautiful to me, darlin’. To feel your pleasure under my hands. To know it’s more than sheer stubbornness that keeps you here. To know that your sweet pussy is as wet as my cock is hard.”
Her sex clenched. She turned her face into the cushions, moaned as he pressed a finger inside her.
“So damn wet. So tight, no matter how wet you are. You held my cock so tightly inside you when I was fucking you last night.”
She groaned.
“You like that, to hear me talk of fucking you, don’t you? I can see that you do. I can feel it. Need coming off you in waves, like heat from the sun. I like it, too. To speak of fucking you.
Learning to Kill: Stories