Free Beg Me by Lisa Lawrence Page B

not anymore, not when he stood in front of my open legs.
    “Shut up,” he snapped. “You speak when you’re spoken to.”
    “Yes, sir,” I mumbled.
    I felt a slap across my buttocks.
    And I burst out laughing. It was an involuntary response. I felt ridiculous. Too conscious that I was playing a role, that I—
    Crack.
    I writhed in sudden pain and cried out.
    Whatever just spanked my buttocks wasn’t his hand. I couldn’t see, just feel the aftershock of searing heat and mild pain expanding over my ass.
That
blow wasn’t playful. It wasn’t the clap your mummy gave you when you were bad. It was sharp, precise, deliberate, came from some kind of paddle. It stung like hell.
    “You respond to me with conviction,” he ordered.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I don’t need it loud. Just sincere. Like you mean it. I won’t call you ‘bitch’ or childish, stupid names. That’s amateur-hour BS. But you will submit, do you understand? Until your training’s complete, you belong to me. Is that clear?”
    I hesitated.
Belong
to someone. Like property. Like a
slave.
And my hackles instantly rose at that one.
    “I guess I better unlock you,” he said. “You can’t do this.”
    “
No!
Wait—”
    Dammit, I needed to know about this stuff to get in, and that meant trusting him, and—
    “You belong to me.”
    Stop thinking.
    “I belong to you.”
    “Again.”
    “I belong to you.”
    And part of me wanted to know, wanted to
feel.
    He slapped my ass again hard with the paddle.
Ohhhh,
God. My first instinct was to yank and pull at my bonds, wanting to break out and knock his head off.
    “You’re resisting,” he said.
    “It hurts!”
    But nothing close to my threshold.
    “’Course it hurts!” he laughed. “You want down?”
    I gritted my teeth. “No.”
    “No, what?”
    “No,
sir.
”
    “You little—” I thought he lost his temper for a moment, but he said it so calmly. Another slap, and
shit,
it stung. My buttocks were on fire. But there was also a rising pleasurable warmth.
    “You belong to me. Say it.”
    “I belong to you!”
    “You’re my slave,” he said. Asking me to recite.
    “Yes.”
    Suddenly he came around to where I could see him, and he took two fingers and pinched my nipple. At first it was pleasant, and then his palm squeezed a handful of my breast, hard. It hurt.
    “Say it,” he said. “You want down?”
    “No!”
    “Then say it—”
    “I’m your slave—”
    “Ask me to fuck you.”
    A moment’s hesitation.
    “Aaagghhhh!”
    I shook, the chains rattling, with the blow.
    “Make yourself come,” he ordered.
    “What?”
    “Orgasm’s mental,” he said quickly. “Make yourself come! Right now!”
    “I can’t—I—I—”
    Another slap of the paddle, and as tears ran down my cheeks and I tasted salt in the corners of my mouth, I realized that I
wanted
to come. I was aroused by what was happening to me, but I couldn’t intellectualize it. It was raw and primitive, and I heard the slurp of my pussy with my juices, and I’m hanging here, I thought, vulnerable, completely vulnerable. A distant echo of familiar pleasure, and I needed him inside me—
    He knew it too.
    I felt the head of his cock penetrate me. As I moaned with the satisfying increasing fullness of him, he sunk his nails into my thighs, which didn’t hurt as much as the paddle but did…something…I was feeling too much as he thrust inside me. My ass ached at the same time, my breast smarting and a mild bruise already blooming.
    I felt him swell as he was about to orgasm, and then at the last second he pulled out of me, and a stream of sticky, hot spunk flew across my belly and hit the underside of my breasts.
    If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn he knew I was riding the crest up to my own climax, that he had deliberately cheated me of it. But so few guys had a clue as to what you felt at the time that I thought I was imagining things.
    You couldn’t call what he did making love or even having sex. He