Free Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan by Elizabeta Brooke

that still throbbed inside her.  She sat back on her haunches and scrubbed her eyes, feeling her breasts tense and ache from the movement.  They wanted to be touched.  She wanted them to be touched.  She was so confused.
      
    "Stand up," he ordered, his voice surprisingly harsh considering how pleasant he usually was after she'd completed her test .  "You've been very bad, Wendee," he said.  "You didn't do that properly."
      
    She shook her head in confusion.  "I'll do it again if you - "
      
    "So bad," he said loudly, "that I'm going to have to spank you."
      
    "No."  She backed up against the door again, her gaze flicking up to where she knew the key lay.  He was mad.  She had to get out.  "My mother will come looking for me," she said, glancing down at the pale mound of her shirt and bra on the floor, wondering if she should make a grab for them.
      
    "Your mother won't come for you because she's bad too, but I don't want to punish her," he said, his voice suddenly sly.  "I only like to spank young girls bottoms.  And I won't hurt you, Wendee.  You know I already promised that.  In fact, I'm sure you're going to like it."  He moved to sit on the stool and reach out a hand.  "Just a little smack on that soft pink bottom.  All right?"
      
    He was sitting in a pool of faint light and she could see his penis was already starting to stiffen again. 
      
    She'd never known an adult to change their mood so quickly - from happy to angry to sneaky - not even her mother.  It was frightening.  But she remembered that he'd never hurt her.  And her breasts ached to be touched.  "All right," she said and took his hand, letting him arrange her across his lap where she felt his penis prodding her belly.  Then he lifted her skirt and exposed her bare buttocks.
      
    "Perfect," he whispered, and slid his fingers gently across the soft cheeks, kneading with both hands before gliding one down into the cleft, parting her thighs to caress her in the spot he'd found earlier.  She bucked and bit her lip as a wave of pleasure shot through her.  "All so new to you isn't it, little one?  I told you you'd like it," and he stroked her there again and again, making her writhe and moan aloud.  Then without warning he withdrew his hand and cracked it down hard on her tender flesh.
      
    The pleasurable noises choked in her throat, and in the silence of the darkened, dusty room all that could be heard was the steady rhythm of his hand against her reddening flesh and her strangled sobs.
      
    After several minutes he asked, "Do you want me to stop now?" but by that time his other hand had slid between her thighs again, and she spread them, willingly, wantonly as his fingers found the mark and caressed her in slow strokes that matched the rhythm of her pain. 
      
    "No.  Please," she whispered, too full of the blinding sensations to question the depravity of the act she was involving herself in.  The sickening excitement was building, gaining momentum and when he paused and asked her again, she couldn't help herself.  She begged him, pleaded with him to go on, offering him her body, her mouth, anything he wanted, but don't stop.
      
    The large hand crashed down, harder now as the other stroked her relentlessly.  "What a bad girl you are.  What a dirty little slut," he rasped, "You wanted to suck my cock.  I knew it the first moment I saw you.  You wanted to suck it, didn't you?"
      
    "Yes, yes," she cried, her hands clutching his ankle as the fire raced through her.  It was surging, pulsing, centring where the pain and pleasure gathered.  Her legs trembled uncontrollably and she heard herself begging him, "Hurt me, hurt me," and then the waves peaked and she cried out as it ravaged her, exploding inside her mind as it spasmed around her body, making her shudder so much he had to grab her to stop her sliding off his legs.
      
    Behind her eyes throbbed red, whether from over-excitement or hanging