His Human Slave (Zandian Masters 1)

A tap sounded at the door. The image of Lamira standing outside with a guard, wrists bound behind her back popped up as a hologram above the door.

“Enter.”

The guard walked in with her, but he dismissed him with a wave. “Leave her.”

Lamira’s chin was held high, defiance blazed across her delicate features. He remembered that look from the day she first arrived on his pod. She marched over to him and spat in his face.

Her attack came unexpected, so he registered only surprise, rather than anger.

“My mother will not be your sex slave!”

It was so absurd, he wanted to laugh—and she was adorable angry like this. But he didn’t show amusement. Instead, he scooped her up by the waist and carried her to his sleepdisk, where he sat on the edge and draped her across his lap.

He spanked her with his hand, hard and fast. “I have no intention of using your mother as a sex slave,” he made clear. “She is my guest—a boon I purchased for you after I gave you that undeserved whipping.”

Lamira didn’t answer, probably too caught up in wriggling under his punishing slaps.

He’d forgotten how satisfying it felt to spank her. Everything about it lit his senses on fire—the feel of her soft, supple form across his knees, the sight of her perfect little ass bouncing beneath his hand, the gasps she made each time his palm made contact. He could question her about her psychic abilities later, after her spanking. And breeding.

His wrist cuff was still programmed to monitor her arousal rate, and the numbers flashed rapidly.

Twenty percent aroused. Thirty. Thirty-five. Forty.

She liked her spankings as much as he did.

The only displeasing aspect of the situation was her clothing. He lifted her to stand between his knees and yanked down her leggings and panties. “Why are you wearing clothing? What is the rule when you enter my chamber?”

Fifty percent aroused.

Realizing he couldn’t remove her shirt with her wrists bound behind her back, he grasped it with two hands at the neckline and rent the fabric down the middle, tearing it from her body.

Lamira gasped and wobbled on trembling legs. Her cheeks flushed pink with emotion, and confusion played across her face.

Sixty percent aroused.

“You are only punished in the bare, Lamira. You shall never be allowed the protection of your clothing.”

Seventy percent aroused.

Her nipples stood out in stiff peaks.

He pulled her back over his knee and resumed the spanking, delighting in the contact of flesh on flesh, the crack of his palm against her bare skin, the scent of her arousal. He loved the way she squirmed over his lap, her hip rubbing his throbbing cock.

Eighty-five percent aroused.

Stars, he loved this. He loved that she grew excited when he took her in hand. He loved the heady sense of power punishing her gave him. And, yes, he loved her. He loved her. No matter what her secret, they’d work it out.

Her skin turned pink under his continued onslaught. He wondered if she could orgasm from a spanking alone. Not that it was allowed.

When he heard a sniff, he suddenly realized her back was shaking with sobs. He froze.

Oh veck. Had he spanked her too hard? He didn’t think he had used more force than normal. He released her wrist cuffs.

“Lamira,” he croaked, spinning her up to cradle in his arms, the way she liked it.

Her face dripped with tears, eyes red. She tucked her head against his neck, where he couldn’t see her eyes.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”