His Human Prisoner (Zandian Masters 2)

She flushed. That couldn’t be true, could it? Yet she couldn’t remember ever growing moist, except with him.

He flipped her around so she lay across his lap then threaded her hand underneath her hips and between her legs. “Stroke yourself, beautiful. Keep it wet while I spank you.”

She touched her sex, surprised at how plump and swollen her folds had grown.

Rok brought his palm down on her right cheek, hard.

She yelped and curled her fingers back into her hand, bracing for the pain.

Though the hand was underneath her, somehow he knew. He slapped the back of her leg, which hurt even worse, and reached around to replace her fingers. With his digits tangled over hers, he gave her a quick tutorial on how to touch herself, making a tight circle over her clit then thrusting a finger inside her.

“Keep it going or I’ll spank down here.” He popped her thigh again.

“No,” she shrieked.

He chuckled. “Be a good pet, then. Do as you’re told. I need you to learn how to pleasure yourself.”

Her head swam, as if the concept itself made her dizzy. A master ordering her to pleasure herself was a most bizarre and backward experience. Fingers fluttering between her legs, she tensed her shoulders, every cell in her body listening intently to the sensations created from simultaneous spanking and masturbation.

He spanked with a heavy hand, slow, measured strokes, without any rubbing or petting in between. The steady and predictable cadence helped her settle into the pain, accepting it, even though it set her bottom on fire.

After what seemed like an endless duration, Rok picked up speed.

She cried out in protest, but he once more set up a rhythm, just twice as fast as the last one. Her own fingers picked up the pace as well, matching his thorough spanking with a frantic, jerky pulse. Need coiled inside her, dark and hot. The sensations mingled, pain and desperate desire.

“Rok,” she gasped, hips bobbing on his lap—whether they were reaching to meet his hand or move away from it, she wasn’t sure.

“That’s it, beautiful.” His voice sounded deeper than usual. “Say my name when you come, say it.”

“Rok...Rok!” she shrieked. All the muscles in her pelvic floor tightened. Her thighs tightened, squeezing her hand tightly between them. Her butt cheeks clenched. Under her fingers, her pelvic floor contracted six, seven times. All the while, Rok kept spanking her, even harder, now, and so fast the sensations exploded into one giant tumultuously satisfying event.

She lost track of time, of herself, of everything. Not in the way she normally “went out” during sex. Not like that at all. She felt only pleasure—glorious, satisfying. Bone-deep.

When awareness came filtering back in, she was lying collapsed over Rok’s lap, with his large hand running slow circles over her flaming ass.

“Rok,” she croaked.

Once more, she wanted to cry. Not out of sadness. Not out of humiliation or frustration or anger. Not for any reason other than that she felt wrung out. Maybe that had been what happened last night, too.

A blanket fell around her shoulders, and when Rok rolled her up against his torso, she was cradled like a baby.

“Good, pet. Sweet, beautiful female.”

She squeezed her eyes closed and tucked her face into his chest, unable to bear looking at him.

“I’m going to let you hide for about ten more seconds, and then you’re going to let me look in your eyes so I can see what’s going on.”

Another mini-orgasm ran through her at that. This new brand of mastery, of dominance that demanded she bare her soul, not just surrender her body, gave him a terrible power over her.

A terrible, wonderful power.

Her body began to shake, and Rok wrapped her up tighter. Her eyes fluttered open.

“You’re fine, beautiful. They’re just aftershocks. It will pass soon. I’ve got you.” He offered her a tube of sweet fluid, which she sipped.

“I have something that might help, actually. A human food—medicinal—originally from Earth.” He rocked her close. “After the shakes go away, I’ll get you some.”

Tears burned behind her eyes. Veck. She didn’t want to cry—not again. She struggled to keep it in, holding her breath, but Rok gripped her chin and tipped her face up to his. “Are you crying again?”