It’s not so much fun anymore, and he’s shifted me so I don’t press into his legs in that special, delicious way. No, now it’s just discomfort.
I whimper. Try to catch my breath. Mother Earth, it burns!
Thankfully, he finally stops.
I want to soothe the wicked ache by rubbing my sore skin. I would need to be free of the cuffs, though. My relief turns to horror when he pulls at my garment. “Since you don’t seem to be responding so far, I’ll have to spank your bare ass.”
“No.” I tense my thighs.
But he’s stronger than I am, and crazy dexterous, and a moment later—without my assistance—my breeches and undergarments are on the floor and my entire bottom half is naked.
“What are you doing?” It’s a dumb question. He’s not only told me what he’s doing, he’s already doing it.
His hand comes down again with a crack, making me squeal and pull away.
“Ten of these,” he says, settling me back across his lap, “and we’ll have another talk.”
His hand comes down again. Again. He’s strong. I can’t imagine a human could spank this hard.
And that thought reminds me of the way his muscles bulged in definition beneath his white warrior’s garb. I shouldn’t find this arousing.
I shouldn’t.
I use my entire strength to push against him, but it’s in vain, and he knows it. He takes his time, letting the spanks take a moment to sink in before he delivers the next.
Even while I struggle, gasping, squeaking at the burn, I realize he’s like a stronger animal playing with his prey. Teasing. Taunting. And that thought brings back that tingle to my belly, and it starts to grow, and soon each spank ignites it again until I’m burning for something I don’t even understand.
By the time he gets to ten, I’m squirming, not as much from discomfort (although it definitely burns!) but from my confusion. My body is betraying me in a way it’s never done.
“Now let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is different, it seems. He pulls me up and seats me on his lap, twisting me to look into his face. I feel the hard muscles of his thighs beneath my bare ass. Am acutely aware of my pussy against his leg.
Why in the stars would he put me on his lap? Is he angry or not? Is this punishment...or something different?
I swear his horns are thicker and more taut than before, and I think I feel his cock harden under my ass, too. I squirm, partially from discomfort, and also to learn more about him.
“Drayk,” I breathe, forgetting to call him Master or Lord.
“Tell me what I need to know.” His deep voice is low and beseeching. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.” He actually appears concerned, searching my face to be sure I’m not broken.
Apparently Zandians have no idea how much pain and torture a human can take. I’m not going to enlighten him.
“Just make this easier on yourself.”
He’s so earnest, I want to give the answer he wants. But it’s impossible. “I can’t make up fables to satisfy your misconception.” I’m helpless to explain, to make him understand. “I swear, the syringes have nothing to do with Zandia.”
“Then we do this again.” He sighs. “You are bringing this on yourself. You had a chance to avoid it.”
He sets me on my feet, facing the bench, then pushes my torso down. He runs one hand over my ass, as if to soothe the sore skin.
“This is going to hurt,” he warns. I hear a swish and jingle, as if he’s removing something, and then I realize he’s taken off his sword belt. The sword itself lies sheathed on the floor. Apparently he’s completely unconcerned with me reaching for it.
Right. This male could overpower me with his smallest finger.
“If you don’t answer my question by the time we get to ten…”
There’s a whooshing sound, and then a line of fire hits my ass. I cry out, but he’s holding me in place. I can’t escape.
“You can spank me as much as you want but it’s not going to change my story,” I cry out. “You can kill me and I won’t change it. I speak the truth.” My eyes fill with tears. The thing that really hurts is his distrust.