At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle 3)

CRACK!

My laird was a man who swung swords with such strength they could cleave men in two. Thus, his new paddle landed with an ungodly force against my backside, enough to push the air from my lungs and leave me in total shock. Tears sprang immediately to my eyes as the pain was so sobering, I thought better of this game. Regretted it instantly.

Regretted it even more when the second blow came.

CRACK!

This one forced a scream from me. Not a shriek, but a true scream as the sting of it seared its way over my bottom and I scrambled to get away. I was no match for the laird; I couldn’t escape him, and it humiliated me that I should try. I had no right to struggle against this discipline—discipline I’d goaded him into giving me—and yet, my whole body rebelled against me. And as I kicked and writhed to no avail, I begged, suddenly blubbering in tears that flew from my lashes.“Please, no more, please, laird, please!”

“I like it very much when you beg, lass,” he said, with low menace. “But I like more how red your arse is right now. I can see it even in the dim firelight. Such a pretty color. One I’d like you to wear for me on your bottom at all times…and I cannot tell you how very much I want you to take more for me.”

Oh, the torment of it! The pain of the paddle was such that it now struck fear in my heart, but to hear him say how much he wanted to paddle me some more…that was a faerie enchantment to me. Not only did I know he could paddle me again, no matter how hard I fought him, but I wanted him to do exactly as he pleased. Even if it made me sob.

And it did make me sob. Even as I went limp over his legs, offering with my body what I couldn’t find the words to submit to. “Beg me again not to paddle you, lass,” he said. “But beg knowing that it’s not going to do any good. Let me hear it.”

That broke something in me. Some well of desire that made my sex flood with wetness even as I sniffled and shrieked my pleas, “Please, no more, laird. Please, no. It hurts, it hurts terribly!”

CRACK!

There is, I s’pose, within every person a breaking point. A point of fighting or fleeing. As this strike sent a shock of pain reverberating through my bottom to my jiggling breasts, I lashed out at him against all reason, trying to snatch the paddle from him. Like a mindless animal in panic. He captured my wrists easily in one hand, chuckling all the while. “There’s my little hellcat,” he said, pinning me face first to his bed. “Go on. Fight me if you wish. It won’t matter. You’ll have exactly as many strokes as I wish to give you, no more, no less.”

But in pinning me down, his body slid over mine, and the sensation of his body hair and hot skin against the tender flesh he’d just beaten made me groan. Oh, how I wanted him. How desperately I wanted him!

“I shouldn’t fight you,” I sobbed into the mattress.

“If you fought me and I didn’t wish it, what would you deserve?”

“Another paddling,” I cried, even though I didn’t think I could take it.

I truly didn’t!

“Aye, but you have my permission to struggle, and yet you’ve gone strangely still…”

That’s because I was paralyzed with the turmoil of lust and fear and shame that swirled inside me. “Because I want to please you more than I want anything…”

“Then please me,” the laird said, releasing my arms and rising up again to a seated position. “Please me like I’ve taught you to do.” Turning to look, I saw that he’d discarded the paddle and was now fisting his thick cock, stroking it slowly, his expression turning from forbidding to amused at the unthinking way I licked my lower lip. “You’ve finally come to like suckling my cock, haven’t you?”

“I loved it from the very first time,” I said, defiantly, tears still streaming down my face. “Before I even knew what to do.”

“Oh, you did well enough not knowing, you saucy wench. But show me what you’ve learned.”

I tried to rise up to my knees but in so doing, groaned, for the paddle had left in me a bone deep agony. It would bruise, I knew, and I felt nearly an invalid crawling to him. But some surge of arousal, anticipation of tasting him, made me ignore the pain. Grasping him at the base of his shaft, delighting in the heat and width of him in my palm, I wet my lips and slid them down over the bulbous head, careful to cover my teeth.

“Nicely done.” His hand went to my hair, gripped it tight.

God, how I loved that. How I loved when he tugged my long hair, how he showed such control over me and made me feel like a wee doll in his grasp. I’d learned to take him deep into the back of my mouth without gagging, learned precisely how he liked it. I was keen to prove it to him.

Bent forward with my bottom in the air, I bobbed over his lap until his free hand strayed to my burning backside. Just the merest touch was such an agony that I jolted up with a cry. “Got more than you bargained for with that paddle, didn’t you?” he asked with another chuckle, and the devil in his eyes. “Well, we cannot let such a red and burning bottom go to waste, can we? Go to the chest at the foot of my bed and you’ll find within it a little vial of oil. Fetch it, and bring it here.”

I did as he bade me to, hissing a bit with every step, but more curious than ever when I returned to the bed and pressed the vial into his big hardened palm. He patted the warm bed beside him. “Lay down, on your belly.”

I sprawled on the bed, stretching all the way to my toes, watching over my shoulder as the laird poured some oil between his hands, replaced the stopper in the vial, then rubbed his palms together. Then, something glorious happened…

He turned onto his knees and put his palms flat to my shoulder blades, slowly kneading the flesh there in a way that made me go boneless.

A long, slow breath escaped me. “Ooooooooooh.”

“Feels good?” the laird asked, slowly rubbing my shoulders and neck.