His Captive Mortal (A Vampire Romance)

Sliding his thumbs between my legs, he pries them apart and outward, exposing my pussy to his view. He inhales deeply as if drinking in my scent.

“Somebody is turned on,” he remarks.

“No, I’m not,” I bite out too quickly to sound convincing.

He covers my hand on the table with his own and drags it down, past the edge of the table, threading it between my legs, from the front. He pushes both my fingers and his own against my slit, moving them up and down across my slippery folds. “Keep your fingers here,” he murmurs in my ear.

My sex is wet, the tissue swollen with need. Every thrust of my fingers sends zings of pleasure rippling through my body.

He draws his hand away, and I instantly miss it. Fingering myself was not so exciting as having someone else guide the motion. A sharp slap lands on my tingling ass then another. I draw in a breath, dizzy. Charlie begins to spank me again, at a slower tempo. With the next slap, I shove my fingers inside my channel. They almost sink there involuntarily, as if they know that’s where they belong. He swats me again, and I repeat the plunging, growing more eager with each thrust as pleasure begins to take over, outweighing the sting of his slaps.

“The spanking won’t stop until you come,” he informs me.

I groan, my knees buckling.

He reached his left hand around my hips and adds his fingers to the mix again, still spanking with the other palm. “And don’t even think of faking it because I can feel your muscles.”

He needn’t have worried, I’m just a few strokes away from orgasm. But then he begins to slap harder, causing enough pain to distract me from the pleasure. I bite my lip. Will I be able to make myself come with my ass starting to smart like this?

I still my thrusting, but he insists, pinching my clit, then thrusting my fingers and his inside my sopping channel, stretching me wide. “Oh, God,” I whisper. I need to come. Desperately.

I whimper with desire, wanting more than fingers inside me. Charlie seems to know because he begins to finger fuck me with several, or maybe all his fingers together, his knuckles pounding against my clit on the in-strokes as his opposite hand continues to spank the daylights out of me.

“Oh...God. Oh, Charlie, oh please...yes, yes, yes,” I babble incoherently, almost weeping.

My body jerks, my core spasming as the best orgasm I’ve ever had ripples through me. “Ohh—-oh!” I moan, digging my fingernails into Charlie’s forearm, holding his fingers inside me as I contract around them. “Oh my God,” I sob. “Oh, yes.”

When I finish, I literally collapse over the table, my entire body going limp. Within seconds, Charlie scoops me up in his arms, carrying me honeymoon style to the sofa where he sits with me sprawled on his lap. He cradles my back, lowering my torso and lifting my shirt up over my breasts with his teeth.

Even completely spent, my pussy gives a squeeze of excitement. He flicks the nipple of one of my breasts and the pain shoots as another signal of desire, straight to my molten core. My shorts and panties still tangle around my thighs, and he pulls them off, tossing them to the floor. While some part of my brain registers the vulnerability of lying completely naked and open to him while he sits totally clothed and in control, I feel sexier and more desirable than I’ve ever felt in my life. The wolfish way he looks at me tells me how enticing he finds me, and there’s a possessiveness about the way he holds me, surveying my body with unabashed appreciation.

Mine. He seems to project the thought. I startle at my first moment of clairaudience. Or is it telepathy? Thoughts slide away again when he tugs my knee up to expose my pussy. Too relaxed, too exhausted from my orgasm, I‘m not ready for more, but he slides his hand up my inner thigh until his fingers reach my opening. Inserting two fingers, he pushes them deep inside me and finds what must be my g-spot.

I jerk in surprise at the intensity of the sensation. “No,” I moan.

He raises an eyebrow, beginning to pump in and out, hitting the sweet spot every time. “No?”

“I can’t come again,” I protest. “It’s too soon. Please…”

“You can and you will. Do you need another spanking?”

“No.” I arch into his hand, my head thrown back, my knees open wide to give him access. It’s already too much—I fear I’ll explode from the sensations he creates within me.

My hands wave wildly, one of them smacking him in the head.

“Hold your ass,” he tells me. “Squeeze it hard and remind yourself of the spanking you’ll get if you don’t come.”