“I wanted to punish you just like this for bewitching me.”
Another painful slap, my skin even more sensitive under the sheen of oil.
“I wanted to take this perfectly plump ass in my hands, warm these cheeks and spread them open for my tongue.”
I tensed in anticipation as he spanked me twice more, harder than before, and slowly spread my burning cheeks so that my most forbidden place was exposed to his gaze. His thumbs commenced their massage over my abused flesh.
I shuddered when his hot breath wafted over my center. “I’m going to take your ass, Elle. Would you like that?”
My answer was the bestial groan he wrought from me as his hot, velvet tongue stroked heavily over my asshole. I shuddered at the depth of pleasure, the heat of my embarrassment only provided further kindling for the fire raging inside me.
He slapped my ass again. “Use your words, siren.”
“Yes, sir,” I breathed.
“Yes, sir, what?”
“Yes, sir, I want you to take my ass.”
Saying the words out loud set my oiled skin aflame. I wasn’t mortified. I was desperate. Desperate to show him how much I could take, how eager I was to be physically and emotionally splayed open before him, to be used by him.
His finger slowly followed the track of my wetness from the inside of my knee to it’s source at my center.
“So wet for me.”
“Yes,” I hissed, locking my knees to keep from rocking back against his gently questing fingers.
I needed more. My tender flesh missed the pain, my mind craved debasement.
“Please, sir,” I begged.
His tongue was back at the tightly furled entrance between my cheeks. He circled my opening languidly, his hands roughly suppressing the undulation of my hips.
I wanted to buck my back at him like a bitch in heat, howl at the sky, force Sinclair to break his control and take me like an animal. Instead, he enforced my stillness, my silence, and caged the sensations roiling through me, heightening them until I was a churning mess of incoherent need.
“You’ve done this before,” he reminded me and I was momentarily surprised that he remembered that. “But you’ve never had me here.” His thumb firmly circled my anus before plunging inside. “No one will ever own this ass but me.”
The tightly knotted mass of shame that had lain at the core of my psyche since the moment Christopher had initiated contact with me began to unravel. With the mental release came a flash of gut wrenching memories; Christopher’s pale hands as they coaxed me onto the bed, his casual suggestions that I might please him as payment for his kindness to my family and his sincere promise to keep my ‘virginity’ intact. He was never forceful physically, but his emotional manipulation of my teenage self had been perfectly calculated.
Goose flesh rippled across my skin and I pressed my teary eyes harder into the bed sheets until the scent of Sinclair and me, of our intimacy, killed the images like mustard gas.
I gasped as Sinclair pushed forward with two fingers, pumping and twisting them firmly inside of me. It was so decadent, these dual feelings of fullness and taboo, that I was drunk with it.
Sin’s hand pressed hard on the base of my spine so that my bottom was steeply arched into the air.
“What are you thinking of, siren?”
His fingers inside me, stretching. His smoky scent braided with the smell of lavender, the smell of me. His words saturating every conscious thought so that they fell into a heavy sleep, so that I was only my body.
“You,” I said.
“Yes, me. When we are together you only think of me.”
“Even when we aren’t.”
He swatted me again.
“Who is in this room? Only you and me, Sinclair and Elle. A Dom and his sub.” His voice lowered dangerously and his touch left me. I felt his absence more painfully than any spanking. “I will ask you again. What are you thinking of?”