Punishing the Brats

He smirked. “You’re fucked.”

“I know. I still want you to kiss me though, damn it.”

He glared at me, straightened in his seat, and did just that, piercing his tongue into my mouth. I shuddered at the sensation. This offering of reciprocation, like some tiny act of submission from the most dominant man I’d ever known rendered me helpless against him. I wanted his hands free now, I wanted to be taken in hand and given whatever punishment or reward he might see fit. I simply wanted to be his. I sighed into his mouth, rising and falling over him as he kissed me.

The movement was sudden and upending as his fingers dug into the soft flesh at my hips and he launched me off of him onto the bed. The tie dangled from one wrist, flayed strands of fabric hung at the other. He’d torn the fucking thing in two.

He barreled down onto me, taking hold of my hair as he guided himself into me again.

I cried out against the sudden force of him.

“Is this the punishment you wanted?” He asked as he thrust into me with such force, my insides buckled. I tried to scream, but he clamped a hand over my mouth, lowering his lips to my ear. “Shh. No need to scream. You knew exactly what was coming to you.”

He thrust again and again, holding me beneath him, helpless to him, battering my insides with force in juxtaposition to his gentle whispers. I cried out against his hand, trying to gasp for air, but he held me there, watching my face as he punished me. I could feel the heat in my sex rising, feel the way he slammed into the right places, urging me on and on. My legs clamped around him, but his movements didn’t slow. I was coming and there was no more I could do about that than free myself from his grasp.

I closed my eyes tight, feeling tears slip down into my ears, and held my breath.

“That’s right. Come for Daddy,” he whispered into my ear. I seized beneath him with such violence, he loosed his hold on my mouth, letting me scream, pinned beneath him. He drove into me harder and faster, as though punishing me now for my orgasm. The wave crested, began to recede, but with the fervor of his movements, started anew, and stronger. I reached for him, wanting to touch his skin, pull him onto me, but he saw the movement and grabbed my wrists, pinning them over my head.

“How does it feel? Wanting to touch me and being denied.”

I cried out in near pain and frustration.

“How does it fucking feel?”

“Please!”

He pounded into me now, grunting and growling with each thrust. I recognized the sounds of his coming orgasm.

I tore my hands from his grasp, reaching down to clamp my hands over his backside, pulling him into me, pushing myself up to him. He met each movement with another more powerful thrust.

I dug my nails into his ass. “Is that all you got?”

Before the words could even pass my lips, I braced for impact. He clutched his fist in my hair, and roared. I could barely catch my breath as I came again, this time the sensation searing like electrical charges through my sex, splaying out into my limbs and my belly. He shuddered over me in unison, feeling the warmth of his seed inside me. He convulsed, pressing his forehead to mine, his breathing hoarse on my face. Then he slumped onto me, his face buried into my hair.

We took a moment to catch our breath, silent. I draped my arms across his back, playing my fingernails at his smooth skin. He hummed softly in appreciation.

“I should tie you up more often.”

He lifted himself up, slowly, then met my gaze. The stern glare was enough to strike fear in a Spartan. I giggled beneath him.

He rose to his feet, leaving my skin cool from our sweat and the absence of his warmth. “Believe me, if you do, the punishment will only be worse.”

I smiled, watching him collect his dress slacks from the foot of the bed. “Is that supposed to deter me?”

He shot me a warning look and bent to pick up his suit from where it fell, rumpled on the floor.

The high pitched rhythm startled me onto my feet. “Shit! The timer!”

I grabbed my bathrobe and ran down to the kitchen, pulling the roast from the oven. I scanned the counter for the meat thermometer, swearing to myself.

I could hear him calling from the bedroom. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late now. Still need to shower.”

I was exasperated, unable to remember where the damn thermometer was. God damn it, if this roast wasn’t medium rare - “Baby! You don’t have to go!”

He appeared in the hallway, throwing his hands up. “Right! Because a quick shag solves everything, right?”

“On the nightstand, you stubborn dick!”