I’d resist, but what is there left to resist with? I have been stripped of all my weapons and almost all my clothing. All that remains is a fine cotton chemise punctuated with holes where the more intimate wiring passed around my body.
His palm lands across my cheeks, not for the first time. He spanked me once on the abduction shuttle, but then I still had the mass of my garments to keep me safe. This time I have just a thin layer of cotton, and it does absolutely nothing to protect me from the harsh alien punishment being rained down on my unfortunate hide.
Blackmane
This has been a very long time coming. From the moment I first laid eyes on her, I knew Astaria was a creature in dire need of discipline. Her murder spree alone would have reinforced that, but now she’s almost gone and died.
The moment I heard that tone, I knew that I was seconds away from watching this perfect captive disappear forever before my very eyes. I was going to lose everything. These thoughts happened before I was truly aware of them. Now they seem slightly surprising to me. How could I possibly be so invested in and attached to a murderous little human who I have known only for a matter of hours and has thus far done nothing but brought chaos and darkness to my vessel? To be fair, the Dawnhammer has a reputation for bringing chaos and darkness. Perhaps my attraction arises from the simple fact that she fits.
Now that she is less swathed, I can see her form for what it is. She is a generously built female with much in the way of secondary characteristics. She is curves, an elegant biological design that makes me throb with desire. As much derision as I have for humans, there is something about the way this one has been crafted by biology and fate that keeps me utterly enthralled.
I spank her as hard as I dare.
She is very delicate. And sensitive. Every little touch elicits a reaction of some kind. She wriggles and she gasps, she grinds herself against me and she lifts her hips up toward me. I do not know if she is aware of the effect these motions have on me. I suspect not. For all her manipulative machinations, she is not terribly good at using her body.
The way her flesh quivers under my hand is more satisfying than I can express. Her hindquarters dance, inviting another slap that I give without hesitation. There is something very correct about spanking this young woman. It feels like the cosmically right thing to do, as if I am fulfilling a need that the universe has been screaming out for.
I spank her royal rear with firm slaps, turning the creamy skin red with each and every one of my disciplinary impacts. To think she had known all this time that there was a decoy wire and not to have mentioned it. She was so close to getting us both killed, putting her own life carelessly at risk and for what?
“Ow! Ouch!” she complains, a note of surprise in her gasps.
“Have you not been spanked before, princess?”
“I have not been touched in years,” she says, the goosebumps running up and down the length of her legs testament to that. She is responding with great sensuality. I am hurting her, but she does not care for the pain. The pain is not the point. The touch is. The attention is. She is a lonely little thing and that is how she will be controlled.
That reminds me. It’s not just the explosive situation that needs to be dealt with.
“You. Will. Not. Kill. Guards.” I emphasize every word with a spank in an effort to drum it into her twisted little brain. “If you have the urge to kill someone, you will tell me.”
“Tell you? But then you’ll stop me.”
“Yes. I will.”
“You mean you’ll lock me away.” She pouts over her shoulder, twisting almost all the way over to look at me. “I have spent so much time locked away. I don’t want to be locked up again. I’d rather kill everyone on this ship than be locked up in a corner of it.”
I have found a vulnerability, and with that vulnerability, I have found power.
“I won’t lock you away.”
Her expression performs contortions of surprise. “You won’t? But I’m…”
“I know what you are.”
“No, you don’t. Nobody does.”
“What are you, then?”
She smiles brightly. “I’m not telling!”
“I don’t need you to tell me. It is plain to see that you are a brat of the highest order. A wicked little wench handled only by the weakest and least worthy.”
I return to the punishment at hand, spanking her harder, knowing it won’t make her break and knowing she needs and deserves it more than almost anything else.