Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
He lands again, dragging me back into that middle interior room, where he sets about tearing my clothing from me, removing a very expensive suit with rough motions of his claws, shearing through fabric and ripping seams until he has me completely naked. It all happens so fast there is barely a moment to process. He grabs a lash from what I now realize is a stand of implements and whips it across the back of my thighs hard enough to make me squeal.
It feels like a line of pure fire has been installed across skin that has rarely, if ever, taken punishment. Naturally, I feel outrage and frustration, but those are not the only two things I feel. I also feel a strong heat pulsing through my nethers, an excitement and an arousal that has absolutely no business whatsoever existing.
I start to squirm in the attempt to avoid his lash, but there is no escaping this punishment. He takes hold of me by the hair, fisting his hand in it and using it to control my head. I am much shorter than he is, and his grip means that I am just barely able to reach the floor on my tiptoes, dancing around naked before his furious alien form, my skin turning bright red and developing painful welts every time the implement lands.
Whatever he is beating me with is something that hurts like hell, something clearly engineered to punish creatures of his kind. I wonder how a saurian feels pain. Their scales must surely protect them from relatively soft impacts like this one? My tender skin is not made for such an implement. I start to whimper not only every time it lands, but every time in between, as I anticipate fresh pain.
Around a dozen harsh lashes land across my legs and ass, biting unpleasantly every time they make contact. Pain rushes through me, along with a certain sense of outrage and shame. How dare he do this to me!? The way he is holding me is a disrespect in itself. It makes me feel very small and very weak, and it makes it absolutely impossible to avoid a single one of those damn strokes.
After a dozen lashes, he puts the implement to the side and picks up a different one. This is more like a length of rattan. It is swishy and thicker than the one he used at first, and I discover it to be more painful in some ways. Less stingy, more deep and thuddy. He brings it down across the underside of my ass, catching the lower parts of my cheeks and creating a deeper heat that begins to seep deeper inside me almost immediately, finding little intimate places.
Without another word to me, one by one, he goes through each of the tools in his sick little collection, giving me a taste of all the many ways he can make me hurt. I wish he’d say something so I could argue, but I can’t even form words. The impulse to apologize rises in me, but I choke it back. I’m not going to submit to him. I’m not going to give him what he wants. He can beat me all he likes.
He really does seem to like it, and that concerns me. Every stroke makes pain sing through me, igniting my nervous system, and going straight to the traitorous little nub between my thighs. I feel my squirming legs start to become slick on the insides. I am barely able to think, but I am horrified by this reaction. I can’t be turned on by being painfully dominated. I don’t want to be, but I am…
The last of Avel’s terrible toys is a lengthy implement with a flat leathery tongue at the end. This he deploys across so much of my skin, I can barely take it. My ass and thighs have borne the brunt of it so far, but now he turns me about, using that powerful grip in my hair to reach the front of me. He flicks that damn lash against my breasts, teasing it across my nipples for a moment, then returning with another quick little snapping motion.
I curse and squirm, consumed by a blush that feels like it is covering my entire body. I have never been this hot. I have never been in this kind of pain. I have been wounded before and sustained injuries that would leave a grown man screaming for mercy, but this is a different kind of heat and a different kind of pain. This is a physical experience that is absolutely overriding my brain’s capacity for thought. I am pure sensation. I am swimming in humiliation.
He lets the tip of the crop travel down my stomach, to the dark V of hair that comprises the very last vestiges of my modesty. He taps it there, low, over the lips that protect the sensitive bud of my clit. He is not being harsh — yet. He is gauging my response. He is trying to see if I flinch, or if I show obvious signs of pleasure, distress, or fear. I do not want to show him anything. I want to hide my reactions. Those are all I have left to hide.