Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
My trainer had only used the birch on me. I realized somewhere, vaguely, through the haze of agony emanating from my backside, that this awful area represented another element of the mission that the Guard had decided not to tell me about. I had supposed—so very naively, I understood now—that by whipping me with the birch my trainer had prepared me for the worst of what my owner would do.
According to some objective measurement of pain, if such a thing existed, the spanking didn’t hurt more than the birch. I did have enough of my wits about me to grasp that. But the experience of being upended over my master’s knee, of my body utterly dominated by his, of my limbs trying desperately to get away and unable to move my bottom more than a millimeter though I flailed my arms and kicked my feet… it seemed to make the actual pain so much worse that I could think of nothing but… but…
“Hold still,” Ivan said. “And stop screaming. You disobeyed me, girl, and now you must learn your lesson.”
I felt the influence of the wand take over. I had gotten familiar with this effect, too: a direct command, either before a whipping or during it, would override my body’s automatic fight-or-flight response. It had something to do with communication, my trainer had said, and then told me that I didn’t need to know anything more than that—and I wouldn’t understand it anyway.
My body obeyed my master’s voice. A sob of anguish burst from my chest as I felt the inner conflict rage higher than it ever had before: my own limbs, at the command of another, and the inescapable feeling that something in me liked it… craved it… needed it the way my lungs needed to draw breath.
In that moment, always came the start of the other need, the dark, wanton lust, so closely bound to the craving to obey a rough, dominant man. In the tiny pause Ivan had given me in my punishment, simply to give me that brusque order—that I remain well positioned for his convenience in spanking me, and quiet down so that he could enjoy himself fully as he turned my backside into blazing agony—my wayward pussy had come to blazing, pulsing life over the warm solidity of my master’s bare thigh.
He started to spank me again, just as hard but at a slightly slower pace. Through the searing pain and my racking sobs, my flowing tears and the humiliating, tiny, involuntary motions of my hips over Ivan’s knee with each burning smack of his huge hand on my ass, I thought about communication. Ivan’s words, his instructions, as dismissive and degrading as they had seemed on the strict level of their meaning, had communicated something even more important to me.
That was what had brought the wand’s effect into operation—the silent part of his command: the way it had informed me that my master cared how I acted while he spanked my bare bottom over his knee. As much as I needed some release… some friction… some slight pressure, even, on the part of me that craved his dominant touch so strongly, the tiny, cringing bud that I couldn’t seem to rub against anything as my new owner’s hand came down so hard, over and over… as much as I craved that, I also needed to know this man found me worth spanking, worth degrading, worth…
Ivan stopped. His hand descended again, but not with force. He held me just as tightly with his left arm but he eased the pressure of his right leg and he shaped his fingers to the curve of my blazing bottom-cheeks. The two middle fingertips pressed there, gently at first and then more firmly.
I knew, somewhere off where my logical mind still existed, that he expected me to part my thighs. In any ordinary situation, with me or with any other girl who shared my needs, my—or her—knees would have spread in a humiliating heartbeat, the clearest possible demonstration of how wanton my master’s chastising hand had left me, or any other hypothetical submissive girl.
But Ivan had told me to hold still. I couldn’t spread my legs.
I heard him grunt softly, as if in surprise, then chuckle in obvious understanding. The sound came from what seemed like miles above me, though his chest lay close enough that the rumbling laughter vibrated deliciously through my thoroughly dominated body.
“You may spread your knees, girl,” he said.
He hadn’t commanded it. He had merely given permission. This man, my new owner, wanted to see if, when given a choice in the matter, I would show my wanton nature and demonstrate how deep my shameful need for his mastery went. My anonymous Guard trainer had only ever given me flat instructions: clipped, precise orders.
For an instant I resisted. It was the sheer force of the intelligence I heard in Ivan’s voice, the note of intellectual curiosity that finally seemed to bring out the fullness of my dark, irrational lust for a man’s authority—for his aggression, and even for his cruelty. The masked man who had awakened that humiliating need hadn’t had any such mental capacity as far as I could tell.