Page 33 of Taming Scarlet

“No,” he said, his other hand pressing down across my shoulders as I automatically tried to stand. “We’re not done,” he added. “Breathe,” he commanded as his hand lifted once again, before slapping down just as hard, but on skin that was already smarting. “Breathe,” he demanded again, making me realize the ache in my lungs wasn’t from being positioned over his legs, but because I was holding my breath.

I sucked one in.

And right afterward, another slap landed.

“Ow,” I whimpered, feeling tears prick my eyes.

“It’s for your own good,” he said, slapping again. And again. “Now when you think of mouthing off at me, you will feel the sting of my hand on your ass, and make a better choice.”

The next slap had the tears spilling over my lower lids and my lip wobbling.

But not necessarily from just the pain.

I didn’t understand what was going on inside of me right then.

Because there was pain.

But my sex was aching.

And emotions that I couldn’t quite wrap my head around were welling up and spilling out.

“You need more, don’t you?” he asked.

No.

God, no.

The skin on my ass felt on fire, felt raw.

“Yes.”

What?

No.

“Yes, what?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

The next slap was even harder, bringing up another flood of emotions that had me sniffling hard.

“Look at me,” he demanded, then reached around my head to gather my hair when I didn’t immediately comply, wrapping it around his hand, and yanking until the pain across my scalp forced my gaze to his, showing him my vulnerability. “That’s what I thought,” he said with a nod. Like he knew. Like he saw all the emotions roiling through me right then. “Are you going to be a good girl?” he asked as he landed another slap, harder, this time watching my face as he did so.

“Yes,” I said, blinking the tears out of my eyes.

“I thought so,” he said, his hand suddenly not slapping, but massaging my aching ass. “I thought this too,” he said, his fingers tracing down the seam of my ass, then finding the material wedged between, just barely covering my pussy. Finding it dripping wet.

“Come here,” he demanded, reaching for me, moving me around until I was sitting on his lap, my back to his chest. “Touch your pussy,” he demanded, making my sex tighten hard at that word coming from between his lips.

“W—“

“Don’t question me,” he demanded as his hands traced up my inner thighs, but didn’t touch me where I wanted it most.

Instead, he snagged my wrist, and pushed my hand between my thighs.

“Touch your pussy,” he demanded again, and my fingers immediately started to move.

His hand stayed on my wrist as the other one moved up, closed around my throat. Not pressing down, just holding me, trapping me.

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