Page 28 of Violent Cravings

What’s this supposed to be? I feel like I’m on an episode of America’s next top model, only that there’s no prize at the end and no cameras pointing at me.

“Shoulders back!”

This is ridiculous. I’m so annoyed, I can’t help but roll my eyes at him.

And that’s when I learn about punishments for the first time.

“Stop!” he yells at me. “Right there.”

I freeze on the spot, resisting the urge to flee from him when he darts at me with such sudden force that I almost fall over when he grabs me by the arm.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he barks, his face so close to mine that I can feel the warm air of his breath hitting my face.

“I-I-I-” I stutter, unable to phrase a coherent sentence.

He yanks at my arm, causing me to yelp in pain. “Answer me!”

“Yes,” I hurry to reply. “Yes, master, I did. I’m sorry, I-”

“You will be sorry,” he says, dragging me over to the bed.

He pushes me down roughly onto the mattress, my face forward and my legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Instinct tells me to push myself back up, but he holds me in place with one strong arm, forcing my upper body into the silk sheets, as his other hand reaches down to the hem of my dress, which ends shortly above my knees. He pushes my dress up with such brutality that I worry about him ripping the expensive fabric, but he doesn’t seem to care.

I complied with his wish for me to wear stockings. They are as new as everything else and my first purchase from Victoria’s Secret, a store I’ve never gone into before but always wanted to. I was hoping to be praised for my choice, a set of black stockings with pretty lace and a matching garter belt. The thong I’m wearing matches the set, as well, consisting only of a tiny piece of fabric with a small jewel decor at the back. Wearing these things had me more excited than I’d be willing to admit, but he pays very little attention to it right now.

All that matters to him in this moment is to expose my ass. The first blow comes unexpectedly and hits me so hard that I let out a surprisingly high shriek of pain. I never knew that having your ass spanked could hurt this much. There’s barely enough time for me to process the thought when the next strike follows straight away, but hitting the other side this time. Then another one. And another. He lands a painful sequence of spankings on my ass, each one hurting more than the one before it. I endure all but the very first one in complete silence, my hands crawling into the sheets beneath me as my entire body tenses up to prepare for the next blow. Tears of pain are threatening to run down my face, but I hold them back with stubborn determination.

I’m shaking by the time he stops, sweat running down my temples, and my ass is throbbing in ferocious pain. He’s standing behind me, watching as I lay in front of him in this humiliating pose.

And then something weird happens. Something...changes.

Violent agony turns into a warm throbbing of sensual after-pain. It’s still burning, but the feeling is more pleasant than painful.

“Get up,” he commands from behind me.

I take a deep breath before I push myself up from the mattress, refraining from fixing my pulled-up skirt as I straighten my posture in front of him.

As my eyes travel up to meet his, I detect a noticeable bulge in his crotch. He’s hard. This is turning him on!

“Now, doll,” he says. “Why did that just happen?”

I gulp.

“Because I rolled my eyes at you,” I say in a low voice, adding the word “master” just in time, before he gets angry at me again.

He smiles and comes closer, reaching his arms out and placing his hands on my shoulders. Even in my heels, I’m still a tad shorter than him and have to lift my eyes to meet his gaze. I like that a lot. Not many men can make me feel small, and I crave the experience more than most women probably would.

“Good girl,” he says, his voice soft again.

He gives me a quick kiss, only teasing my lips with his before he withdraws again. I find myself leaning in, left disappointed and hoping for more. The kiss we shared before was so sensual that I’ve been yearning for another one ever since. But he’s the one in charge. I can crave and wish all I want, but he’s the one who decides what will and what won’t happen between us.

“Now,” he whispers as his hands travel to my shoulders. “Let’s try this again. I know you can do better.”

I tense when he hooks his fingers below the straps of my dress and slowly pulls it down off my shoulders, pausing for a moment before exposing my breasts. The open back of the dress didn’t allow for a bra, and this is probably the first time I left the house without wearing one since my early teens. My breasts grew to an ample size quite early, and I’ve always felt more comfortable when they were supported, even though they are still firm and perky.

He hums with approval when he pulls my dress down further, completely exposing my breasts. His way of going about this is so sensual that I’m not surprised to see my nipples hard and erect, an obvious telltale of my arousal.

He casts me a knowing look, but refrains from touching them, even though I want him to. My back is straightened, urging my breasts up towards his face, a nonverbal invitation to play with them.

But he declines. Instead, he continues to pull the dress down my frame, deliberately caressing along the side of my arms when he moves down to my hips. I can’t suppress a moan when he pulls the dress down over my tortured ass, brushing across the still burning skin.

The dress drops down to my feet, and I‘m standing before him wearing nothing but stockings, a garter belt, the smallest thong I ever owned, and a new pair of heels that I can’t walk in.

He takes a step back, his eyes scanning every inch of my body as he takes me in.

“Perfect,” he assesses. “Now let’s try this again. Walk for me, doll.”

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