Page 12 of Loving Luna

The wood stung my already busted backside and I hissed.

“Are you ready to talk yet?” Drake asked, momentarily pausing his assault.

“Get bent.”

There was a moment of stunned silence and I knew Drake was processing my response.

Finally he chuckled. “Well, shit, Luna. You really must not want to sit for a while.”

I sighed. Despite my masochistic tendencies, I rather enjoyed sitting semi-comfortably. Perhaps it was time to change tactics.

“I just don’t know what to say,” I whined, making my voice far tinier than usual.

The new goal was to try for a mixture of empathy and arousal. While I started to cry on command, I also squirmed, making sure to rub my belly against his cock good.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Drake chuckled, and a second later smacked the brush hard across my sit-spots, then the tops of my thighs.

Suddenly, my tears became real.

That just made me all the more determined not to talk. Especially when I felt his cock growing hard beneath me, pressing against my belly, and I stopped being angry long enough to realize how horny I was.

That was the downside to scening with Mistress Maureen. Certain aches were created, but not sated.

Fuck.

Of course, if we were having sex, we wouldn’t be talking. At least, not about our feelings.

Drake clearly wanted me to call uncle or to get all up in my feelings with some emotional release. The only release I was interested in was the kind where he fucked me till I screamed.

And yet, he was still spanking. So I did the only thing I could. I leaned into the pain. I relished it, craved it even, and pushed my ass up to meet the brush. I parted my legs, opening them wide enough for him to see my glistening sex.

When the brush fell again, I moaned. It took everything I had to not give myself over to the pain—hairbrushes are the devil—and give Drake exactly what he wanted, but I didn’t. Mind over matter.

I moaned a few more times, pushed my legs wider and began to—as gracefully as I could—dry-hump his cock.

“Really, Luna?” Drake growled when he finally seemed to realize what I was up to.

I just shrugged.

It would work or it wouldn’t but at least I could say I tried.

“You’re ridiculous,” he grumbled. But he was wavering. I could hear it in his voice, tell by the way he paused a little longer between swats. I could feel his eyes on my pussy.

And finally, just when I was about to give up the game, the hairbrush clattered to the floor, and Drake’s fingers rubbed apath up and down my thighs. At first, he paused at my bikini line, not letting his touch wander over to where I wanted it.

But that only lasted a few minutes, and then his hand curled, cupping my sex. My whole body convulsed in a shiver.

His fingers slid up my slit, brushing across my pussy lips. I sucked in a breath. His touch always felt so good. And if I were one of those “soul mates are real” people or someone who believed in things that were “meant to be”, I would say that we were, that we were far too sexually compatible not to be.

But I wasn’t one of those people. I was just a girl who wanted to avoid her own feelings while getting her rocks off.

And I was sure I was about to do just that, until Drake’s hand moved from my pussy and slapped down across my ass.

“You’re a needy little brat, aren’t you? Hungry for my cock?”

I was about to scowl and snap that he knew how much I hated to be called a brat, when I realized that was the exact reaction he was looking for.

I went the other direction. If you can’t beat em, join em. If you can’t stomach a fight with them… fuck them?

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