Page 49 of Marked
I wanted him, not because of my heat, but because I loved him, and he loved me.
I stood up off his lap and slowly began to strip off my clothes. First, I took off my boots and socks. Then my jeans and t-shirt. I stood before him in only my panties, and when I hooked my thumbs into the hemline, he purred in appreciation.
I felt a gush of arousal moisten the seat of my panties. If I looked at them now, there was little doubt in my mind that they would be visibly wet. I lifted my gaze to his and slowly dragged the thin lacey fabric over my hips and down my legs. Carefully, I stepped out of them and stood before him, entirely bare and trembling slightly with desire.
I pressed my legs together, discovering that my wetness had dripped down onto my inner thighs. I slid them against each other, feeling my arousal heighten with every small movement. He stared back at me, inspecting my naked form, and I could feel myself blushing even as my desire for him grew stronger.
He trailed his fingers across my waist, dipping along my hipbone until they brushed against the top of my pussy. I shuddered, his touch like a lightning bolt of pleasure straight to the very depths of the growing need in my core.
“So beautiful and so very wet for me,” he murmured, before sliding two fingers along my soaked folds. I knew what he’d find.
I hummed quietly with anxious desire until he took my hand and led me over his thighs. Once I was settled over his lap, he beganto run his hands over the backs of my legs and up across my bare bottom. The longer I lay over his lap, the more comfortable I became, and I sighed with appreciation at how very good it felt. Every brush of his roughened palms against my skin was like a conduit that channeled my passion into a single point that threatened to tear me to pieces once he allowed me to come.
I realized then that I already wanted to come for him. I craved it.
I found myself arching into his touch, lifting my bottom for him so that he might continue his soft massaging of my skin. I spread my thighs for him in hopes that he might place those heavenly fingers against the place I needed it most.
But he didn’t. Not yet.
He squeezed my right cheek hard, digging his fingers into my flesh, and I whimpered. It had been quite a long time since I’d been put over his knee like this, and I had forgotten just how large his hand was as it spanned my naked backside.
Then he smacked my ass hard, and I remembered exactly how much just his hand hurt. I squealed with surprise, and his other arm wound around my hip, pressing me down against his thighs. His grip ensured that I wasn’t going to be able to escape the cruel bite of his palm for the remainder of this session over his knee. I was trapped.
The spanking began in earnest, and I found myself moaning softly as each spank burned hotly against my skin. It hurt at first, but as he found his tempo, I began to surrender to it. He thrashed my bottom all over and down my thighs relentlessly. I soon found myself lifting my ass to meet each strike, embracing the fiery sting of the initial impact because soon after, it sank deeper and transformed into something else entirely.
It turned into pleasure, a blazing desire that settled deep in my core and demanded to be set free. With more pain came even more pleasure, and I soon found myself drowning in the sensations of both. I bit my lip when I realized that I could feel the hardness of his cock against my belly.
He was hard for me. Punishing me like this turned him on, and I liked that.
He spanked me harder, faster, and I could feel myself growing wetter. Inadvertently, I spread my legs a little, and his fingers caught the edges of my inner thighs.
“Open yourself wider for me. Show me just how wet your little pussy is after you’ve been properly punished, little mate,” he demanded, and I purred quietly with desire.
I obeyed. I spread myself for him, and his palm settled against my wet pussy.
“You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you, baby doll,” he said firmly, patting my sensitive folds with his hand several times before he stilled on top of it.
“I’m not sure, sir,” I whispered.
“This wet little pussy is going to get punished next to remind you that every single inch of you is mine to do with as I please. Mine to touch. Mine to pleasure. And mine to hurt,” he replied, and I couldn’t help myself as my thighs quivered with anxious desire.
“Please, sir,” I begged even though I knew it wouldn’t help me.
He didn’t respond with words. He responded with the cruel bite of his palm against my little pussy.
The sharpness of the slap against my tender wet folds was both loud and intensely painful. The sting spread across my skin, and I couldn’t help but cry out with the initial shock of just how much it hurt.
He did it again and again, until I was sure that the place between my legs was just as red as my ass. My sore pussy burned with sensation, an intoxicating, hazy mixture of pleasure and pain that left me breathless with want. His palm was brutal, and I soon found myself unable to press my pussy against his thigh because it hurt too much to do so.
“Tell me. Whose little pussy is this?” he asked firmly.
“Yours, sir. Please. It hurts,” I whimpered just before the wet sound of his palm smacking me there again echoed around us. The noise it made was shameful, clear evidence of just how turned on I was even as I was crying for him to stop.
He knew something about me though. He knew that I liked it when it hurt, and there was no way I was ever going to be able to hide that from him again. I was his. Completely.
He stopped spanking my pussy and instead dragged his fingers up and down the sopping wetness in between my thighs. His inspection of my arousal was thorough, slow, and deliberate, almost as though he wanted me to understand that he knew just how very wet he made me when he took me in hand like this.
I wanted him. Badly.
