Page 126 of Riot's Thorn
“Hands at your sides,” he demands. When I don’t comply, my nerves kicking in, he walks over to the dresser and pulls out a pair of metal handcuffs I recognize well. Moving behind me, he cuffs my hands, leaving a lot of wiggle room on my wrist, proving no matter what, he’ll always take care of me. “There you go.”
“This is weird,” I say.
“It’s not weird for me to want to see my pussy.” He cups my sex, getting nose-to-nose with me. “She looks neglected.”
“I tried to keep up with the shaving, but I cut myself.”
“That’s okay. From now on, I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.” The heel of his hand grinds against my clit, and I moan, our gazes locked as his warm, panting breaths caress my face.His fingers stroke along my slit, not penetrating, just teasing, and I say a little prayer that his punishment isn’t orgasm denial. I’m too keyed up and desperate. “Goddamn. You’re soaking my hand.”
“I missed your touch.”
“I better give you whatyou want then, huh?” He steps back, his hand falling away, and I whine. “Stop that. You wanted this, remember?” He points to what looks like some kind of ergonomic chaise lounge in the corner. “Do you like our new chair?”
“It looks. . . comfortable.”
“It is. Let me show you.” He pats the top of the curve. “Come here.”
I take slow steps, not knowing what he has up his sleeves. He’s acting bizarre, which tells me the chair isn’t just a chair. It’s curved into an S shape with a separate wedge pillow that fits perfectly into the lower dip. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why he’s making such a big deal about it.
“What now?” I ask.
He pulls off the wedge pillow. “Kneel in the center and lean forward.”
My ribs took more time to heal than anything else, but since they hardly hurt anymore and it’s only been a couple weeks, I’m assuming they were only bruised and not cracked. I’m grateful for that when I drape my body over the top curve, a position that pushes my ass out. Okay, I finally get it. This is some kind of sex furniture.
Unlocking one of my wrists, he moves my hands to the front, cuffing them underneath the top arch of the chair. Nothing is keeping them there, and I could easily pull them up and over, but it still has the mental impact of helplessness. This is the aspect of our play I love the most—that tingling fear deep in my belly.
“Is this a sex chair?” I ask.
“It is, and fuck, seeing you like this makes the grand I dropped worth it.”
“How does it work?”
He places a hand between my shoulders, pushing me forward before pulling off my glasses and setting them on the nightstand. Even craning my neck, I can’t see him, but after the first swat lands, I understand what my punishment will entail.
Spanking.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
RIOT
Iwanted to get Bones’ approval before I touched her again, but showing her the house and telling her she’s moving in with me made me feel like finally being home, and it weakened my resolve. Her bratty attitude only spurred me on more.
“Count them, Little Thorn,” I say, rearing back. Her ass didn’t sustain any injuries, so I don’t hold back.
“One,” she says with all the confidence in the world. It makes me not want to stop until she’s sobbing and begging for relief.
I bring my hand down on her other cheek, loving the sting in my palm. She counts as I dole out her well-deserved punishment. With each number, discomfort slips into her tone until she’s gritting them out. Her face may be red and her jaw tensed, but I know if I were to just slip a finger in. . . .
I swirl up the length of her cunt, collecting her arousal. “You’re so wet, you’re dripping. Does it turn you on when I spank your ass red? Are you a pain slut? Of course you are. Only naughty little whores get off on this.”
“Oh, god. Riot. I need more.”
“Yeah. . . no. This is a punishment.” I pull my finger from where she wants me and hold it in front of her mouth. “Clean me up.”
She opens wide, and I place my finger on her tongue. Her lips engulf me with deliberate slowness, eyes locked onto mine with a fiery intensity as she demonstrates the sinful act she’d perform on my cock if only I allowed it. The raw desire coils within me like a live wire, almost unbearable in its need, but her punishment is far from over.
I bring my hand down on the backs of her thighs, her sit spots, and both cheeks until her skin is a beautiful, blazing shade of red and she’s begging for me to stop while simultaneously begging for me to fuck her. Tears are rolling down her cheeks, making her mascara run, but each time I stop to play with her pussy, she’s so fucking wet for me.
