Page 13 of Revenge
“Last chance, Dahlia. Come and take your punishment willingly, or I’ll put you on clothing restriction.”
I just made that punishment up, but now that I conceived it, I desperately hope she’ll rebel.
Her pale cheeks flush with a peachy-pink, but she doesn’t move.
My dick punches out against the zipper of the tuxedo pants. I move swiftly, lunging across the bed to catch her, careful not to yank her or leave bruises as I haul her off.
She squirms and fights me, so I hold her in a simple restraint, my arms pinning hers to her sides, her soft backside pressed up against my lap.
After a moment, she stops struggling and twists to try to see me.
“Do I need to tie you up for your spanking, Principessa?”
She glares at me.
I risk releasing her, moving slowly, and she remains still. I gently turn her and push her torso over the side of the bed. “Spread your legs, amore.”
She doesn’t obey–but I didn’t expect her to. I figure it’s enough she isn’t trying to claw my eyes out.
I unhook the train from her gown, then draw the zipper down the back of the dress until the entire thing falls in a white poofy puddle at her feet.
She’s not wearing a bra. She stands in her heels, garters, white silk stockings, and pair of white lacy panties that beg to be pulled down.
I hold my hand down between her shoulder blades and give her ass a slap–not too hard, not too soft.
Enough to make her gasp.
“When I give you an order, Principessa, I expect you to obey.” I pop her ass again–on the other side this time.
I repeat the action, spanking her on one cheek and the other a few more times, then I hook my thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slowly draw them down to her upper thighs.
She hunches her back, keeping her face tucked into the bedcovers.
“Good girl,” I praise her because she’s taking it well.
And because it pleases the fuck out of me to punish her.
So much more than I imagined.
When I thought about claiming Dahlia, it was solely for revenge. This society girl who was far too good for me seven years ago will now be completely under my thumb. I plan to frighten her. Cow her. Make her sorry she ever met me.
It was to punish her father, mostly, but also to teach the spoiled little rich girl a lesson.
Now that I have her in my bedroom, now that she’s my wife, my desire to punish her has morphed into something…more pleasurable. Definitely dirtier.
The best revenge of all will be to complete my debauchery of this perfect socialite. Train her to obey using pain and pleasure.
I stroke her bare flesh, noting the heat I’ve already produced, the redness of my handprints.
She twists to look over her shoulder at me with alarm, no doubt worried I intend to claim her virginity. I answer her look with a sharp slap.
She hides her face again.
I take my time, working slowly, enjoying the spring of her flesh under my palm, the slappy sound that fills the room. I’m not causing her real pain. It’s more an imposition of my will.
Dahlia gasps and wriggles, making my dick thicken, my balls grow heavy with need. But I meant what I said–I won’t force her. That’s a line I won’t cross.
I will just have to show her everything she’s been missing. Make her hot and trembly then deny her satisfaction. If I repeat that treatment often enough, she’ll come begging me for it.