Read Online Captured by Time by Carolyn Faulkner, Alta Hensley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Carolyn Faulkner, Alta Hensley
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challenge, and parts of him rose and hardened with great interest at that idea. As he spanked her, delivering crisp, and deliberately very painful swats to every inch of the flesh that was available to him from just above her knees to beneath the small of her back, his cock became even further engorged, pressing uncomfortably against his button fly.
Not that she simply lay there and let him swat her—she was like a whirling dervish, doing her best to try to move the parts of her he didn't have his hand on, most particularly her legs, until he very carefully placed one of his over hers, effectively and efficiently trapping them against the bed so she had no choice but to be still for her punishment.
"You son of a bitch!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, but the fight began to ease up a bit.
"I don't know what kind of family you come from, Miss Cimmy, but wherever it was, they did you a great disservice by not teaching you to obey a man who wears a gun and a badge. Frankly, they did you a disservice not teaching you to show respect to a man, period."
"I have never had a man treat me the way you do," she wailed as he continued with the spanking. He made sure to pay close attention to her sit-spots this time, enjoying the way her flesh rippled beneath his hand.
"Well, that is a shame. It's a shame you haven't had a man who cared enough and loved you enough to take you in hand when you need it."
There was no way he could have missed how she froze at his words. She had already been reduced to weeping from his vigorous attentions, and that continued, but in a manner that was much more subdued, and he could feel just how tense she was keeping her body, despite how thoroughly he scourged her flesh.
And somehow he took her posture as a note of direct defiance and spanked her well beyond what he might have, not stopping until at last, when he was just about to stand up and get his belt, he felt her finally give in and submit, sobbing more loudly than she had before and burying her face in the bed to try to cover it. As if it embarrassed her to be crying in front of him.
He was appalled when he looked down at her and saw just how badly he had ravaged her behind, but then he hardened his heart against being too soft on or with her. She'd needed it. Hopefully he wouldn't have to do it again for a while, not that he would shirk away from it if that was the case. If he determined that she needed him to paddle her behind within the hour, he would do so without hesitation. They were in a life or death situation, and he couldn't constantly worry about whether or not she was going to decide to do what he told her to do. And as he turned her back against him, forcing her to snuggle her poor raw bottom against the front of his pants and tormenting himself in an entirely different way but just as badly, that was exactly what he said.
"When I want you to do something, whether I'm asking or showing or telling, I expect you to do it, Miss Cimmy. Your life might well depend on it." He was glad she couldn't see just how tightly his jaw was clenched at the idea of him being the cause of her death, or, for that matter, her being harmed at all. If something happened to her as the result of him forcing her to get involved in his completely twisted up life, he would never forgive himself.
He held her there, against him, soothing her gently as she continued to hiccup and sob in his arms, one big hand low on her tummy, his other arm beneath her head as a makeshift pillow. Jude could feel—even through his pants—just how thorough a job he'd done on her; she was generating so much heat. Well, at least part of her is warm, he thought to himself. But as he let his hand begin to wander south, he considered other, more pleasurable ways to warm her up, and he wanted to explore every single one of them with her.
Then he stopped his exploration as his stomach growled loudly, and he realized that he needed to acquiesce to its demands, if not for her
Not that she simply lay there and let him swat her—she was like a whirling dervish, doing her best to try to move the parts of her he didn't have his hand on, most particularly her legs, until he very carefully placed one of his over hers, effectively and efficiently trapping them against the bed so she had no choice but to be still for her punishment.
"You son of a bitch!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, but the fight began to ease up a bit.
"I don't know what kind of family you come from, Miss Cimmy, but wherever it was, they did you a great disservice by not teaching you to obey a man who wears a gun and a badge. Frankly, they did you a disservice not teaching you to show respect to a man, period."
"I have never had a man treat me the way you do," she wailed as he continued with the spanking. He made sure to pay close attention to her sit-spots this time, enjoying the way her flesh rippled beneath his hand.
"Well, that is a shame. It's a shame you haven't had a man who cared enough and loved you enough to take you in hand when you need it."
There was no way he could have missed how she froze at his words. She had already been reduced to weeping from his vigorous attentions, and that continued, but in a manner that was much more subdued, and he could feel just how tense she was keeping her body, despite how thoroughly he scourged her flesh.
And somehow he took her posture as a note of direct defiance and spanked her well beyond what he might have, not stopping until at last, when he was just about to stand up and get his belt, he felt her finally give in and submit, sobbing more loudly than she had before and burying her face in the bed to try to cover it. As if it embarrassed her to be crying in front of him.
He was appalled when he looked down at her and saw just how badly he had ravaged her behind, but then he hardened his heart against being too soft on or with her. She'd needed it. Hopefully he wouldn't have to do it again for a while, not that he would shirk away from it if that was the case. If he determined that she needed him to paddle her behind within the hour, he would do so without hesitation. They were in a life or death situation, and he couldn't constantly worry about whether or not she was going to decide to do what he told her to do. And as he turned her back against him, forcing her to snuggle her poor raw bottom against the front of his pants and tormenting himself in an entirely different way but just as badly, that was exactly what he said.
"When I want you to do something, whether I'm asking or showing or telling, I expect you to do it, Miss Cimmy. Your life might well depend on it." He was glad she couldn't see just how tightly his jaw was clenched at the idea of him being the cause of her death, or, for that matter, her being harmed at all. If something happened to her as the result of him forcing her to get involved in his completely twisted up life, he would never forgive himself.
He held her there, against him, soothing her gently as she continued to hiccup and sob in his arms, one big hand low on her tummy, his other arm beneath her head as a makeshift pillow. Jude could feel—even through his pants—just how thorough a job he'd done on her; she was generating so much heat. Well, at least part of her is warm, he thought to himself. But as he let his hand begin to wander south, he considered other, more pleasurable ways to warm her up, and he wanted to explore every single one of them with her.
Then he stopped his exploration as his stomach growled loudly, and he realized that he needed to acquiesce to its demands, if not for her
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