Read Online Personal Geography by Tamsen Parker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tamsen Parker
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punished?”
“However you’d like, sir.” That’s obvious. But instead of the, “Very good, pet,” I’m expecting, I get a light slap between my widely spread legs that makes me jump. The contact with my clit isn’t unwelcome and I’ve been spanked this way before, but it’s a surprise.
“Don’t be trite with me. I don’t like it. You might’ve gotten away with that with someone else, but I expect a real answer. And you’ll stay still, otherwise I’ll restrain your legs as well. Do you need to be strapped down or can you behave for me?”
“I’ll behave, sir.”
“That’s right. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I’m your good girl.” I whimper as he slips his fingers in and out of me in that maddening rhythm, and I clench around him.
“Don’t even think about it. You’ll be sorry. Now, let’s talk about your punishment.”
Oh my god. Is he going to make me talk about punishment while he’s still doing this? I’m going to expire. And by expire, I mean come. Hard. Without permission. Fuck.
“I think caning’s a little harsh for a first offense. Would you agree?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ditto for whipping.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the crop seems a little fussy. I’d like to work you over with that nice and slow, and I don’t want to waste time right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
He’s making me crazy. With every option he dismisses, a picture runs through my head of him doing exactly that. For the love of all that is holy, this man is absolutely maddening, and I want him. Badly.
“I’d love to flog you, make you pink up from head to toe, but that I want to savor,” he muses, dragging a groan from me at the thought—I bet Cris is handy with a flogger—and I’m greeted by another slap between my thighs. “Quiet. I’m trying to concentrate.”
I tug at my wrists. Me, too, Cris, me, too. At least he doesn’t threaten me. It was more of a passing reminder.
“Paddling?”
My back arches at the suggestion. There’s very little in this world as satisfying as smooth wood or a plane of leather making diffuse contact with my ass over and over again. If it’s measured and not too, too hard, I could be paddled for hours. God, I love a good paddling.
“You’d like that?”
I want to say no. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because I think he’ll do something else if he thinks I’ll enjoy it too much. But I don’t want to be punished for lying. That I could see him caning me for.
“Yes, sir.”
“Better than a spanking?”
“Yes, sir.”
There’s too much variability in hand spanking, too much inconsistency. I like the predictability of the paddle. Plus, it’s challenging for Doms to hit me as hard as I like to be hit with a bare hand. Yes, paddling is preferable to spanking, and I wonder what he’s going to do with this information.
He nods thoughtfully, stroking in and out of me. I have to admire the man’s concentration. This is multitasking at its finest. I do wonder what’s taking him so long. He’s not indecisive, and he’s already narrowed the options. The only thing I can think of is that he’s playing the long game, like a chess player planning out his next half-dozen moves. I like the idea of Cris meditating on all the things he’d like to do to me in the future while driving me crazy in the present.
“I think you’ve had enough. Don’t want you earning another punishment already. Knees together, legs down.”
He withdraws his hands, and I close my legs and slide my feet over the wood until the edge of the table is at the back of my knees as he untethers me. He leaves the cuffs on my wrists and slides one hand under my back and another under the base of my skull to help me sit up. I find myself chest-to-bare-chest with him. Appealing is not going to cut it. I find Cris Ardmore…delectable.
The nearly irresistible urge to kiss him overwhelms me. I want his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, my hands in his hair. I want him to
“However you’d like, sir.” That’s obvious. But instead of the, “Very good, pet,” I’m expecting, I get a light slap between my widely spread legs that makes me jump. The contact with my clit isn’t unwelcome and I’ve been spanked this way before, but it’s a surprise.
“Don’t be trite with me. I don’t like it. You might’ve gotten away with that with someone else, but I expect a real answer. And you’ll stay still, otherwise I’ll restrain your legs as well. Do you need to be strapped down or can you behave for me?”
“I’ll behave, sir.”
“That’s right. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I’m your good girl.” I whimper as he slips his fingers in and out of me in that maddening rhythm, and I clench around him.
“Don’t even think about it. You’ll be sorry. Now, let’s talk about your punishment.”
Oh my god. Is he going to make me talk about punishment while he’s still doing this? I’m going to expire. And by expire, I mean come. Hard. Without permission. Fuck.
“I think caning’s a little harsh for a first offense. Would you agree?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ditto for whipping.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the crop seems a little fussy. I’d like to work you over with that nice and slow, and I don’t want to waste time right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
He’s making me crazy. With every option he dismisses, a picture runs through my head of him doing exactly that. For the love of all that is holy, this man is absolutely maddening, and I want him. Badly.
“I’d love to flog you, make you pink up from head to toe, but that I want to savor,” he muses, dragging a groan from me at the thought—I bet Cris is handy with a flogger—and I’m greeted by another slap between my thighs. “Quiet. I’m trying to concentrate.”
I tug at my wrists. Me, too, Cris, me, too. At least he doesn’t threaten me. It was more of a passing reminder.
“Paddling?”
My back arches at the suggestion. There’s very little in this world as satisfying as smooth wood or a plane of leather making diffuse contact with my ass over and over again. If it’s measured and not too, too hard, I could be paddled for hours. God, I love a good paddling.
“You’d like that?”
I want to say no. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because I think he’ll do something else if he thinks I’ll enjoy it too much. But I don’t want to be punished for lying. That I could see him caning me for.
“Yes, sir.”
“Better than a spanking?”
“Yes, sir.”
There’s too much variability in hand spanking, too much inconsistency. I like the predictability of the paddle. Plus, it’s challenging for Doms to hit me as hard as I like to be hit with a bare hand. Yes, paddling is preferable to spanking, and I wonder what he’s going to do with this information.
He nods thoughtfully, stroking in and out of me. I have to admire the man’s concentration. This is multitasking at its finest. I do wonder what’s taking him so long. He’s not indecisive, and he’s already narrowed the options. The only thing I can think of is that he’s playing the long game, like a chess player planning out his next half-dozen moves. I like the idea of Cris meditating on all the things he’d like to do to me in the future while driving me crazy in the present.
“I think you’ve had enough. Don’t want you earning another punishment already. Knees together, legs down.”
He withdraws his hands, and I close my legs and slide my feet over the wood until the edge of the table is at the back of my knees as he untethers me. He leaves the cuffs on my wrists and slides one hand under my back and another under the base of my skull to help me sit up. I find myself chest-to-bare-chest with him. Appealing is not going to cut it. I find Cris Ardmore…delectable.
The nearly irresistible urge to kiss him overwhelms me. I want his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, my hands in his hair. I want him to
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