I reach for one of the pillows piled in the center of the bed and hug it under my chest, resting my cheek on it.
He spanks me with his hand. The first few slaps are hard—hard enough to take my breath away. He delivers five and then stops, reaching for something. I brace myself for whatever he has planned. I relax when I sense something hard and rounded at the entrance of my sex. He pushes in a small bullet vibrator and turns it onto low.
I’m already dripping with desire, and the vibrator has the effect of waking up my entire pelvic region. My next exhale has a moan to it. Pavel doesn’t stop with filling my pussy. He spreads my cheeks and drops a dollop of lube on my anus. I gasp, tightening against the surprise sensation.
Pavel rolls the rounded end of a stainless steel buttplug against my asshole then pushes in.
I squeak at the pressure.
“Take it,” he growls.
I work hard to relax, forcing out a slow exhale and gradually releasing the tension in my sphincter muscles. As soon as they go slack, he pushes in. It’s a crazy mixture of pleasure and pain—the ring of muscles stretching open burns, but the sensation is counteracted by the buzzing against my G-spot and the internal fullness as the plug enters my body and finally seats.
I whimper, feeling fully surrendered now, fully his. The position is humiliating but hot. There’s something I adore about my entire body being owned and controlled by my demanding lover.
“Please,” I mewl, even though I don’t know what I’m begging for.
Certainly not for him to stop. I know he won’t. And not for more, either. The sensations are already too much—I’m on overload.
But he does give me more. He starts spanking me again with both holes full. Every spank jiggles the plug inside my ass, sending fresh bursts of sensation through me while the vibrator takes me right to the edge.
“Master, please,” I plead. Now I understand what I was begging for. “I need to come.”
Already.
I need to come desperately. And I’m almost certain he will refuse.
“No.” The syllable is harsh—a rebuke for even asking.
His spanks fall fast and hard, lighting up my ass and making my back muscles tense.
“Please, Master.” I’m not really asking anymore. I know the answer is no. I’m just losing my sanity. Begging is all I’m capable of. And it’s what he wants to hear.
I hug the pillow tight to keep from covering my butt with my hands because the burn grows in intensity with every slap he delivers. The harder he spanks, the harder I have to come. I start to buck and wriggle over his lap. “Please, Master...please, Master.” I’m so close.
He stops rather abruptly. I expect him to give me a break, maybe rub my ass while I pant and catch my breath, but instead, he pulls me up to stand in front of him, between his knees.
I’m hot and discombobulated. My hair falls across my face, and I’m close to tears. I hold my ass. Pavel tugs and rolls my nipples and puts tiny alligator clamps on one of them. I nearly come the moment he closes it. I have to shift and press my thighs together to stop. I’m more prepared for the second one.
“Master,” I whimper.
Those grey eyes meet mine, and I catch the flash of approval before he hides it. He likes me this way—pleading and begging and at his mercy. Desperate to come.
He reaches around to cup my ass, pushing my hands away. He kneads it, pulling me closer, then he starts to play with the buttplug, pumping it slowly.
“Oh!” I can’t control the quivers that explode in my belly. He pumps again, short fast pumps. I press my fingers over my clit as I throw back my head and come, unable to stop myself.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I gasp as soon as I can catch my breath. My hands fall onto his shoulders because my legs won’t hold me up.
A tear streaks down my face although I’m not even sure what it’s for.
Pavel thumbs it away, studying my face. “It’s okay, blossom,” he murmurs. “It was an accident.” He adjusts the nipple clamps, then guides me back over his knee.
This time he uses the paddle on me, and I jolt with the intensity. It’s way different than his hand—much harder. And hurty. He spanks me quickly, alternating buttcheeks, right, then left.
I squirm and writhe under the spanks at first—I can’t help it. But when he continues paddling, my last bit of resistance lets go. I surrender to his will, to the pain. At the same time, the upset of the audition, my stress over not telling Pavel, his disappointment in me all bubble up to the surface.
A sob breaks from my throat, and then I totally lose it.
Pavel stops immediately. “Oh, malysh.”
Pavel
Tonight I want to tear out my hair when Kayla cries. It happens sometimes. She cried the first night we played—not during the scene, but after. She needed aftercare, and I didn’t give it. Even though I know it’s probably just an emotional release from the strain of her traumatic day, I feel like the biggest mudak.
I don’t show my distress—that would only make her bottle her release in an effort to please me. I rub her ass with one hand and her back with the other. I don’t interrupt by asking her if she’s okay or what went wrong. I may not be the most experienced dom, but I know enough to make this a safe space for anything that comes out.
But as she lets out a torrent of tears, I’m sorry I promised not to kill the television director. I really, really want to pound his face right now. Or maybe it’s just my own face I want to pound.
After a while, her sobs slow and then stop. I gently remove the plugs. She’s still dripping wet, so I know no matter what happened emotionally, my little flower is turned on.
“Crawl up on the bed, blossom.” I keep my voice soft—there’s no command in my tone, only gentleness. I’m not sure if she needs to be fucked or held right now, so I’m trying to read her.
Kayla instantly obeys, crawling up farther on the bed, lying on her belly with her legs spread wide in clear invitation.
“Is that how you want it, malysh?” I break my own rule and ask. I stroke and squeeze her reddened ass, making a sound of contentment in my throat.
When I rub between her legs, she makes the same sound. “Yes, Master. Please.”
Another mental snapshot. So damn sweet.
I strip out of my clothes and crawl up behind her, pushing her damp blonde hair from one side of her tear-stained face to brush my lips over her temple. She arches her ass up when my cock trails between her legs.
I push in easily, her channel is soaked and swollen. I move slowly, arcing in and out with reverent glides. Filling her, reveling in the glory of everything Kayla—her tight cunt. Her punished ass. Her sweet, sweet submission.
It starts without urgency. Just pleasure. Easy strokes. The communion of two bodies. But Kayla starts crooning, “Master… Master” over and over again in that breathy, need-soaked voice, and my dick can’t take it any longer. I pick up my speed, pumping into her, riding the wave. I take off her nipple clamps so the rush of blood returning to them will stimulate her orgasm, then I work a hand beneath her pelvis to rub her clit. She immediately comes.
Her climax brings on mine, and I’m lost in it. It’s not rockets and fireworks this time. More like a safe space. Home. Not that my home was ever safe. But this is the way home should feel.