Page 20 of His Brazen Tart
The thought of being spanked like a naughty child stoked revulsion in her, but Joan couldn’t deny that some base part of her liked the sensation. That elusive, deeply buried thing silently begged for more.
Piers seemed to sense this somehow, and delivered two more blows in swift succession—first to the left cheek, then to the right. She gasped and wrapped her fingers around the chains hanging from the bedposts, using them to keep her balance. A large hand cupped one of her buttocks and squeezed, and she moaned, surprised at her own wantonness. Then he hit her again—once more, then twice, a third time. It hurt, but more than that, it felt divine. Like the prick of cold raindrops against her skin—shocking at first, but then sublime.
Piers’ body pressed against her back, the fabric of his breeches abrading her sore buttocks. Slipping a hand around her body, he pressed his palm against her belly, fingers splayed wide. Joan allowed her head to fall against his shoulder, her eyes sliding closed as she savored the delicious friction of his hard cock against the cleft of her arse.
“I was right about you,” he whispered, his hand inching its way downward. “You might be an unbridled coquette and a tease, but in the hidden parts of yourself, you crave control. You want to be ruled … dominated … made helpless and ravished like the little tart you are.”
Joan shuddered, the effect of his words as powerful as his touch. His fingertips combed through her curls and parted her lower lips, exposing her inner flesh. She bit her lip around a moan when his middle finger grazed her clit, then teased along her folds.
“Wet,” he groaned, pressing his lips against her shoulder, then giving the muscle a little bite. His tongue circled over the impressions of his teeth. “You’ve wanted this for as long as you’ve been aware of yourself a woman, but didn’t know how to ask for it. You didn’t know how to name it. Did you, Joan?”
She clenched her teeth around an answer, knowing that despite her submission to being bound, they were still very much engaged in a battle of wills. Piers wanted her weak and trembling at his fingertips. Despite acknowledging the part of her that wanted to give in, Joan could never completely abandon her defiant nature.
When she didn’t respond to his question, Piers cupped her mons and pressed his fingers into her slit. “When I ask you a question, I require a verbal response.”
“No,” she gasped, the sound forced out on a breathy sigh of pleasure as his forefinger slipped into her passage. “I didn’t know … I never imagined.”
The man was an outright villain, curling his finger and finding the spot just within her channel that made her eyes roll up into her head.
“You, my dear, are what is known in my world as a brat,” he crooned, still steadily working his finger in and out of her. His other hand began toying with her breast, his fingertips circling the perimeter of her nipple without actually touching it. She held her breath in anticipation. “You don’t want to submit to just any man, and won’t do so easily. What you require is the right man … one who savors a challenge. Fortunately for us both, I just so happen to be such a man.”
He gave her nipple a swift and aching pinch, forcing another moan from between her lips. She bucked in his hold, and the heel of his hand pressed into her clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her entire body. Piers added another finger to her cunny, and Joan’s back arched, pushing her buttocks into his groin. He thrust against her but showed no signs of opening his breeches to give her his cock. Joan groaned with frustration, though her bonds made it impossible to do anything other than stand there and accept whatever he wished to do to her.
“The game ends whenever you wish,” Piers said, his voice low and husky in her ear. “All you have to do to earn my cock and end your punishment … is beg.”
Joan’s body went stiff, and her eyes flared open at the impact of his words. The bounder wanted her tobegto be fucked? A derisive snort emitted from the depths of her throat before she could consider the consequences. “I have never begged a man for anything, and do not intend to start now.”
A low chuckle came from behind her, threaded through the clink of metal. “Have it your way.”
The shackle on her left side opened, and then the right, and Piers did nothing to impede her unsteady fall forward. Joan went face-first into the counterpane, her upper body splayed flat and her trapped feet still planted on the floor. This left her open to another volley of strikes from Piers, who delivered them with a precision that left her breathless. The leather of the crop flicked at her trembling buttocks, lighting them on fire. Then, a few more blows landed on the backs of her thighs, robbing her of breath and sending her up onto her toes.
Joan clenched the bedclothes in both hands, gritting her teeth and doing her best to breathe through her spanking. The first strike lit upon her arse was unlike anything she’d ever felt, pushing her toward the edge of some new precipice. She could never have imagined that being hit this way would cause her cunny to pulse and yearn and her insides to erupt with liquid heat. With each blow she rocked against the bed, seeking relief from the persistent throb of her desire. It wasn’t enough. She was wet and needy and what she wanted was hers for the taking.
But only if she could bring herself to beg.
The lashes came to an abrupt stop and Piers’ hand fell onto her hip. Joan sucked in a breath through her teeth at the ache it sent radiating through her loins. He stroked along her throbbing skin and slipped his fingers into the cleft between her legs.
“Oh, God,” she groaned as he breached her passage. Her sheath clenched greedily around him, and her body gave a violent jolt when his thumb skimmed her clit.
“This can end when you choose,” he reminded her. “And because you have decided to be stubborn, not only will I require you to beg for my cock, I will also demand an apology for your behavior this evening.”
Joan snarled into the counterpane, her fingers twisting in the heavy fabric. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. She had been near her breaking point, ready to give in and beg. Now he had demanded an apology, and another rush of prideful defiance surged through her.
“You’ll have to do better than this if you intend to extract an apology from me,” she taunted, glaring at him over her shoulder. “With all your blustering, I had expected far worse.”
Her limited view of Piers only allowed a glance of his taunting smirk before the world around her tilted and swayed. Hands gripping her hips, Piers spun her so that she lay on her back with her legs draping over the edge of the bed. The iron rod and shackles left her as helpless as before, her legs held open.
She propped herself up with her elbows and watched as Piers lifted the crop. The impact was more difficult to tolerate when she could see it coming. Her lips fell open on a choked gasp when he lightly tapped it against the inside of one thigh. He had only struck her hard enough to make the skin blush pink, but the patch of flesh tingled and ached with warmth. The opposite thigh was treated the same, and he continued methodically flicking the crop back and forth, working his way closer to her core with every arc of his wrist.
Joan panted and trembled as she stared up at him, enraptured by the deep concentration upon his face. Piers was no hulking brute, but a tightly coiled mass of careful control. Each fall of the crop on her body was placed with intention, leaving her hovering on the perfect edge where pleasure met pain.
“I apologize for disobeying your directive, Piers,” he instructed, the crop hovering over her quim as his unnerving pale eyes locked with hers. “Say it and your punishment will end.”
Jutting out her chin, she narrowed her eyes at him in silent refusal. Rather than grow angry with her, Piers merely grinned and shook his head as if he’d known all along how she might respond.
“Such a stubborn little hussy,” he murmured.
Joan’s back arched when the crop fell squarely at the center of her cunny, the snap of the leather sending a burst of heat through her before dissolving into a dull and persistent throb. The crop fell twice more, upon her nipples in rapid succession, leaving her squirming and struggling for breath and pulsing from head to toe with delicious need.
