day and not want me. He truly feels about me what I feel for him, and that will never be able to be replaced.
“Then I want you to remember that when I finally claim this little ass,” he says low, and a shiver wracks through my body, tightening my nipples, as he spins me to face the padded table, grips the back of my neck in his unyielding hand, and bends me forward until my breasts and cheek press to the cool, smooth black surface.
I gasp at the sudden chill on my sensitive flesh, and moan when I feel his rough palms slide from my shoulders, down my back, and over my ass cheeks before they squeeze, massaging the muscles beneath my skin there. His hands slide around my hips then down between my legs, parting my thighs until I have no choice but to slide my feet wide apart, which brings my stomach flush with the table as well.
I close my eyes, shutting out all the toys and erotic equipment lining the wall I’m facing. All I want is to feel what my Viking is doing to me. Until he asks…
“What was it that made these scars, my beauty?” His fingers stroke gently over the stripes I know are there across my cheeks.
I bite my lip, my heart starting to pound.
“Was it a whip? No… a belt?” he prompts.
“Extension cord,” I finally manage, and his fingers pause their gentle caresses for a moment before he continues.
“Well. I won’t be erasing that memory with an… extension cord.” He growls the last part, and I hate that he’s having to picture what that scene looked like when it was happening to me. “But I will replace it with something that brings much more pleasure.”
His touch is suddenly gone, and my eyes pop open to watch the back of him as he walks over to a cabinet. He gathers a couple of items, but I don’t see what they are as he places them between his bicep and ribs, and then he approaches the wall of toys hung on hooks by loops of leather on the ends. He chooses one, and then he turns around and comes back to me, patting a flat object against his palm.
“Relax, goddess,” he soothes, and it’s not until he says that I realize every muscle in my body has gone tense. I channel what I learned in yoga, consciously releasing the tension in each of my muscle groups until my body feels heavy atop the table, and when he murmurs a “Good girl,” that’s when my mind finally unwinds too.
“Leather paddle. It can be used to create the gentlest of pats, to the sharpest sting, depending on the hand that wields it. But it’s in the hand of the man who loves you, Astrid, and I want you to hold on to that thought as we begin,” he explains, and the use of my real name in this setting makes me really pay attention. No matter what comes next, I know he’s doing it to bring me pleasure, not hurt me, and it’s with that thought in mind I gasp at the first swat of the leather against my right ass cheek.
His big hand rubs at the spot, soothing the little sting there, and I bite my lip at the sensation.
Smack!
The next stroke comes to my left cheek, and an “Eep” escapes me before I moan while he rubs that place too.
Smack!
Another one, in a different spot on my right cheek, followed by the circular soothing stroke of his four fingers flat against my sensitive flesh.
Smack!
Back to the left cheek. And this time, I groan in pleasure.
As he continues to go back and forth from right to left, rubbing the pain away with his strong fingers right after he delivers it, I feel my arousal seeping out of me. I’m already uncomfortably wet, but I can’t seem to bring myself to care. I find myself lifting on my toes to meet the leather paddle each time it connects with my now burning-hot flesh, then sinking back to my heels as my Viking soothes away the sting. And it’s not until I cry out when he gives me a harder swat with the toy that he finally reaches between my legs and feels the wetness he had to have noticed long before now.
My inner thighs are coated with it, and I moan as two of his fingers sink into my drenched heat. My toes curl against the