On My Knees - J. Kenner Page 0,95
skin against my own.
“I spanked you once and used my hand, and loved the way the sweet sting lingered on my palm. But this isn’t entirely about me, and I’m wondering if you might enjoy something just a bit different.”
Oh. He is stroking me now with something slightly rough. Not leather. Not metal.
Wood, perhaps?
I’m not sure, and when he lifts it from my ass, then smacks it lightly down again, any potential for further analysis goes right out of my head. There is just this sensation—a light sting, and not nearly enough.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes.”
The word bursts out of me far too fast, and Jackson chuckles. “As you wish.”
He repeats the smack, this time harder, so that my ass burns with a deep red pain that thrums and throbs with each additional spank. Between each blow he rubs me, and that sensation—a gentle touch over tender skin—is both soothing and arousing, as if each sweet touch sends the deeper pain further inside. It builds and builds, until there is no longer any pain at all, but a floating kind of pleasure that spreads out from my ass to bathe my entire body, sensitizing me and making me wild and hungry for more.
“Are you sore?”
“Yes,” I whisper, as he slips his hand between my legs and strokes me slowly, teasing my clit before slipping two fingers inside me. I am still wearing the thong, and the sensation of the material rubbing against me as he enters me is one more piece to this puzzle of wild sensuality. One more thing that is pushing me toward the edge.
“Do you like it?”
I hesitate, my eyes closed. “God, yes.”
He doesn’t reply, but rewards me with another spank, but as this one lands, he thrusts his fingers in deeper. I gasp at the unexpected sensation and at the hard and fast way my cunt tightens, clenching around his fingers as if in a silent demand to be fucked—and fucked hard.
He does it again and again and again, and I am so wet that I am dripping, so desperate to be fucked I am almost crying. The pain from the spanking has transformed completely. It is pleasure and need and demand, and when Jackson takes my hips and yanks me toward him so that I slide along the bed, it is all I can do not to burst into tears of joy.
Behind me, I hear Jackson strip. He is out of his clothes in a heartbeat, and inside me just as fast. Soon he is thrusting hard, and with each slap of his pelvis against my red and sensitive ass, another wave of pain-like pleasure crashes over me. It is all so much, and I feel like I am spinning from the cacophony of sensations that are assaulting me. I need an anchor, and as always Jackson knows what I need, and even as he pistons hard against me, he slides his hand around my body until his fingers find my clit.
He strokes and teases me, building me up higher and higher until I can’t take it any longer and all this pleasure and pain and wild writhing ribbons of electricity come together in an explosion so violent and wild that I am certain I will not survive.
My body convulses, my muscles tightening around his cock, my back arching up as I try to contain the pleasure. I am still on my knees, my wrists still bound, but I fist my hands in the sheets, then cry out again as Jackson thrusts once more into me, then groans from his own wild release, his body shaking as he bends over me, hot and hard and satisfied.
“Oh my god,” I finally say. “That was—”
“Amazing.”
I make a soft noise of agreement, but say nothing else. I am so wiped that even those few words exhausted me. We stay like that for a bit, but soon Jackson moves to my side. He helps me turn onto my back, then reaches for the belt that binds my wrists.
I tug them away. “Not yet. Jackson, I want—”
“More?”
I lick my lips, not certain I should say this thought that has come unbidden into my mind. It’s too wild, probably too stupid, and if it all went wrong I would be mortified. But it is also a symbol that I’ve not only survived Reed, but thrived. That I’m strong now. And that it is Jackson—not Reed—to whom I have surrendered.
He watches my debate play out on my face. Now he says, “Tell me