Authors: Scarlet Corrine
“Martin, wait!” Scrambling off the bed, I snatched m
y robe off the hook by the door, hurrying after him.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs
, he is there, sitting on the couch again, obviously having no intention of leaving. With a sigh of relief, I hold on to the banister, nervous as he stared at me.
“
I decided I’ll take that drink that you offered me earlier now. A whiskey. Neat.”
Rushing, I
fill a short glass for each of us and take it too him, my robe hanging open in my haste to serve him. I see the smoldering look in his eyes as he looks me over and I grab the lapels of my robe to pull it together, sloshing my whiskey over my hand.
“Nervous?
Suddenly shy?” He smirks and pats his lap. “Drink up, and lay over my lap—ass up. I’m leaving something for your husband to find. After all, my birthday girl needs a good, hard spanking.”
I
wince, then take the shot, hoping it bolsters my wrecked nerves. “No. I refuse to let you do that!” There, that sounded brave and strong.
He didn’t sip his drink
like usual. Instead, he smacked it down on the end table, grabbed the belt of my robe and wound it around his fist. With one jerk, the shot glass flew out of my hand as I scrambled to gain purchase, falling in a heap across his lap. I begin to struggle, clambering to get off him.
If he leaves marks I know
my husband will see them if I’m not careful enough. I can’t be found out. He can’t know what I’ve done. He would never forgive me.
The first slap to my ass is padded some by the robe but it still hurts enough to make me yelp. I hear him grunt, yanking the garment up and over my head,
trapping my arms. No matte
r
what I do or how much I thrash around I can’t dislodge them and get free. I cry out, muffled under the terry cloth and he laughs sadistically, making my blood run cold.
“Poor,
wicked little slut,” he says as he runs his fingers along the slippery slit of my cunt. “So needy, yet always trying to deny what you love.”
This time when his palm hit
the curve of my ass where it meets my thigh, it’s hard enough to rip a scream from my lungs.
“Mmm, that’s good mark,” he laughs. “Are your husband’s hands as big as mine, I wonder? If he comes home tomorrow morning intending to give you a late birthday spanking, will his handprint be bigger or smaller than mine?”
“Fuck you…”
The slap I receive after that remark was the worst by far. I screech again, longer this time. The sting lasts and burns like fire. I’ll never tell him how much I love it.
“Careful now. You don’t want to make me mad.” The next hits are rapid fire. A barrage of severe smacks that range from cheek to cheek until I’m sobbing, begging him to stop.
It surprises me, but h
e does. His touch turns tender and he rubs over the swollen warmth of my ass. The pleasure filled pain is something I cherish. I imagine it’s bright shades of red, and angry pink tones that will start to turn other bruising colors of purple and blue. I know that for the next week, each time I sit or lie down I’ll remember this moment and my pussy will ache for him. I’ll miss this bastard of a man that has ruined me for any other.
A tender kiss is placed on my shoulder and he wrenches the robe off my arms, setting me free. I don’t attempt to escape. I’m under his spell and only want more. He chuckles as I keep my place, sprawled on his lap.
“There you go, such a good girl. I’ll give you a treat…” and he does so by digging his fingers into my hot flesh, making me arch my ass into the air. Tears stain my cheeks and I sniffle, whimpering, “Please…”
Releasing my tender flesh, he returns to his unforgiving
spankings. I imagine he must be drawing his arm back as far as he can, because when it comes slamming down on my ass with such force, it picks my feet up off the ground.
“Please what?”
I’m sobbing now. Great gulping cries of pent up emotions escaping with each painful thrash. I’m nearly to the point of breaking, heading to the place I need to reach in order to let go.
Almost
.
“Please hurt me.”
And he does. Ten more slaps that are each punctuated with a rough grasp of his clenching fingers that I know will leave polka dot bruises in their wake. By the time he stops hitting and begins massaging my ruined flesh I’m broken. Shattered into tiny shards of subspace bliss. Floating on clouds of euphoric freedom.
Once his fingers shove into my cunt from behind I’m coming so hard my screams are
that of silence. Open mouthed shouts of nothingness as my orgasm is drenching his lap and the spot on the couch my husband will sit when he comes home tomorrow. He’ll be seated in my depravity and not even know it. I come again at the thought of such decadence. Too far gone to feel any shame.
Martin is grunting as he slams his fingers inside of me. His cock is like a steel rod jammed into my stomach as I lay over his lap.
My nails rip into his thigh as my body gives one last tense jerk and I begin shaking uncontrollably.
I feel his fingers slip from my raw cunt, briefly realizing he’s gathering me in his arms, cradling me on his lap like a prized possession. Grateful, I curl into him, letting him trap
me in his arms with no protest. I have nothing else in me. He’s stripped it all away and for the time being, I’m his. The roughness of his palms are gentle, but firm enough to soothe me as they run over my skin, calming my trembling body in a way I cannot explain. He’s ignoring his needs and focusing on mine. I want to cry but my tears are exhausted.
Reaching between us, I take out his cock and turn on his lap,
lining my puffy slit up with the thick, mushroom head.
“Mmm, fuck…” he growls, drawing my hips towards him and going deep in one slow stroke.
This is how it should be between a couple. Depravity mixed with lusty desire. A culmination of love and hate. A seamless insanity.
I wrap my legs about his waist and dig sharp fingernails into his shoulders as he drags me up and down his cock. I feel like one big nerve ending trapped on
a ceaseless orgasm. With his fist wrapped in my hair and the other on my hip he takes me faster and harder, until finally, his grunts end in a shouting roar and my battered cunt is filled with his hot seed.
He reaches for the drink I gave him earlier and downs it. As he licks over his lips I move off his lap, quivering when I feel his seed drip down my inner thighs.
Without a word, he rises and straightens his clothing. Standing in front of the mantle, he runs his fingers through his hair a few times, putting it in place. If someone were to see him on the streets, they’d never know what immoral things he’d just done in this house with me. Yet I knew I was the opposite. With tousled hair, bruises, swollen lips and red welts on my body, I would be the picture of a well-used whore.
He turned to me and smiled, “Now, I really do have to go this time, Ana. I’ve done enough damage to you
. He’s bound to see it and ask questions.” His laugh is back to its sadistic sinfulness. “Remember what I said earlier. When he leaves you, call me.”
H
e turns to walk away and I grab his glass from the end table and throw it as hard as I can, missing him entirely. It only makes him laugh harder as he opens my front door.
“Martin!” I scream, “I won’t ever call you again, you bastard!” I hate that I love him. That my body yearns for him and he’s not even gone yet.
“Sure you will,” he says with such confidence it I don’t know if I want to love him or hate him. Either way, I don’t want him to know how much I care.
“Fuck off!”
He refuses to respond to me. Instead, he smiles, winking at me as he turns and goes out the door humming, “Happy birthday dear Ana, happy birthday to you.”
Note from the Author
Thank you for reading my twisted story. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I delighted in writing it. I have many more depraved stories coming soon so keep looking out for more.
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I started out
publishing romance novels, and now I'm a not only a lover, but also a writer of dark erotica. Welcome to my dark and decadent life.
Not for the faint of the heart.
Scarlet Corrine
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