“Spread wider.”
She obeyed, feeling her face growing hotter by the second. Her most intimate spots exposed to his gaze, she clutched the covers that remained on the bed and held her breath, waiting for the first searing spank.
Roc cupped her bottom and caressed her cheeks, his hands moving dangerously close to her aching center. A drop of moisture escaped her pussy, and she gasped as he traced the wetness along her inner thigh. It didn’t help that beneath her, she felt his cock growing larger and harder within the confines of his pants. Her breasts ached and her entire body pulsed with need for Roc.
“If we have to repeat this lesson again,” he said, moving to cup her bottom once more, “I will take the strap to you, Anya.”
The first blow fell, a sting blazing across her entire left cheek. He spanked her right cheek next, and set a rhythm moving back and forth. Left. Right. Left. Right. Her backside throbbed with the quick intensity of the slaps, and after the first dozen landed she began to squirm and kick her feet. Through it all, he held her securely over his lap, no matter how hard she fought him. He pressed his free hand to her lower back, and eventually he pinned her flailing legs beneath one of his.
Being careless enough to put a pregnant ebbra under the covers had been wrong, she knew that. The hundreds of babies running around could’ve done serious damage to their home. Besides that, she felt remorseful for having played a prank on Roc, just to hear him scream. She supposed that had been a little mean of her.
Finally, an eternity later, he stopped spanking and rested his hand against her flaming bottom. His gentleness made her quiver and caused the tears brimming in her eyes to spill out, trickling down her face. She sniffled and lifted her head, blinking rapidly in an effort to calm her swirling emotions. But most of all, she was crying because the spanking had been intimate. It connected them and reminded her of how much he cared about her. He’d set rules for her, and if she disobeyed or endangered herself, she got punished. He didn’t hold grudges or allow a disagreement to keep them apart.
Roc turned her over and gathered her in his arms, surrounding her with his love and strength. Her heart swelled as she leaned into his chest and breathed in his masculine scent. The soft kiss he placed on her forehead as he cradled her wrought another batch of tears to fall, and he wiped the moisture away with his thumbs as he stared into her eyes.
“No more lizards?” he asked.
Peering up at him, Anya could have sworn amusement was flickering in his eyes and a smile was tugging at his lips. “No more lizards,” she agreed, staring at him in wonderment. The lines around his eyes were crinkling. She gasped. “You’re smiling!”
His grin widened. “Yes, because I’m happy.”
Confusion whirled within her. “Happy?”
“Happy with you, my little wife. Despite your little pranks and constant stubbornness, you’ve…grown on me, Anya.”
Her heart pounded with the significance of his confession. He wasn’t a human with human notions of love. She’d accepted that long ago, before she’d even met the Raxian her father had arranged for her to marry in order to help her escape a war-torn Earth. Warmth and light filled her as she stared up at him, and she returned his smile.
“You’ve grown on me too.” She traced circles on his bare chest and held his gaze as the profound intimacy of the moment washed over her.
Lust glimmered in his Roc’s eyes as his smile faded, his muscles tensing as he leaned down to capture her lips in a tender kiss. She knew he was restraining himself, holding back so he didn’t hurt her. The aching between her thighs increased as her need for him grew, and she dug her nails into his arms and lost herself in the kiss. He broke away with a growl and placed her on her feet, shedding his pants as he urged her to bend over the bed.
“Not only have you grown on me, Anya, but I can’t seem to get enough of you,” he said in a voice thick with desire.
He claimed her with a force that stole her breath as the primal beast in him took over, and their cries echoed throughout the house long into the night.
Author Bio
Sue Lyndon is a multi-published author of erotic BDSM romance and spanking romances. She enjoys a good book in any genre, loves Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica, and runs on coffee and chocolate. www.suelyndon.com
A Public Caning
By
Natasha Knight
Early that morning, we were led out to the main platform. There were nine of us in total, three blondes, five brunettes, and me, the one red head. I was last in the line and I wasn't sure that was a good thing.
The sound of the gathered crowd was overwhelming: men and women all collected to bear witness to our ordeal. I wondered how many of the women ahead of me deserved their sentence but didn't have long to ponder it as we were pushed along and up the stairs.
The first girl stumbled at the top and the crowd burst into laughter. She was quickly righted by the guards who physically resembled us so closely - but not quite.
Half a century go, Earth had become uninhabitable. We had killed our own planet and now, we were guests upon theirs. The aliens - although truly we were the aliens here - they looked so much like us but for the fact that they were so much taller, so much stronger, so much crueler. And today was the day for each of us to pay our dues for our part in the destruction of our home.
Finally, we all stood lined in a row so close that we were practically touching each other: bare breasts to bare backs. We were naked but for the stiff, unmoving steel belt that circled our waists. Attached to the belt was a thick rod that spanned the length of our backs up to the heavy steel bar across our shoulders, the length of which our arms were extended and our necks and wrists bound to. The rod at our backs kept our posture erect, thrusting our breasts and bottoms out, displaying us for hungry onlookers. Although we stood here willingly, although we had accepted our fate, plenty had tried to run at the last moment. The heavy metal that bound us had been added to make escape impossible.
"Each of these human women has made the journey to our world ready to pay for their crimes against their planet. Today marks the beginning of that repayment."
The beginning. We had two months ahead of us as we were paraded through their world, publically displayed, publically punished, publically taught the ways of our new world all while being made an example of. We would lose all privacy in those months, remaining naked and bound at all times, freshly marked skin still raw for the next beating. Two months, but what choice did we have? If we stayed behind on Earth, we would die.
"Once punishment is taken, each woman will be welcomed into our society as an equal…"
I stopped listening, feeling a little nauseous when they called the first blonde up.
"Look at that one," a woman said from somewhere near the stage. "She's going to mark beautifully."
I looked down to find they were talking not about the woman who was about to be publically spanked but about me. The woman caught my eye and grinned, but I looked away. The blonde's sentence was read aloud: she would be caned - we all would. Twenty strokes for her against her bare bottom and thighs before being displayed for a full two hours in the square bound in a pillory. Birches soaked in brine stood beside each pillory for any who chose to administer additional punishment. She would endure this at each of the ten major cities over the next two months for a total of two-hundred cane strokes plus whatever the crowd chose to administer after her official chastisement.
The girl trembled as she was brought toward the block, tears already streaming down her face. She was quite young, no more than eighteen I'd say, only a few years younger than I, for sure.
"Please…" she began.
"You've agreed. Take your punishment and live among us as an equal, free," the man who held the cane said. He then gestured to the guards who nearly carried her the final steps toward the block. It came to the tops of her thighs. Although she resisted, the two men pushed her forward and clicked the rings on her y
oke into their places on the block. They then spread her legs wide and bound the cuffs around her ankles to the block. One of the men then dragged a leather strap tight across her low back, effectively pressing her to the block and lifting her bottom high.
The guards stepped back and we all had a view of the young girls bottom spread before us, the pink lips of her sex trembling, her dark back hole just visible between her cheeks. Foreman, as he was known, the man who would dole out the punishment, took his place and swung the cane through the air once, the whippy sound silencing the crowd, calling a cry from the waiting girl's lips.
Without ceremony, he raised his arm and the cane hung there as if frozen in time. I did not breathe a single breath as it whooshed through the air and made contact with the center of the girl's bottom. She didn't make a sound at first, no one did. In fact, it was silent for what seemed an eternity before the stripe began to color and the bent girl made a desperate noise. I saw Forman's lips quiver and, as he applied the next strokes, watched how his cock swelled behind the crotch of his pants. I'd not seen many men who enjoyed their work so much as Foreman.
By the time he was finished with the girl, she had to be carried off the stage. After twenty strokes, her bottom looked a fiery red and skin had broken in some places. I felt terrified: I had thirty strokes coming. The doctor had examined the girl twice during her punishment and both times, allowed it to continue. I only hoped mine would be called to a stop before the thirty.
"Bring the next girl," the foreman said, his gaze meeting each one of ours as he said it.
I watched as each girl was led to that block, each bound to it, her bottom raised, presented to Foreman to administer her punishment. The doctor had not stopped a single caning and I watched my sisters now bound into the pillories surrounding the stage as the girl before me took the last of her strokes and it was finally my turn.
The foreman turned to me, his hair slick with sweat now. He made no effort to hide the fact that his gaze traveled the length of me and as it did, fear turned to panic. Without taking his eyes from mine, he nodded once, signaling the guards to bring me. I took a step before they could touch me though and when I did, the crowd fell silent. Foreman cocked his head to the side but the twitch in his eye betrayed his irritation. When the guards came to take hold of me, he shook his head and with a grand gesture, motioned for me to take position over the block. I swallowed, my legs leaden as I walked toward it. I glanced at the people who stood and watched, their faces anticipatory. I glanced at the woman who had made the comment about how I'd mark and saw her hand pressed against her crotch, her gaze riveted on me. I then faced forward, faced the women I'd watched punished now watch me from their humiliating positions and I slowly bent forward, spreading my legs wide, and offering myself for my caning.
The guards moved quickly then, running the strap across my low back, locking me into place at both wrists and ankles so that I was immobile, my bare bottom offered to Foreman. But I would not know my mistake until the last ten of my sentence of thirty.
He took his time, lining up the cane against my trembling cheeks, telling of what was due me. He even called to have the strap at my back tightened, lifting my bottom even higher.
"I've got a special treat in mind for you," he said. "I hope you're ready. Are you ready?"
I stared straight head, scared as hell but trying my hardest to hide it.
"Well, answer me!" he said, tapping the cane against my bottom.
"Yes, Sir, I'm ready."
"Ready for what?" he taunted.
I knew what he wanted. I'd heard of this before, there was always one he chose, one unlucky girl. "Sir, I’m ready for my punishment. Please cane me, Sir."
With that, the first stroke fell. Inside my head it felt like I screamed to bring down mountains when the burn of it registered, but in reality, I made no sound. Instead, I watched the others watching me take mine. He struck hard and fast, starting at the center, working a pattern: one below the last, one above, one below, one above until the whole of my bottom and the top half of my thighs were covered by searing dark lines of pure fire.
"I've nowhere left to mark," he said from behind me. The doctor came to inspect as well. "I've ten strokes left and not a patch of skin to mark. I'd hate to break her lovely skin. Doctor, do you have a suggestion?"
It was in that moment, in the tone of his voice that I knew it was time to pay for my bravery. My stupidity. The crowd wanted our fear, they craved it. When I'd walked to the block on my own, I'd stolen that from them.
"Proceed as you see fit, Foreman," came the words of the doctor sealing my fate.
"Where are the jailers?" Foreman snapped.
The two women from the preparation facility turned up and took their places on either side of me. They'd done this before.
"Spread her."
I knew then what he meant to do.
"No! Please!"
"Wide."
The women's hands dug into the bruised flesh of my bottom. I felt cool air on my back hole as I was spread wide open to take the last strokes directly upon my anus.
"Please," I tried once more only to feel the smooth surface of the cane come to rest on that very tender, that very private place.
"Be brave, now," Foreman said. "Ten. You'll count each one, you'll thank me for each one and you'll ask for the next. Should you fail, well, you won't fail, will you? Ten is plenty of punishment on this tender little hole."
No, I would say just what he wanted how he wanted it. Ten. I could take ten. I had to. And then it would be over. Until the next time when I would know better to tremble before the crowd.
"Ah!" my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands and I tried to clench my bottom but with my legs spread as they were and the guards pulling my cheeks apart, it was impossible. When one of the guards slapped my hip, I nearly cried but relaxed my cheeks as I was told.
"Not so brave now, are you?" Foreman asked. "I'll give you one more moment to utter your penance or the stroke won't count."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you ,Sir! Another stroke, please Sir."
"You see, she is wholly repentant. Begging for her punishment even," he said to cheers from the crowd.
"Where shall I lay the next stroke then?" he asked.
"Across my bottom hole, Sir," I muttered, utterly shamed.
And so they came. The next nine strokes, each one asked for, each one setting my bottom on fire and when it was over, I too was led off the stage limping between the two guards, but as I was taken toward what I thought to be my pillory, I hard Foreman call out behind me.
"No, not there. Take that one inside…"
Author Bio
Natasha Knight is the author of several BDSM and spanking erotic romances all of which explore the mind of the Dominant male and the submissive female, discovering just beneath the surface of each story that key element of love. Her characters are as human as she: powerful but vulnerable, flawed, perhaps damaged but with an incredible capacity to love.
To learn more, please visit www.natasha-knight.com
Research Purposes Only
By
Eva Lefoy
The shuttle from Izen IV landed on Utai precisely on time. I had hoped for an early arrival as now I had less than a centiday to make my way to the exhibition. Hurrying my steps, I barely resisted pushing a slow-moving Fenorean out of my path, instead brushing by it as I exited the craft. Some species! Couldn’t they see I’m in a hurry?
The Utai’ians had only opened their elaborate annual showcase of flowers to outside viewing in the last three Earth rotations. I’d done my homework on the event, saved up my new-dollars and bought my ticket. Now I was ready to put my considerable hard-earned knowledge into play.
For research purposes, of course.
As I crossed the footbridge I spied the pre-sold ticket booth and headed directly for it. At the window I flashed my holographic proof-of-purchase and was rewarded with a grunt. Lovely. Such brilliant
conversationalists the Utai were! Well, no matter. I wasn’t here to chat anyway. After another five minutes spent waiting in a security-scan queue, they cleared me to enter the most sacred of shrines: the Supreme Emperor’s Flower Garden. With a name such as that, I half expected Earthen green tea served in tiny cups by women with bound feet and bizarre hairstyles. But neither food nor drink were allowed inside the auditorium. Of course I had enough hydra-gel in my pack to last me until I boarded the shuttle home in a little over two-and-a-half deciday. Which gave me very little time to put my plan into action. Elbowing my way through the crowd, I edged nearer the stage.
Though I’d read about the grotesque scents of the Utai’ian’s flower species, I couldn’t help wrinkling my nose at the boggy stench. Phew. The guide-books had been too kind. I suddenly had second thoughts. Could I really do this without gagging? Seriously. The aroma was horrid. My hair would never smell the same. But then I remembered my research.
I looked left and right at the hulking guards stationed every hundred centimeters or so around the entire presentation. The Utai’ians were green, very muscular large bi-pedals known to be difficult to excite. The guidebook had said little about their sexuality, their preferences hush-hush. Well. I had heard rumors about their prowess and I wasn’t going to leave without checking them out. Putting one foot in front of the other, I marched my way toward the display, surreptitiously tripped over a Vaibara’s rather large ankle, and toppled sideways into the flowers.
Shrill alarms pealed. Heavy footsteps zeroed in on my location. A giant green hand grabbed the collar of my shirt and plucked me from the stinky blooms. I did my best to look surprised.
“I’m sorry…I….”
“Restricted area. Unauthorized access. You’re under arrest.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the guard’s green cheeks flushed. Maybe they were an excitable race after all.