by Jon Keys
Mitch spanked him.
It was no gentle tap, but a smart slap against Sam’s bare buttocks, and it came with an accompanying smacking sound echoing loudly in the cab. Sam cried out, the sound half-recovery, half-outrage, and he tried to wriggle away.
Mitch held him in place and spanked him some more.
The sting from the first blow started to radiate, and when the second one came down, it amplified the first, and by the third Sam worked harder to get away. The more he struggled, the more firmly Mitch held him down, and by the time Mitch finished the seventh slap, Sam had learned to hold still and breathe.
After the tenth, Mitch stopped and rested his palm on the globe of Sam’s now acutely smarting ass. “Would you care to say it again?”
No, Sam would not, because he did not want to be spanked anymore. Yet there was a tightness inside him now, an anger fueled by all the hurt and shame and confusion he’d felt all day, and—well, he was stupid. “Yes,” he snarled. “Because I am. I’m stupid. I’m stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid—ah!”
The spanking resumed. It hurt from the start and with more than a little sting. Violet, Sam thought, but even as part of him wanted to end this, the part driving only cried out—and in a move making him feel utterly, utterly like a whore—he arched his ass up higher toward the striking palm. By the tenth strike Sam’s ass was on fire, but the burn was spreading, and his cries had become moans.
“And now?” Mitch asked, as calmly as you please. But Sam could feel Mitch’s erection poking at Sam through the jeans. He was enjoying this. A lot. If he was a whore, Mitch was too.
Good.
Sam shuddered. “I’m stupid. I’m so stupid.” He shut his eyes. “And I’m a whore. I’m a slut.”
Mitch’s laugh was a shiver of dark pleasure. “Oh, but, Sunshine, you aren’t stupid.” A finger slid down the tingling crack between his cheeks, and he gasped as Mitch’s hand closed gently around his balls. “You can be as slutty and whorish as you want, and it will never make you stupid.”
Sam’s arms had been rigid against the dash, but when Mitch stroked him, they went slack and weak. “I do stupid things when I’m slutty.”
“You’re awfully slutty right now with your bare ass all red while you hump my hand. You can make this stop any time, but you don’t. You’re running off with me to God knows where, and you all but begged me to make you my little sex toy on the way. Do you think that makes you a whore?”
Sam was, indeed, humping into Mitch’s hand, because it was stroking his cock. “Yes.”
“Do you want to be my whore, sweetheart?”
Lust, hot and thick, shot through Sam’s body. “Yes.”
“Are you stupid, Sam Keller?”
Sam hesitated.
Mitch’s finger pressed at Sam’s hole. “I’m enjoying this. I’m feeling pretty slutty myself. Am I stupid?”
“No,” Sam replied, no hesitation at all.
“Turn your head to the right.”
Sam did.
Mitch pressed his fingers gently against Sam’s lips. “Open.”
Sam complied, opening his mouth like a baby bird, shuddering when Mitch slipped two fingers inside.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Drawing the Devil
Copyright © 2015 by Jon Keys
ISBN: 978-1-61922-461-2
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Erin Dameron-Hill
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: February 2015
www.samhainpublishing.com