by Hannah Ford
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You want to sleep in my bed?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you know why I want to use my belt on you?” His breath tickles my neck now, right under my ear, the scruff of his five o’clock shadow rubbing at my skin.
“Yes,” I manage.
“Even though I’m fucked up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Even though I want to tie you up and flog you, belt you, hurt you?” His lips press against my neck and I tilt my head back as he moves his mouth down over the hollow of my throat.
“Yes, sir.”
He pulls back and stares into my eyes for a beat, then takes my bottom lip softly between his lips, his tongue sliding over the seam of my lips, teasing me.
“I’m not puppy dogs and ice cream, Ms. Bennett. I’m belts and punishments.”
“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit, Mr. Armstrong.”
He reaches down the top of the red V-neck shirt I’m wearing, down the front of my bra, and tweaks my nipple. “I won’t be gentle with you. Ever.”
“We’ll see,” I groan, and then before I realize what’s happening, he grabs me by the hips and in one fluid motion, picks me up and flips me over so that I’m over his lap, my ass in the air.
His hand snakes under my stomach, and he unbuttons my jeans with two fingers, his touch expert. His other hand tugs the back of my pants down, and before I can even realize what’s happening, his palm connects with my ass.
I gasp and bite my lip.
He spanks me again, his hand cupping the cheek of my ass this time. My nerve endings explode. I can feel his cock underneath me, through his pants and against the strip of my bare stomach that’s exposed as my shirt rides up just a tiny bit.
I cry out as he strikes me again.
Harder and harder he goes, until it’s really hurting, the skin of my ass stinging so bad that my eyes fill with tears and my hands splay on the hard floor underneath me.
“Such a bad little girl,” Elijah murmurs, and then his hand is against me again, even harder, cupping my ass, his nails digging into the sensitive skin there. “You want more?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me.”
“I want more punishment. I deserve to be spanked.”
My words excite him, and he keeps going, his hand moving back and forth between my cheeks.
Finally, when I’ve been thoroughly punished, when my skin is so raw that I can hardly take it, he stands me up in front of him. His hand plays with the bottom of my shirt, twisting the fabric as his knuckle rubs against my bare stomach.
He undoes the zipper of my pants and tugs them down in front, exposing the front of my sheer thong to him.
His hands encircle my waist and he pulls me toward him, pressing his lips on my lower stomach. My breath hitches. His lips are soft, and his tongue licks a warm trail down the front of my panties as his hands loosen my jeans from around my hips.
I reach down and grab the back of his head, desperate to feel more of him on me, but that makes him stop.
“No,” he growls. “I’m in charge of this, not you.”
He stands up and removes his belt, pulls my hands behind my back and binds my wrists together.
I moan.
He sits down and pulls me back toward him, his lips right above the place where the top of my thong hit my stomach. His thumbs hook the sides of my panties, and he begins to slip them down, agonizingly slowly, millimeter by millimeter. My pussy floods with warmth, pulsing and beating.
He stops when the panties are halfway down my mound. He places a kiss on the smooth skin there, and I gasp, resisting the urge to push my pussy to him, to his face, because all I can think about is how I want more of this, more of him.
“Such a sweet little cunt,” he murmurs, and then he tugs my panties down all the way, until my bare pussy is exposed to him.
He kisses the outside of my lips, then licks all the way up the slit with the flat of his tongue. My hands immediately try to pull his head toward me, but they’re stopped by the belt, the leather biting in my wrists.
I whimper and squirm.
“You like that, don’t you, baby?”
“Yes, sir.”
And then his mouth is on my pussy, his lips and tongue moving expertly over my clit, sucking it, licking it, my pussy pulsing with want and desire. I watch him, his mouth on my pussy, his eyes hooded and dark, the sucking sounds echoing through the room as he eats me out.
I whimper again as our eyes meet, and his tongue moves faster, sliding over my clit with slow, firm strokes.
I look at him, my eyes asking permission to come, and he ups his pace, the scruff on his strong jaw scraping the inside of my thighs.
He keeps going, faster and faster, the pressure building as my orgasm does, and when I come, it’s the most intense orgasm I’ve had so far. I call his name, tilting my head back as my climax rips through me, leaving me shattered and spent.
But if I thought Elijah was done with me, I’m wrong.
He undoes the belt from around my wrists, then picks me up, his hands under my knees. I throw my arms around his neck, and he stares into my eyes, the connection and electricity between us so palpable it almost crackles. My heart is racing, the blood rushing through my body so fast I can feel it.
“I need to feel my cock inside of you, baby,” he says, his voice gruff. “I wanted to wait, but I can’t. I need to be buried in that tight little cunt tonight.”
I inhale.
So this is it.
The night I lose my virginity to Elijah Armstrong.
“Tonight you are mine,” he says. “To do with as I please.”
And with that, he beings to lead me up the stairs to his room of torture…
The End of Part Four
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