Just A Woman (Marina: Part Two: Naughty Nookie Series)

by Akeroyd, Serena

  His words are almost flowery. Once upon a time, I’d have mocked him for them, now, he’s speaking to my heart and that organ is listening, soaking them up like a sponge.

  “I’m confused,” I whisper.

  “Of course, you are. It’s only natural.” His easy acceptance has me nodding with relief. “You’re scared, overwhelmed, wondering if I’m somehow making you believe this about yourself; conning you... This morning, after you were disciplined, you needed release. Your body told you something there, Marina, don’t ignore it. Pleasure isn’t a part of your punishment though. I don’t want you to climax after a spanking; I want you to learn a lesson. But your arousal is telling and for the moment, until you’re comfortable with this situation, I’ll make your pleasure known to you. Remind you that you as a person need whatever discipline I’m doling out and that your body craves it too. ”

  “I don’t want to be turned on by this,” I mutter, pulling my hand away from his.

  “No, but you are. It’s who you are, Marina. You can’t fight it or hide from it.”

  The fait accompli has me feeling uncomfortably flushed with heat, because I know he’s right. I look away and mutter, “Your doctor’s appointment is in five minutes.”

  “I know. You can share my consultation.”

  I grimace at him. “I’m sure he can spare five minutes after you’ve been looked at. Christ, there’s nothing wrong with me anyway.”

  “No, but you’re doing this to please me and ultimately, yourself.”

  How can I argue with that?

  Six

  “Son of a bitch,” I spit, slamming my hand against the bathroom door.

  “I heard that!”

  Jerking the door open, I glare at him. “What did you hear? My using the toilet?”

  “You just lied to me. What’s that? The eighth infraction?” His cool tone has me pouting.

  “Stop saying infraction. It’s like talking to a lawyer.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “No. It’s the ninth,” I mutter around a sigh.

  He looks pleased at my honesty. I’m starting to feel like a puppy whose owners are grateful I’m finally house-trained. “How many spanks is that?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “Think you can handle that many?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice, Nate.”

  “Good answer.” He smiles at me.

  I’m learning to distrust his smiles.

  The utterance of two expletives, a direct display of disobedience when Mark, one of the doctors, tried to pencil me in for an abdominal ultrasound in the morning and I tried to walk out of the clinic, another curse and then that lie about using the toilet... my punishments are stacking up.

  Fuck a duck, life is a minefield.

  And apparently, I have an ulcer to just add a cherry to the top of the cake! Yay!

  “I knew you’d lost weight.”

  “Not that much.”

  “Not that much? Are you being serious? You’re BMI is way too low.” He studies me as he takes a seat in his armchair. The strain about his mouth pulls at me more than the fact I’ve lost ten pounds since the last time I stood on a pair of scales at my gym five weeks ago.

  When the doctor asked me how much I weighed beforehand, I was tempted to lie. I know I’ve lost weight but it’s never a problem. I’ll gradually regain it, it just takes time. Only the fact I have this weird feeling Nate would know I was lying had stopped me. Those ten pounds were now Nate’s goal. I have a nasty feeling eating is going to become a rule.

  And ‘lo and behold, I’m not wrong.

  “Whatever I put in front of you, you have to eat at least three-quarters of the plate. And if I’m not here, I want you to send me a picture of your plate, when you’ve finished. I can’t trust you to see to your own portions.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “You’re a hell of a lot of responsibility, Marina.”

  Somehow, that statement combined with his weariness has me doing something I could never have imagined myself doing. Silently, I sweep across the room, kneel before him like I’d done hours before and I press my head to his knee.

  Keeping my eyes on him, I feel him jump in surprise at my move, but I watch as his hand moves to come and stroke through my hair. The gentle touch makes my scalp tingle and I turn my head to press a kiss to his palm as it brushes down from root to tip of my shoulder-length bob.

  “That wasn’t a complaint, honey. Just a statement. You really aren’t used to looking after yourself, are you? I noticed in the hospital you were popping those pills like they were jellybeans. How long have you been doing that for?”

  “Not long.” The lie pops out before I can restrain it. I jerk away from him, look down at the floor and whisper, “I’m sorry, that just came out.”

  He’s right when he says lies come too easily to me.

  “Ten?” he asks, voice soft and I nod, accepting the punishment for lying.

  “Yes.” Then I tell him the truth. “For about eight months. It started when the Russians contacted me, but it wasn’t too bad at first. Then after about eight weeks, it was... difficult.” Talk about understatement. It had been nigh on impossible running Papillon as though nothing was going on in the background.

  How I managed to court them for so long without the situation deteriorating far earlier is a testament to how good a liar I am.

  Lies have saved my butt way too often. It’s why remaining truthful with Nate is quite hard. I’m used to evasion, white lies and downright manipulating the truth for my own gain.

  “Christ.” He reaches for my chin and slowly changes the angle of my neck, so I’m no longer staring down at the floor but looking at him. “If you have an ulcer like Mark says, you’ll probably need medication. Can I trust you to take it?”

  I’d like to tell him that of course, I would. I’m not an idiot, but twice I tried to get out of the doctor’s surgery before he’d finished talking to me. I hate doctors. Have done since Jimmy and probably always will. I prefer a root canal to a routine checkup!

  “Yes, Nate.”

  “Good.” He sighs. “Stand up and take off your clothes.”

  “What?” I ask, startled by the jump of subject.

  “Are you defying me?”

  “No!”

  “Then stand up and take off your clothes.”

  I hesitate for two seconds; the sound of the clock’s second hand moves twice before Nate says, “Right, eleven. That makes thirty-three swats. Stand up and take off your clothes within thirty seconds or it’ll be thirty-six.”

  From soft and tender to disciplinarian, the change has me jumping up to obey his barked order. In pants and a shirt, there isn’t much to take off and his bark has me stripping with no elegance; just a sheer haste to get naked.

  I stand there in bra and panties, feeling vulnerable for some strange reason when he’s seen me naked more often than he’s seen me dressed! Then, when he raises his brow, I slip out of my underwear and hover before him, completely nude.

  “Beautiful.” His murmur has me flushing with pleasure, because while Nate has bestowed many compliments upon me, this feels like the first. Apparently, it’s a day for those.

  I’ve never been comfortable being in the nude. Since childhood, I’ve been a beanpole. All lanky limbs and no padding. Feeling skeletal isn’t a sexy frame of mind and now, with Nate’s warnings about my weight loss, I’m not exactly at my best.

  That one word makes all the difference. And it’s that power that disturbs me.

  Sucking in a breath, I smile at him and watch as he leans forward to tug at the sparse pubic hair on my mons. I’m very neat down there, but he whispers, “That will have to go.” His eyes catch mine. “You’ll be softer than silk when you’re bare. You can book an appointment at the beautician’s or I can. We’ll go tomorrow.”

  I want to squeak out we? But I merely nod and try not to feel too aroused at the idea of why he wants me to be softer than silk. The idea of oral sex, at this parti
cular moment, has my left eye twitching. The need to cum has barreled from out of nowhere. This morning’s lies killed any arousal but it’s back. And with a vengeance.

  His hand slips down between my legs and his thumb runs down the central seam of the outer lips of my pussy. Not caressing, just touching and then he stops at the entrance to my body and hooks his thumb inside. I quiver, there’s no other word to describe it. My pussy gushes moisture and he flickers his thumb back and forth before retreating and sliding the digit from clit to slit. Every nudge of my clit, every flicker and every stroke has me feeling tauter than a bow on the brink of releasing an arrow. I’m the arrow and fuck, I want to fly. He’s the bow and he’s intent on restraining me.

  Only the knowledge I’m about to endure thirty-three spanks stops me from pleading with him to let me cum. As it is, my body acts of its own accord by jerking my hips forward into his touch. His chuckle is soft, but deadly.

  “Naughty girls don’t get presents.”

  There’s that word again.

  Naughty.

  I bite my lip and try not to moan as need overtakes me, barraging me with its overwhelming power. My mind drifts, switching from thoughts of needing to climax and then, the idea of being punished.

  The latter takes precedence and I hold my tongue.

  “Yes, Nate.”

  “Bend over my knee like you did this morning.”

  He settles back in the armchair. I wait for him to get comfortable and move over to the armrest and press my hands on the opposite one. In a mock press-up, I lower myself down, trying to keep my weight away from him until it’s dispersed only on his lap and I can do no damage to the freshly dressed wounds.

  There’s a slight infection in one of them. He’s probably not strong enough for all of this, but there’s no point in arguing. He’ll do what he wants anyway.

  Men.

  Pressing my face into the padded armrest, I don’t have to wait long for him to act.

  “Don’t forget to count. This time, if you forget, we’ll go back to the beginning.”

  The first spank comes as a shock.

  When I pulled down my trousers and panties, there was a tenderness to my behind that didn’t come as a surprise. But even the firm if not forceful tap has my skin protesting as I stutter out the number.

  When the second one arrives and I state the number, I blow out a breath, thankful that he’s being gentle. Then it starts.

  Gradually, his hand hits harder, the force increases until the sparse flesh on my butt starts to jiggle and the spanks of this morning feel like a walk in the park. Twice, by the time we reach sixteen, I almost forget to say the number aloud but remember just in time. Halfway there, tears are stinging my eyes and I cannot help it, cries start to explode out of me. My hand is shaking with the need to reach back and comfort my poor behind, I don’t know how I’m keeping it in front of me and doing as he bade me this morning.

  “Seventeen,” I stutter out, hurting my head with the force of pressing it against the armrest. The tears escape, drenching the cushion underneath me. The cleansing release has me sobbing with its gentle fury.

  “Twenty,” I cry and this time, the chapped flesh of my ass is screaming.

  At twenty-five, I let out a yell. Thirty has my hips lifting away and praying for the final three. Then, it happens. At thirty-two, so close yet so fucking far, the force of withholding a screech has me forgetting to state the number.

  The sobs really do start then, when I realize what I’ve done. On his lap, naked while he’s fully dressed, I begin to sob. My ass is sore. I thought it had been sore before, but that was nothing compared to this. It hurts. There’s pain. There will be bruises, it will be red, and my butt, unused to anything nastier than too many squats, is protesting mightily. In fact, the pain receptors in the tender flesh are weeping, dying a slow death.

  My inhalations and exhalations are like miniature tornadoes. In between sobs and gasps, I stutter out, “No, Nate. Please. I’ll do anything. Not more. No more. I can’t. I can’t. Please. Please!”

  I’m on the brink of hyperventilation. The idea of thirty-three more spanks seems akin to a thousand. Of that force? Maybe that’s the normal strength. I don’t even think he was putting his all into it, but the stinging. Oh, fuck, the sting.

  And as I lie there, thinking about the burn, the ache, the discomfort, I feel a tiny trickle of moisture down my inner thigh. NO! I want to screech. This can’t turn me on. This can’t be happening. I cannot be aroused by this pain. But almost as though our minds are as one, Nate’s hand slides down between my legs and gathers the liquid on his fingers. Within seconds, they’re drenched and he begins to rub my clit. The slickness combined with my already aroused state has the tiny nub almost vibrating with need. My sobs turn to pants, my eyes are still teary, tracks of moisture line my face and hiccups escape me as I rock my hips, riding his hand like a brazen whore. Wanting to cum, needing it. Embracing the idea that he’s going to give it to me.

  His hand is working me fast, and it’s fast I need but then he starts to slow down and my tears of anguish start again, because deep inside, I’m bubbling like a volcano. It’s going to happen whether he likes it or not. And I can’t help it, can’t control it. Something inside of me has given way. The pain did something, released it into the atmosphere and now... I’m a helpless captive to its thrall.

  He leans down to murmur in my ear, but the position’s awkward for him and even in my frazzled state, I know enough to lift myself up to reach him. His pain is my pain. I deserve this for the agony he’s in and somehow that has me sucking in a breath and striving for strength.

  “Do you want to cum, Marina?” he asks as his fingers tangle with my pussy lips. Rubbing the stretchy skin and playing with it.

  “Please, Nate. Yes, Nate.” My gushing words are almost embarrassing, but humiliation went out of the window a long while ago.

  “But what about your punishment.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” I chant. “It hurt, it hurt so badly. I, the pain, it... I couldn’t think.”

  “But I still have to punish you.”

  “Yes, Nate.”

  “I think Sir sounds better, don’t you, Marina?”

  That very morning, I’d been relieved at the idea of calling him Nate. Now, Sir fits. And I whisper, “Yes, it does, Sir.”

  He hums under his breath and slides a finger into my greedy, grasping pussy. It fucks that finger. Clinging to it, cuddling it, sucking it in to the warmth. Singing a siren song. My pussy is a whore. What does that make the owner?

  The thought wings away as he whispers, “I have to spank you, Marina. You broke too many rules today.”

  “Somewhere else, Sir. Please.” I’d been facing straight ahead, my head tilted slightly to the side so as to hear his soft voice better but now, I turn and my watery eyes beseech him. “Please, Sir. My tits? Anywhere. My p-pussy. Please, not my ass. Please, Sir. It hurts. It really hurts.”

  “You’ll have to get used to the pain, Marina. What happens when a spank’s not enough for you and you need a flogger? What will you do then?” His eyes are narrowed and I can tell my answer is important.

  It’s fucked up that I can’t even prevaricate. The words that escape me just naturally flow from my mouth. “If that’s what you want, Sir, then I’ll just have to take it.”

  “It’s more than take, Marina. You’ll need it. Naughty girls need to purge their souls. Their Master makes it all better. Makes you feel all clean inside.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I whisper, voice trembling and weak. I do feel purged but I don’t think I can take anymore today. Although I’m learning that isn’t my decision to make.

  “Would you like my cock, Marina?”

  The question has my eyes fluttering and saliva pooling in my mouth. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Does your pussy want my cock?” The treacherous thing pulls down on his finger and his chuckle has me flushing. “I think we can take that as a yes.”

  “It does, Sir. I do.
Very badly,” I grind out around a moan as his finger twists deep inside, his hand rotating and torturing me. Fucking me without fucking me.

  “How about we do a deal, Marina?”

  “Anything, Sir.”

  He pulls out of my pussy and presents me with his finger. Without words, I open my mouth and take him in. Accept him into my mouth and suck him clean. His eyes are glittering with his own arousal and I can feel his cock nudging my hip. Knowing he’s turned on, even though he’s in pain, fills me with a skewed sense of pride. I worship that finger, lave and love it and feel his cock twitch in his pants.

  He swallows and my sense of power quivers, knowing that he’s affected makes me feel a hell of a lot better. “In my pocket, there’s something for you. Climb off my knee like a good pet and get them for me.”

  Releasing his finger, I heft my weight upwards and lever myself away from his lap. Swinging down, I stand and the instant I do, my butt makes its angry soreness known. I want to hold it, cup it, make it feel better but there’s nothing I can do to ease it and I forcibly still my quivering bottom lip.

  Kneeling in front of him, I reach forward and maneuver my hand into his pocket. It’s awkward because the denim is unyielding, something that’s only made harder thanks to his erection. Before, I’d have brushed by him, teased his cock, stroked him, but he didn’t ask me to do that and I’m already on borrowed time. This deal… whatever it is, is going to save my butt. Literally!

  In the depths of his pockets, my fingertips brush against plastic. A frown creases my brow and he says, “Get them out. There should be five.”

  I do as he says and manage to tug them free. The instant I grab them I know what they are and something inside me turns to mush.

  As it is, I don’t know if it’s a good mush or a bad mush. It depends where he’s about to peg me with the clothespins.

  I hold them in my palm and whisper, “Here you are, Sir.”

  He takes them with a nod and says, “If you want to cum and if you want my cock, there’s a price to pay. You can’t go unpunished, Marina.”

  “No, Sir. And I’ll...” I suck in a breath and know that I have to do this. Because if I don’t, I’m going to cum anyway. In the shower, even cleaning myself, not even meaning to touch, I’ll cum and break his rules. For the next few days, I don’t care if I have to sit in silence. I’m not being spanked. I’m giving my ass a rest. I’ll be a good girl if it kills me! “...I’ll do whatever you want me to do, Sir.” And by God, I will. I need so badly. And it’s not a faceless need. It’s him. Nate.