Riley: Disciplined
I dream of Jack tearing off my chastity belt and ravishing me. In my dreams, he's impossibly big and fills me with a wonderful pressure. I'm still in his penthouse, but in the dream the penthouse has become a castle, and Jack is a dark king. He's captured me, taken me back, and stripped me of all defenses. I'm pale and naked for him, and he uses me in every rough way imaginable. He takes my mouth and my throbbing sex and I sob in ecstasy and…I wake up.
I’m wet and struggling to reach between my legs with my bound hands. My eyes snap open and Jack’s sitting across the room. I stare at him groggily, trying to pull my thoughts together and my defenses up. I’m annoyed that he woke up before me. I could’ve at least taken that advantage, somehow. He smirks and I blush.
"Certainly not dreaming about me, were you?"
“No, actually!” But I say it with such conviction that it’s clear I’m lying. If it was true, I wouldn’t care so much about defending it.
He brushes my teeth and feeds me breakfast while I’m still bound.
“Are you ready to behave?”
I want to say, “I’ll never be ready to behave for you,” but I remember the contract, and in the cold light of morning, even in a joking mood, Jack is somehow even more frightening than at night.
“Yes.”
“‘Yes, I’m ready to behave, Sir.’”
I sullenly repeat the words.
“You remember the deal we made?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’re going to do as I say and answer truthfully.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You think it’s unreasonable, what I’m doing to you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He smiles. “You’re ex-fiancé owes me eleven million dollars. I’m forgiving that loan for the simple price of your body.”
“And his father’s company!”
"No, that's another deal. The loan is because of you and your body. How much do you think you could make if you sold your body to anyone else?"
“I don’t know.”
"Say you were a cam girl or went into pornography or prostitution. Could you make several million dollars at any of those in one go like this?"
“No.”
“How much could you make?”
“I don’t know. Thousands of dollars. Maybe a hundred thousand in a year, if I was beautiful. Probably nothing if it was me—no one would be interested in me, is that your point? Why do you care? What is your point?”
“Let’s say I consider you the most beautiful woman in the world,” and he can twist words so well that he makes it sound true. That hurts worse than anything else he’s done, for some reason. “The most you could make with your body, usually, would be around a hundred thousand dollars?”
“Yeah, fine, sure,” I say sullenly. I’m annoyed that I don’t see where he’s going with this.
“And I just paid eleven million dollars for you, in exchange for just a little truth and obedience. So, what about what I’m asking is unreasonable?”
“It’s unreasonable because you can’t make another person your pet—your slave!”
He leans in, eyes almost feverishly aflame. “That’s where you’re wrong. Conventions and laws say I can’t. But I can do whatever I want. I can do anything at all.”
I’m sure he’s wrong, but I’m struggling to argue him down. I’m annoyed that he’s as good with words against me as he is with his body. “If it’s against the law, that means you can’t do it!”
“No. If it’s against the law, or convention, it means other men may try to stop me. And if they’re strong enough, they will. And if I’m stronger, I can do whatever I want. Do you see anyone trying to stop me, Riley? Who's going to try?" He holds out his hand, palm up as if he's holding little figurines. He tosses the invisible figurines away as he lists them. "The police? That idiot you were engaged to? Some wandering hero, riding into town to kill the tyrant?"
He grins at me. “No one.”
“But it’s…it’s not right! Just because no one can stop you doesn’t mean it’s right! It’s wrong, what you’re doing!”
He spreads his hands wide. “The whole world is wrong. Right is something that we made up in stories, that men used to trick people into behaving in society. It doesn’t exist unless men enforce it, and in the end, no one does. The world is wrong, and the strong take what they want. And I wanted to take you, so you’re going to obey me, or I’ll punish you in a thousand different ways.”
I want to just keep insisting, petulantly, that right is right and wrong is wrong, but I can't come up with an argument. Worse, here this evil man stands, a testament to his own worldview. He has complete control over me, and he's right—there's no one in sight stepping up to oppose him.
“So, are you ready to obey me?”
I answer sullenly and I can’t meet his eyes, but I say it. “Yes, Sir.”
He walks to me and undoes the chains and cuffs, then returns to his chair. I cross my arms over my naked breasts. I feel so exposed in front of him with just the little chastity belt.
“Crawl to me.”
I hesitate, not sure I even heard him right, but he doesn't repeat himself. I get on my hands and knees and crawl forward, just like at the poker game. And again, his eyes drag over my body, taking in my curves, the arch of my back, and my swaying bottom and breasts.
“Lie across my lap.”
I bite my lip. I want to protest somehow—embarrassment is flooding in to mix with my anger. It feels like this can’t possibly be happening. But it is. I’m going to have to lie across a man’s lap, naked. I think I know what’s coming. Spanking. It sends an unnerving flutter through my stomach. I’ve never been spanked before. I’ve seen it in some racier movies, and one or two videos online that I quickly and shamefully closed. Then opened again for a little longer. Then closed. I was never able to examine my own feelings about it or why I had been drawn to look up those videos in the first place, let alone bring the subject up with Caleb.
I climb up. Jack's thighs are like steel against my soft stomach—his whole frame is solid and stable as I move onto him. He tugs my arms around and pins them behind my back.
“Lift your legs up.”
I do it. I’m suspended and immobile across his lap.
The first slap cracks across my helpless bottom.
It’s a loud, hard smack that makes my butt jiggle lewdly. I gasp in shock and then moan at the pain. He spanks the other cheek even harder and I gasp again. I try to bite my lip and stop myself. Don’t give him the satisfaction. He rubs the slaps in across my ample, exposed butt, and the stinging turns to a warm pleasure. It radiates through me and down to my pussy.
And just like that, I'm as wet as I've ever been. The commands and humiliation, the pain turning to warm pleasure—I can't resist it. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? is all I can think, desperately trying to lock down my own body’s response. I fail.
He slaps my bottom twice more then rubs it again. He keeps going like this and I bite my lip, desperately fighting back a moan.
My bottom gets more and more tender and sensitive the more spanks he lays on me, and I start to wriggle and writhe on his lap, but I can’t escape him. His other hand keeps my arms pinned behind my back and holds me firmly in place. I wriggle and fight him more and more, and it’s completely useless.
I start to feel feverish from the spanking, and hot sweat slicks my body. I feel an enormous hardness pressing against my stomach and let out another type of gasp. Is that really because of me?
“Please…please, how much longer?” I finally sob out. “I can’t take anymore!”
“I’ll decide how much you can take. I think the punishment works better if you don’t know when it will end—it’s more difficult to bear, don’t you agree?” he says coldly.
“I can’t…I can’t…” I gasp out but he keeps spanking me. “Cruel fucking asshole!” I sob. He doesn’t care. He moves to the inner parts and backs of my thighs and spanks me there, then returns to my bottom.
“Perhaps next time you’ll remember to not be such a bad girl,” he says calmly.
I’m sweating so much now that his hand makes lewd, wet slapping noises when he spanks me.
“You’re sweating like a little slut, aren’t you?”
Being demeaned like this should make me furious, and it does, but I feel my arousal swell up even more right beside it. I feel the strangest want for him to call me something degrading and dirty again, but I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut instead. “Yes!” I finally gasp. I’ll agree to whatever he says at this point—I just want the spanking to stop.
His hand trails down between my legs and he cups the plate over my pussy for just a moment. "And you're wet—wet from being spanked. Are you a slut who gets turned on by having her bottom spanked like this?"
“Yes!”
He easily flips me around and pinches and twists my nipples. Then he slaps my breasts, my stomach, and the fronts of my thighs until they’re all bright, red too.
I start sobbing in desperation, but I’m so aroused, too. My whole body is alive in a way I haven’t ever felt before. I’m aware of every inch of my skin and every hair on my head. The tips of my fingers and toes feel electric,and warm arousal is radiating from my pussy and bottom to every part of me. I can’t tell if I’m sobbing from the pain or because I’m just so overwhelmed and confused with feeling.
He flips me back around and keeps spanking me.
“Are you going to obey me from now on?”
“Yes!”
“Are you going to tell the truth and follow all my commands?”
“Yes!”
“Are you sexually aroused from being spanked by me?”
I bite my lip and try to fight, but he just keeps spanking me; he spanks the answer out of me.
“Yes!”
"'Yes' what?"
“I’m sexually aroused from being spanked by you, Sir!”
“Are you going to be a good little girl from now on?”
“Yes! Yes, I’ll be your good little girl, Sir!”
And finally, it stops. My bottom is throbbing; my entire body is throbbing. Less than half of it's pain, though. He rolls me over in his lap and picks me up in his arms easily. I'm trembling from the rough treatment, and even though he’s the one who delivered it, I’m comforted being held in his firm arms.
He clasps me there, safe and close to him, and I cry and cry from the overwhelming, raw emotion of it until my ragged breathing finally calms. He places me on my bed almost delicately and retrieves a small glass bottle of lotion from a drawer. He pours it onto me and begins to rub it across my body with his rough hands. I gasp and tense, but he’s gentle and careful. He covers my legs entirely in the soothing balm, then rubs it into my butt, kneading it thoroughly.
I let out a contented little sigh and fail to bite it back in time. He works up my back, expertly massaging me, then down my arms. He works my plump, beaten bottom thoroughly, and I feel an alarming warmth growing between my legs. His callused fingers and palms feel so good on my soft skin.
“You’re very sensitive here,” he says. “I can see it from how you react. Do you think I could make you cum just from working on your bottom?”
“No!”
He shrugs and rolls me over. He massages up the front and insides of my thighs then rubs more lotion into my stomach and my breasts. It feels so, so good. I haven’t been massaged in years, and Jack seems to know exactly where and how much to touch me. My breathing deepens and I try to clamp my legs together and fight the feelings in me. My eyes keep fixing on the enormous bulge between his legs.
He laughs—a mocking laugh. “What do you want, Riley?”
“Nothing!”
He smiles. “I thought we weren’t lying anymore.”
“I’m not lying!”
He runs his hands down my sides in a way that makes my hips buck in arousal, and I bite my lip and blush in shame. He trails a rough thumb over my plump lips and I wonder again if he’s going to kiss me.
“I could take anything I want from you,” he says. “And I wouldn’t even have to force you.”