Speak, My Girl

Opening her mouth was getting harder and harder, but he insists. She grinds her teeth together and sucks her lower lip between them, pouting petulantly.

“What do you want, girl?” he asks, grabbing her chin and giving his wrist a little flick. She protests fretfully, casting her eyes downward. He sighs and lets go, tapping her cheek gently with his thumb.

Without a sound, he turns and settles into an armchair across from her, leaning back and drawing one long leg onto the other knee. He traces the stitching at the edge of his shoe and waits, not looking at her. He is not angry—yet, so he says nothing. He can tell her mind is spinning chaotically, swinging between her determination to need nothing and the biological fact that she craves the spanking. He knows she is consciously controlling her breaths, her pulse hiccupping at the thought of having her bare bottom thrashed until she can no longer find words. He knows her flushed pussy is swelling, leaking into her panties and that her eyes are darkening, pupils enlarged and filled with cavernous shadow. She can’t fight this kind of hunger, but she is trying.

He slowly puts his foot back down and tents his fingers, looking sternly over them at her. He can wait all night.

“Open your mouth, girl,” he commands, narrowing his eyes. She flinches, but gnaws on the inside of her cheek feverishly, lips pressed securely together. Placing his hands firmly on the arms of the chair, he shakes his head heavily back and forth.

“I had hoped you were planning on being obedient tonight, my girl,” he says, motioning with his fingers for her to rise and make her way over to his chair. She does, warily, inching across the hardwood floor in her tank top and panties. Her fingers lock and unlock in front of her hips and she stands before him, nerves tight, surely near rupturing. He wraps his warm, hard hand around her wrist and jerks her to her knees effortlessly.

Before she can register the sharp pain in her shins, he slaps her ferociously across the face. She chokes on a yelp as he clutches her jaw a second time, digging his fingers into her smarting cheek. She can’t think, she can’t think. Her mouth drops open like an empty mailbox and she groans as blood surges into her cheek, aching and angry.

“That’s good, my girl,” he smiles, clutching her cheeks tighter and holding her jaw open. She grabs his wrist with both of her small hands and whimpers, eyes flickering wildly.

“Now,” he begins, running his thumb over her lips and teeth, “can you feel that, my girl—that throb that’s begun right above your dirty little pussy? Hm? What do you want, girl? You’ll tell me. I’ll wait. And when you beg, my girl, I will give it to you.”

She whines loudly, yanking on his fingers and trying to shriek over the words that want to tumble off her tongue. She closes her eyes against his intense gaze.

“What was that?” he asks, grinning. She growls, glaring at him icily; he laughs a short, terse laugh, no longer amused. He stands and drags her to her feet, letting go of her sore jaw. He grabs the back of her neck and shoves her down until she is bent, back level, bottom tight and arms dangling by her sides.

He reaches between her legs and strokes her through her damp panties; he pinches the back of her neck between his fingers. Aware that she has began to purr, he presses against her plump, blossoming cunt, stroking her firmly, and tapping her tender clit. She moans, nearly wailing with desire. He cups her pale rump and squeezes it gently, pulling her cheek to the side and strumming her asshole with his thumb.

He is so detached, so efficient; she groans, her belly fluttering and the words thundering up her throat and over her tongue, crashing through her teeth, “P-please—”

She covers her mouth quickly, trampling the sounds behind her lips.

With a snort, he lets go of her neck roughly and brings his large palm crashing down, smacking her pantied bottom precisely where her round cheeks meet her sodden thighs. She screams, grabbing for the floor to steady herself and panting wetly.

“That’s the last you’ll feel,” he says, digging a smoke from his pocket and lighting it, “until you are ready to tell me, my girl.”

He exhales deeply, watching his fingerprints emerge, blotchy red and blistering. She howls, increasingly aggravated, still gasping. The warmth from her bottom is beginning to itch and she bounces from leg to leg. He takes another drag, and she tries to stand, irritated.

He pushes her back down, lacing his fingers into her hair and holding her bent, “Did I say to move?”

She shakes her head, rubbing her hands desperately over her thighs. He exhales and grips her hair tighter, squinting at her through the smoke.

“Excuse me?” he demands, a distinct edge to his voice.

“N-no, S-ssir,” she sobs, squeezing her eyes shut-tight. He smiles and takes another drag.

“Well, well. ‘Sir’? We’re getting there, my girl,” he grins, loosening his grip on her hair and leaning closer to her ear, “You know that you’re mine. You know that I know what you need. You can be a good girl and tell me, or you can stand there…”

He tugs her hair sharply, snapping her head up.

“…bent over like a bad girl…”

He stands and runs a finger down her spine, exhaling a stream of delicate smoke across her back.

“…dirty pussy displayed for me…”

He gives her slit a light slap. She grunts, mouth puckered in surprise.

“…itching for this spanking…”

He palms her bottom and squeezes hard.

“…and wait.”

She groans, a wet trickle sloppily soaking her thighs. Her fingers twitch, her bottom burns for more. Like he knew it would be, her will is surrendered to this craving, crushed like paper lanterns in a storm. She opens her mouth.

“Oh, please, Sir,” rushes impulsively past her chewed and brooding pout, “Please, spank me, hard. I need you to punish me, Sir. I am a naughty girl and I want this spanking so badly….”

Her words are disappearing into her gasping sobs, she trails off as she blubbers into her hands, hysterically. He nods, satisfied, and puts his cigarette out.

He unbuckles his belt and then strokes the back of her head, pulling the leather silently, promisingly through the loops of his pants.

“Now, now,” he smiles, cruelly, doubling the pliant leather, “Save your tears, my girl. This is going to hurt.”