He keeps spanking me, and I keep squirming and grinding, hiding my rutting in the general flailing I do in response to the ongoing slapping and punishing. Fuck. Yes. I am getting so fucking close. I can feel my cunt slicking my inner thighs, and I know he must be seeing the effects of his punishment again. He knows what he's doing.
But I’m too close for him to stop me from getting there now. If he tries to hold back orgasm, I’ll come somehow on my own. I’m fucking desperate to reach this peak, to transform the blazing heat into an inferno of pleasure.
“FFFFUCCK!” I scream as he whacks me right over the butt plug, not once, not twice, but three solid times, jolting me against his thighs and jolting the plug itself inside me with each and every slap. I feel every muscle tighten as I hold on tight while I go over the edge of arousal and tumble into the cosmic vat of ultimate pleasure.
* * *
“You orgasmed again,” he remarks when I can breathe and focus again. I find that I am no longer over his thighs. He must have let me up at some point because I am now lying on the ground.
“Did you put me down here?”
“You fell when you came so hard you tore yourself free of my hands and rolled around at my feet.”
I’d blush, but you need a sense of shame to blush, and I’ve run out of my quota of shame for a lifetime. All I have is a full allotment of satisfaction and a strange kind of smallness which comes from having him look down upon me from on high.
“You should rest,” he says, materializing a blanket. It falls over me gently, gossamer light and yet turning to weighted material as it lands over my body. This feels like kindness, and that confuses me.
But he is right, I am too tired to fight or question. I am too tired even to ask if he can magic the plug back out of my ass. I just need a little tiny nap, even if it does come while curled up at the feet of my alien tormentor.
Before I return to Lucky, I give her some time to recover from her second punishment and pleasure session. If I had ended the spanking before climax, I believe she would have gained more from it. When she was consumed with loathing and rage, she was able to gain an aversion to disobedience. But then she came.
Punishing the human will not be as easy as I thought. I assumed that pain would be an effective means to modifying her attitude and behavior. She is more calm and more biddable now than she was before, but I suspect that is merely because she is emotionally and physically drained.
“What do you want?”
She greets me with her usual rudeness. At first, I took it to be true rebellion, but now I realize it is nothing more than a desperate covering for her extreme vulnerability.
“You are not here only to be pleasured, or punished, as it happens. You are here to serve a purpose.”
“The other human, Tania, is large with child and installed in the king’s chambers, but she is eager to meet you. You must be presentable for her.”
“There’s another human here? You’ve abducted other women?” She thinks for a second, then has another outburst. “I’m like the puppy you get to keep your other puppy company when you’re out at work all day?”
“Your simile, not mine, human.”
“Yeah. My mom tried that once. You know what happened?”
“Two lots of puppy pee, and double the destruction.”
“This was not my idea, human. It is the king’s desire and it will be done. You will play your role, as I play mine. Neither of us has any choice.”
She sighs and sits up. Some of the flushed color is starting to fade from her face. I should really remove those little dashes and dots of metal. They don’t strike me as appropriate for the presence of a royal mate. Then again, absolutely nothing about her strikes me as appropriate.
“What sort of woman is she?”
“She’s an accountant.”
“Oh, so fancy and professional and…”
“She is no different from you.”
“I bet she is. I bet you think we all look the same.”
“Your hair is blue, for the moment. But your attire is unsuitable. We will change it.”
He snaps his fingers, and my clothes are gone, just like the vape pen.
I lose my shit. Hard. As hard as I just came, I freak the fuck out. I don’t love much. I have even less. But love my clothes. He just dematerialized a 1980 original leather jacket that Joan Jett wore once. And jeans I haven’t washed in over a year and are so properly buttery soft they feel like a second skin.