There is a tension pulling tight against the edges of my being, this trapped stretch in the expanse of my skin. I can feel it in the shudder of my breath, in the tempo of my pulse. This need bleeds into my thoughts, my emotions, my words. It rides high in my chest and claws for freedom.

He can sense it—that caged intensity, that helpless craving. The knowledge is there in the cruelly sweet twist of his lips, the way his touch is just shy of possession, and how hunger crowds his gaze. 

“What do you want, little one?” The words have that stern bent that doesn’t allow evasion.

“You.” An answer that pulls tight in my chest.

“And am I what you need?” I can feel that tension pull even tighter, like a bowstring within the center of my being. This ache that seems to cast shadows on the essence of me. It sinks deep, throbbing, and tender, an unending whisper of sweetest agony.

“Everything feels trapped, and if it doesn’t escape, I’ll shatter.” The honesty of my answer brings a smile to that cruel, sensual mouth. He cups my jaw in his palm with a steely tenderness, allowing me no respite from the way his eyes seem to peel away my layers. I turn my face into his hand, a soft nuzzle to its center, an even softer kiss. 

“What do you say to make me stop, little one?”

“Cinnamon.” I can feel the change in him the second the word flutters free, the chains and mask he wears slipping away as he drops his hand.

“Undress.” Such a simple command, but it sends a quake through me as I slip out of my tank top and jeans. My bra and underwear sit at the top of the neatly folded pile of fabric. 

“Kneel.” The urge to simply drop to my knees at his feet is overwhelming, but I make myself take care as I kneel before him. The only pain he wants for me is the pain he gives me in moments like these. I settle carefully, eyes on the floor, waiting with bated breath for his next command.

“Spread.” Just one word, each command a single sharp utterance, and I’m powerless to resist. I part my legs, spreading them as wide as I can until an ache builds in the tendons of my thighs. Cool air caresses the exposed damp of my flesh as I reveal myself to him.

“Good girl.” The praise precedes the hand that fists in my hair, tugging until I meet his eyes.  His eyes are so incredibly dark with feeling, lust, and possession, and something blade-sharp blending in his gaze. There is no hiding from him, no hiding the way my breathing hitches and my pulse beats erratically beneath his attention. His free hand traces the lines of my face, over the arch of my brows, down the line of my nose, and across the curve of my lower lip. My lips part beneath the pressure of his thumb against the soft flesh, grazing the edges of my teeth. 

“Stand.” This command is echoed by his fist tightening in my hair, urging me up to my feet to alleviate the sharp sting in my scalp. That sting ghosts over me, a shiver that teases at the needs buried in my soul. Needs that he can see clearly as he looks down into my flushed face. He uses that roughly tender grip to lead me toward the bed, stumbling steps sending blissful flares of pain through me until he has me where he wants me.

“Bend.” That sharp pull disappears as he releases my hair, allowing me the freedom to follow his command, to bend at the waist and rest on my elbows on the bed. I brace my arms shoulder width apart and then spread my legs just the way he likes, my ass and cunt completely available to him. He has barely touched me, hardly even spoken, and yet my breathing is an unsteady rasp, and I can feel my pulse thundering in my throat. 

“Count.” It is the only warning I get before his hand lands with a sharp crack. The sting of the impact immediately blooms into a light burn in the flesh of my right cheek.

“One.” My voice is a shaky whine, but I don’t know if it’s from the simple pain of his spanking or if it is from the complicated tangle of emotions hidden at the core of me. And then his hand comes down again, a matching pain blossom on my left cheek.

“Two.” Soon I am choking on the numbers as he carefully spreads those burning flowers over my ass, matching strikes on every inch of exposed flesh until the heat is more than just skin deep. He smooths his hands over my skin, soothing the fire he so graciously gifted me with, hands gentle where they had been unyielding before. And I stay still, his good little one, even as he begins to pepper kisses over his work.  

“Wider.” I slide my feet further apart, spreading my legs wider for him, and am rewarded for my obedience when he slides two fingers deep. His touch within me is just as demanding as his touch earlier was blistering. He grips my hip with his free hand hard enough to bruise, not allowing me to resist his plunging fingers or the thumb now rubbing insistent circles on my clit. That grip tightens more when he forces a third finger inside me, the stretch a delicious burn. Those fingers work me harder, grinding and plunging until I am whimpering at how hard it is to remain still and just accept the pleasure he forces me to feel.

“Open.” The moment my lips part, his fingers are there, rubbing the taste of myself on my tongue, earthy and clean. I lick and suck at his fingers, just the way he wants me to, cleaning the evidence of myself from his skin. 

“Stay.” And then the heat of him is gone, and I stay where he has left me, trembling with the anticipation he has built in me with that one word. He is building a web around me, this cocoon of pain and pleasure, a safe space for me to sink into. I barely twitch when his hand smooths over the still-sensitive skin of my ass.

“You said everything was trapped. Do you need to cry, little one?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Again, I give him nothing but complete honesty and complete trust.

“I’m going to take a belt to this pretty little ass. You are going to count again. If you stop, I’ll start over. Understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.” And then I am crying out as his belt leaves a burning stripe over my ass, just above the curve that meets my thighs.

“One!” It’s a broken wail, a choked sob. 

“Two!” This lash lands just above the first, his control astonishing even as pain lances through me, sharp and bright.

“Three.” This one is barely audible, a garbled cry, as his belt moves just above his last strike.

“Four.” The first of my tears follow my count, burning in my eyes just as much as his belt on my ass.

“Five…” I barely get the word out past my tears, the sound of his belt hitting the floor preceding him pulling me into his strong arms. He presses my face to his warm throat as my tears and sobs wrack my body, arms wrapped protectively around my quivering body.

“It’s okay, little one. Cry as long as you want. I have you.” And he does; he has me, body and soul, as I pour out everything I have held inside, sobs like barbs and anger like acid. When my sobs finally quiet and my body relaxes into his, he tilts my face up, kissing away the tears still glittering on my lashes and cheeks. And when his lips settle over mine, everything inside me settles, too. That unbearable tension is gone, and all that is left is his possession. All that is left is pure peace.