Page 49 of The Princess Tied

Wincing, breathing harder and faster, with her eyelids shuttering, Po found herself wanting his hands on her.

His big, hard, strong hands, on her.

Their eyes met. Whatever his reasons, heat was building below. Between her legs ached, and she felt herself swell, and surely some wetness leaked. Her face blushed hot. She was naked and responding to him.

Mortifying. Arousal was not for a whole room of men.

John pulled again, and she crawled over him because she must, then she lay on him, belly down. He was silent as he arranged her on his lap. A second later, she squeaked and clutched at air then the floor cushion, for he’d shifted and moved her down his legs, and she could not grip the table for support. Her toes treadled the rug on the floor behind her.

Thank heavens, her rear faced away from the men.

John’s hand arrived on her ass. He cupped a part of it and squeezed. “Now,” he said quietly, “To see if you will scream for me when I spank you. How many!” he yelled.

The for me resonated with her. Though he promised pain. Her disloyal clit engorged and pulsed with need.

“Five!”

“Twenty!”

“Fifty-two!”

They all laughed.

“Let’s make it ten, shall we…” She felt him lean forward and kiss one side of her rear, then he added softly, and only for her to hear, “…my princess. Having you like this is better than any dream.”

He slapped her rump, hard, jarring her, and she squeaked. “A little one, for starters.”

Another slap landed, then he grabbed her hair and levered back her head, and kissed her, grinding his mouth on hers, until she was sure she was lacking air judging by how severely she panted.

He smacked her again, spanking her, and the pain altered, transformed, the fire shifting into her pussy. Another hard slam of his hand spiked more pain. Through it all, the hold on her hair and his milder caresses of her skin, the casual brush of his fingers along her slit, those kept her spinning. Desire and pain. A princess should not like this.

Should not.

Another spank, another, and she found she was both squeaking and gasping, with a low moan escaping… Not her.

“Good girl.” More words were spoken but she was busy trying to be unaffected and failing. That this man dared to—

Whack! She yelped and shut her eyes, assimilating for the umpteenth time that strange aftereffect.

“Mine. This ass is mine. Last one.” A final smack jolted her flesh, buzzed her nerve endings. It was worth lying still for. She almost wanted more.

She definitely wanted his hands on her, his fingers in her. His teeth.

Maybe if she squirmed?

But not here.

“Up.” He stood, set her on unsteady feet, helped her dress.

The last she saw of the banquet audience was a blur of faces, for she could not look at them, nor meet their eyes. Not after that.

Her butt was stinging as they exited. The dress whispered on her sore flesh, reminding her of the spanking, and he held her wrist in the circle of his hand as if he truly possessed her.

“You are very quiet, princess.”

She side-eyed him, said nothing. The walk was surreal, detached, as if she were in a fantasy world.

Her panties were back on the banquet table, she realized, aghast. Minus them and knowing she was naked underneath, and with all that manhandling that had somehow made her exquisitely sensitive… between her legs throbbed. Every step she took with John holding her wrist made her wish for him to do something more to her, anything, anything sexual.