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"N-no," she stuttered through tears. She had planned a spanking, sure, but the dungeon, the bench, the strap, none of that had ever popped into her brain. She hadn't thought that far.
"Let me ask you a question, brat." He strapped her again, hitting the tops of her thighs and she bit her lip so as not to cry out.
"What happens after this? After your bottom is hot and throbbing and the sound of your cries fill the room? What happens when you stop having the energy to fight and you collapse against the bench with nothing left to do but ride out the waves of pain and pray your spanking ends soon? Do you have a plan for that too?"
She didn't, but his words proved to be prophetic. He stopped questioning her then, and instead worked the length of the strap up and down her bottom and upper thighs with furious strokes.
As much as it hurt, the pain had changed. It wasn't numbness that came with it, but it was no longer the intensely searing pain that made it impossible to focus on other things. Once again, her emotions and thoughts took center stage in her brain, pushing the pain to the side as he laid into her.
She thought about the fact that the clock had not stopped ticking and there was even less time now than there had been this morning. She thought about her initial acceptance of her placement and her idea that having her fill of Professor Rogers would solve the internal quandary that working with him had placed her in. She had thought this weekend would be enough to get him out of her system. How naive she had been. He wasn't out of her system; he was now so deeply entangled in it that he was part of her very soul. Instead of getting him out of her head, she had welcomed him everywhere else. Her hair, her mouth, her neck, her breasts, her ass, her pussy. There wasn't a part of her that hadn't been touched by him so thoroughly that she felt his presence with every move she made.
She wasn't sure how she was supposed to go on with a normal life after this and go back to being the ‘hidden in the shadows, keep to herself, the same old she-didn’t-need-a-dom sub who occasionally got her needs met by playing.’ He had turned her so thoroughly inside out; she couldn't imagine not being his.
That was the thing that broke her. The occasional tears turned to wracking sobs that shook her whole body. Her will to fight left and she collapsed against the bench, welcoming each lash of the strap that fell. She wished for it to be over so badly that she hardly noticed when it was.
The throbbing, pulsing pain in her bottom was constant. Just another reminder of him and one more thing making it harder to let go. But she had to. She knew she could never be anyone's full time sub. She couldn't give up her independence so fully and completely. Being forced naked and tied to bed posts, being made to eat from his hands or a bowl on the floor and being spanked and punished for every little transgression was what most subs craved. It sounded like her personal hell.
Or it had, until he came along. Now, god help her, she really thought she might want it, at least with him.
It had to be the adrenaline, lack of sleep and endorphins coursing through her body, she told herself. It was a dopamine response. When he was gone and the pain faded, so would the desire to be his. She just had to wait it out until that happened and not do anything crazy in the meantime.
"Emily?" His low growly voice warmed her from the inside out.
"Hmm?" she hiccupped, sniffling and gasping and barely aware that he had stopped spanking her. Another magical ice cube was pushed between her lips. Exhausted, she felt floaty. Was this what subspace felt like?
"I think I know what comes after this. This is the part where I claim you. You need to be fucked so thoroughly you don't know where you end, and I begin. I need to fuck your pussy until you scream my name, and then come in your ass. Is that what comes next, brat? Is that what you want?"
It was the exact opposite of what she needed in order to separate her emotions from her endorphins, and god help her, it was exactly what she wanted.
