Twenty minutes later, I was showered and ready to face the music. Although I’d begun touching myself in the shower—overwhelmed by the thought of feeling Wyatt’s hands on my body and taking me to task—something about the promise of a punishment hanging between us, something about the way he’d held me last night, and something about the way his shirt had caressed my bare curves before I sneaked over to his bedroom made me stop touching myself before I could come.
Something told me that my pussy was his territory now. With the lightest of touches and the harshest of spanks, he’d claimed me. And as the arousal seeped into my panties, I checked the hallway to make sure the coast was clear and popped across the hall.
After a quick knock—much lighter than a few hours before—I heard Wyatt’s heavy footsteps tread to the door. When he opened it to find me in the shirt he’d lent me the night before, a quirky grin curved the side of his mouth and he lifted his arm for me to pass under. Yet again, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, just some faded jeans this time. Only after shutting the door, locking it, and drawing the blinds, did he address me.
“Good practice run? Dogs likin’ the trail conditions?”
“Yeah, it went well, but I think we’re gonna need extra booties for the dogs. I lost count of how many disappeared along the way. And with the plunging temperatures, a lot of that snow is gonna turn to jagged ice in a real hurry. Gotta keep those paws protected.”
He nodded as he took up position in front of me, arms folded across his bare chest. Evidently, ‘small talk time’ was over. I was already beginning to recognize this dominant stance of his.
“Tell me, Jordyn. Why are you here?”
“I’m, uh, here for my punishment, sir,” I murmured toward his belly button, not daring to meet his steel gaze.
“Mmhm. That’s right. And why are you being punished, young lady? Look me in the eye and tell me.”
I mustered my courage and met his eyes. If I’d expected to see anger or retribution, I would’ve been mistaken. Concern, protection, possession… and desire. With an exaggerated swallow, I fessed up to what I’d done.
“I accused you of taking something of mine without asking you about it first. I swore at you… tried to punch you… yelled at you. I didn’t trust you.”
“That’s absolutely right, Jordyn. Although, for the record, we need to build that trust between us. It’s not gonna show up overnight—especially after the night we had—but you didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt. And that’s what hit me the hardest. See what I’m sayin’?”
I nodded my head contritely and kept looking to him for reassurances, for comfort. Thankfully, he didn’t make me wait as he stroked my arm tenderly.
“And you remember what I told you before you left this morning?”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, shifting from side to side.
“You said no panties this time.”
“That I did. And judging by the look on your face at the time, you seemed pretty excited about that, hm?” He raised his eyebrow and considered me, analyzing each twitch of my face and syllable I uttered.
“Um, it’s just that… Uh, I like it when… I thought it would be…”
“Shh. Stop thinking so much.” He pulled me against him, neither of our hard bodies yielding yet finding a position where I was able to curl against him perfectly.
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me or anybody else.” He let out a sigh and kissed the top of my head. “But you like being taken in hand, don’t you?”
How he’d figured out my dark secret in less than twenty-four hours, I would never know. I nodded against him.
“And you like the way I take over?”
I nodded again, this time more insistently.
“And you’re ready to take your punishment now?”
I looked up at him and gave him another nod and a plaintive yes, sir.
“That’s my good girl. Now, let’s get you out of those panties and onto the bed, face down, ass up.” He encouraged me to hold up the bottom of his shirt, revealing a pair of black lace boy shorts. They weren’t practical for the trail, but every once in a while I liked to feel sexy. This was one of those times.
He tucked his thumbs into the waistband and slipped them over my hips, dropping them to the floor between us. With a hand against my lower back, he guided me to the bed and pushed the shirt up toward my neck, leaving my cheeks exposed and chilled in the cool room. Goosebumps erupted across my backside, more likely due to his callused, trained fingers trailing their way up and down the cleft of my bottom and toward my wetness rather than the temperature in the room.
“You did well yesterday, and I don’t want to push you too hard, but this still needs to be a punishment. Discipline ain’t fun, Jordyn. Don’t forget that.”
“No, sir,” I murmured into the comforter.
“I’m gonna start with my hand and then move to four with the belt.”
The mention of his belt had me shivering down to my core. Although I’d been spanked plenty in my day, I’d never felt the kiss of a leather belt. I was surprised at how aroused I was at the prospect, as a trickle of my essence slid down my inner thigh and my puffy labia ached with need.
When his hand connected with my sore rear, I had to bite off a whimper. Yet after about a dozen or so warm-up swats—carried out in a measured, precise cadence that didn’t seem to fit this wild man—I gave myself over to the experience and let the eroticism of the moment flow through me. The pop of his palm. The sting of the aftermath. The burning glow in anticipation of the next. The desire to submit to his punishment and care.
“Holdin’ up okay? I’ve got you nice and red back here. And you’re gonna stay that way for a long, long while,” he whispered after leveling a particularly vicious smack against my exposed labia. “You ready for the belt now?”
Yes? No? How the hell was I supposed to answer that? Would I ever be ready? Would I ever let anyone take a belt to my bare backside?
It seemed my answer was yes, but I wouldn’t let just anyone do this to me.
He sensed my tension and talked me down, caressing my rear and rubbing my lower back. “You can do this, Jordyn. You’re gonna be fine. Four stripes and you’re done.”
“I-I don’t know, Wyatt,” I squeaked against the blanket before turning to meet his stare.
“I do. And I’ll never hurt you or take you further than you can handle. You’re a tough one, Maxwell. Just remember that and we’ll be fine.”
His warm smile reassured me and I popped my rear end up in preparation for what was to come. Crossing the bedroom, he grabbed his belt off the back of one of the chairs and doubled it over on itself. When he took up position next to me again, I resigned myself to my fate, unclenched my cheeks, and willed him to make things right between us.
The first searing strike clipped me mostly along my left cheek and hip; the second did the same but on the right. The burning ache lit up my senses and I screamed into the mattress, my eyes filling with tears.
“Two more and all done,” he purred, tracing the pads of his fingers over the welts he’d already raised. “Two more and then we rest.”
“Yes, sir,” I wailed, not bothering to hide my tears as I wiped them off with the back of my hand.
The third landed with a vicious snap against the tender join of my thighs and butt, and the final blow—the worst of all—popped across both cheeks and seared my already enflamed bottom.
Tossing the belt to the floor and scooping me into his arms, he pulled down the sheets and got me tucked into his bed. He stripped out of his jeans to reveal some snug blue boxer briefs—evidently I wasn’t the only one who packed sexy underwear just in case—and got into bed next to me. He extended his arm my way, letting me use it as a temporary pillow as my eyes continued to leak tears.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you, sorry I didn’t trust you, Wyatt,” I whispered through my hiccups.
“It’s all over now. We’re good. We’re all good,” he soothed me as he ran his fingers through my jet-black hair and tucked a few strands behind my ear.
“Yeah, we’re good now,” I echoed him. It might have been his smell, the release of all the pent-up emotion, the punishment itself, or something else entirely, but I felt drawn to the man in a way I’d never sensed before. With anyone.
When you’re used to being the best at whatever you set your mind to, sometimes it takes a strong hand to remind you that you can’t do everything. You can’t take the whole world on your shoulders. You can’t make it through this life on your own.
I was starting to suspect that Wyatt was the strong hand I needed. And as I stared into his gray eyes and ran my hand along his scruffy cheek and up through his crazy mop of hair, a subtle shift in body position let me know that Wyatt was thinking the same thing.
Trailing my hand down the defined line bisecting his pecs and torso, guided only by touch as we were under the covers, I let my fingers come to rest on the substantial bulge in his boxer briefs. His sharp intake of breath answered my silent question: Do you want this… with me?
With a quick shift of his body, he hovered above me, using his knees to spread my toned thighs as wide as they would go. Supporting his weight with one arm, he reached down and stripped his boxers off, leaving them buried in the sheets. He then began tugging on the bottom of my shirt—his shirt—to bare my entire body to him.
We took our time, even with the feeble amounts of light available to us, to take in the sight of each other’s body. Wyatt was sleek and furry, a natural firmness to each of his muscles and his toned ass. And once I was able to get a full look under the covers, my eyes confirmed what my fingers already suspected.
Rudolf Wyatt had a gorgeous piece—large, somewhat intimidating for a tiny woman like me, but gorgeous. As I licked my lips in anticipation of being filled by him, he broke the silence between us.
“You’re beautiful, little one. Christ, you’re so beautiful.” Leaning down, but careful not to crush me with his weight, he wrapped his arms around me and, after adding, “So beautiful and so strong,” pressed his lips to mine.
His mouth was softer than any musher’s had the right to be and he devoured me as if he’d just returned from the racing run of his life. Wyatt clearly didn’t half-ass anything. And I was right there with him. Especially after he’d called me his ‘little one.’
Tilting my hips against his and trapping his erection between my thighs, I snaked my fingers through his hair, pulling him against me, and darted my tongue between his lips, savoring the taste of him.
Pausing the kiss momentarily, he pulled back, his eyes clouded with lust and awe. “I want to do this, but I don’t want to hurt you, little one.” It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one with reservations about how I’d be able to take his cock.
“I trust you, Rudolf. I trust you and I know you’ll never hurt me. Just please, please let me feel you.”
With a nod and a final stroke along my cheek with the back of his hand, Wyatt shifted to my side and began gathering my wetness with his fingers, trailing it along my slit and circling it around my tight, needy clit. I was so aroused from the spanking and the make-out session, we both understood lubrication wouldn’t be an issue.
Sliding a finger, then two, into my snug pussy, he explored me with an intensity I’d only ever seen in other competitive sportsmen. As I writhed around his digits, he kept my thighs spread, the trimmed thatch of my pubic hair exposed, my body arching into every last twist and pump of his fingers. Latching on to one of my hardened nipples, he pulled it between his teeth, staying just on the pleasurable side of pain before sliding a third finger into me.
“Grab your legs and hold yourself open for me, little one. Hold yourself open and relax.” He got to his knees between my legs, using the droplets of pre-cum leaking from the tip of his cock to slide himself, up and down, along my wetness. “Deep breath and let it out for me, Jordyn.”
I did as he commanded—as if I’d been responding to his body and commands for time eternal—and he nudged himself inside me, not relenting until he was fully seated in my pussy. The feral whine he drew from my lips shocked the hell out of me, but the last thing in the world I wanted was for him to stop.
“Please… please, sir, don’t stop,” I pleaded with him.
“Never, Jordyn, never…” Coaxing me to hook my thighs around his midsection, he slid into me, time and time again with long, powerful strokes, taking me, filling me, and breaking me with excruciating precision. And with each downward thrust, as he bottomed out against my sore, sensitive cervix, I released a tiny whimper that propelled him to keep punishing me in the most perfect way possible. The jolting pain quickly morphed to pleasure—much like the spankings I’d taken from him—and I was sucker-punched by an unexpected orgasm.
Grabbing onto the corner of the pillow beneath me, I shoved it in my mouth and bit down, screaming my release into the downy softness.
“That’s my girl,” he grunted as he upped his tempo. “Now, give me another one. I want to feel you come around me as I fill you.”
His words were all the encouragement I needed as I felt my slick pussy constrict around him and milk his cock as he found his release, buried to the hilt in my sated sex.
Barely twenty-four hours ago this man wouldn’t give me the time of day, yet now, as he slid out of me and spooned his slackening body against mine, kissing my earlobe, cheek, and shoulder before he turned off the lamp, Rudolf Wyatt had just given me the most powerful erotic experience I’d ever known.
This was beyond the competition, beyond the nerves, beyond the typical athletes’ urges.
This was real.
And in just a couple of days, we would be pitted against each other in the Chimney Run.
How were we supposed to deal with that?
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