Captured

He reached for the bamboo cane that I had tossed on the floor. I froze.

My eyes must have gone wide with terror, because Ford laughed and said, "If you're going to dish it out, Katie, you ought to be able to take it. Now come here."

Fear shimmied down my spine and my thighs turned to jelly. However, my knowing pussy, which has a mind of its own, responded by flexing its walls and preparing itself with renewed secretions of aromatic fluid. I decided to let my darling cunt have its way, since it was clear that Ford had the upper hand anyway.

I stumbled to my feet—Ford didn't bother to try to help me, the unchivalrous bastard.

He sat on the edge of the hammock, and I stood facing him, and he put his hands on my waist to turn me roughly a quarter turn to the right.

"Bend over."

I bent at the waist, and luckily he clutched one heavy breast in his hand to balance and support me, or I would have pitched forward on my face in the dirt.

"Legs apart," he commanded, tapping the insides of my thighs with the stick, lightly scraping the swollen lips of my pussy with the rough nodes on the bamboo.

"When I'm finished," he said, "you'll thank me. And not just for saving your life."

I shut my eyes tight when I heard the shushing of the cane as it split the air, the crack of the fibrous wood—but not on my tensed and waiting bottom. Or my legs, or even my pussy.

He must have hit the stick on the pole that supported the hammock, for I felt nothing except the rush of air behind me, the tension in my bottom, and the crying disappointment of my cunt, which had been anticipating the crack of the cane with expectant joy.

He swung the cane again, and again the hiss of its arcing motion, but no pain for me.

Ford chuckled when I flinched.

"No, I don't want to mar that flawless ass of yours, Katie. Not with the cane anyway. I prefer my handprints for an autograph. Over my knee."

Again pulling on one puckered nipple, his other arm around my hips, he pulled me onto his lap, and I fell across his knees indecorously.

"Move your hands up," he ordered, for I had already begun trying to protect my bottom with my hands tied behind my back.

I obeyed his command.

He started by slapping the bottoms of my cheeks, where my ass curves into my thighs. Instinctively, I drew my legs together to protect my tender pussy.

"No, Katie, legs apart. Your pussy needs spanking, too." Again, I complied, willing myself not to think, to let my lusty cunt rule my responses (why fight it? I figured).

The smacks grew harder as his hand scaled up my bottom, spanking both cheeks. The pain accumulated as he layered one vicious stroke on top of another. My bottom was on fire, and I imagined it looked it, too. It certainly felt as if it was blazing scarlet.

He paused in his smacking blows, scratched my tender raw flesh with his fingernails. I moaned in torturous delight. "That's right, Katie. You're a beautiful goddess, especially when I'm fucking you. But right now, you're a woman who needs to be reminded that she's only human."

He renewed my spanking, this time alternating between painful sharp smacks up high on my flanks and softer slaps below on my wet cunt. His hand moved back and forth, from high to low over my bottom, until I was writhing over his knee. Each time he struck a stinging blow to the tops of my butt cheeks, I sucked in air through my nose. Each smarting whack to my pussy drew groans of tormented pleasure from my throat.

"Now it's your turn to beg. You want me to stop?"

I meant to nod my head, but instead I shook it side to side in a negative response. That's what I get for letting my cunt do the talking!

Ford laughed in delight, and lifting his foot from the ground, he let the hammock rock and sway. My toes came off the ground and I was suspended in the air, swaying, flying, even as I was supported by Ford's strong thighs, and his hand across my back and gripping my waist.

The spanking began again, more intense than ever. My bottom would be bruised much worse than if he had struck me with the cane, I thought. But the primitive sounds from my throat told the tale: I wanted this.

Ford continued to paddle my ass with his hard palm, and I continued to grind my cunt over his thigh; I could feel on his muscled leg the liquid that had trickled from my sweet wet pussy. With each swing of the hammock, each crack of his hand on my ass or my swollen cunt, my pussy surged with the longing to achieve that state of supreme release.

All the elements came together: Ford's laughter, the swaying hammock, my freedom from the responsibility of pretending to be a divine ruler, the coarse Ford-flavored gag in my mouth, and his harsh hand, punishing me, delivering me to that heaven where I could be a real goddess, at least for a moment. All these elements converged, culminating in an orgasm that was both clitoral and deep within the walls of my cunt, wthin and without, physical and spiritual . . . and heavenly.

When the paddling stopped, and my breathing slowed, he gently lowered me to the ground on my knees. So relieved and sated when the blows stopped, I had no strength left to fight or to wonder what came next. I soon found out, though, when he stood behind me, bent me at the waist, and pushed me face-first over the hammock. My nipples and the soft flesh of my breasts oozed through the mesh of the hammock like clay through a sieve. He knelt behind me, nudged my thighs further apart with his knee, and drove his cock into me with one deep vicious thrust. I came immediately with that first brutal plunge, and continued to come while he pumped and rammed his cock home.

He wrapped my long red hair twice around one hand, and with the other hand he grasped my bound wrists, and rode me like a cowboy riding a bucking bronco.

I tried to say don't stop, but of course my words could not be heard. It didn't matter; he knew what I wanted. It was obvious by the way I responded to each of his thrusts by slamming my ass back against his middle, as if I would take his cock deep into my womb.

His cock pulsed and swelled inside me as he came, and he growled incoherent animal noises that spoke to the primal woman in me.

Afterwards, he caressed my stinging bottom, then lifted me from the floor, untied my bonds and curled into the hammock with me at his side.

I reached up to slip the cloth gag from my mouth, and started to speak.

"I don't know what came over me—"

"Shhh,"" he whispered, quieting me. "Be still, woman, or I'll put that gag back on."

I obeyed, snuggling into him, resting my head in the dip between his chest and shoulder.

"Goddess," I corrected, and I heard the chuckle rumble up from his belly.

"Goddess," he agreed.

Readers: Please vote if you liked the story! Feedback by e-mail is welcome, too. Thanks, Sabrina