"I saw that."
"Saw what?" I asked, pretending innocence.
"I saw you reach down into your panties, little girl," he accused sternly, striding purposefully over to where I stood in the corner, facing away from him, in just said pink, lacy panties.
I blustered. "You must be mistaken, Sir -"
His hand connected painfully with my behind, literally lifting me onto my tiptoes before he withdrew it.
Those damned panties were no protection at all against his strength.
"Give me your hand."
I offered my left and was given another, harder smack for my insolence. But I really, really, really didn't want to give him my other hand..
"Your other hand. NOW!"
There was no hope for it - never had been. I was merely delaying the inevitable. I reached behind me and offered him my hand - my right and the right one.
Although he was careful not to hurt me, he jerked it well up behind my bare back, and then I could feel his nose against my fingers, feel him breathing in my telltale scent.
He grabbed the back of my head and forcibly turned it so that I had no choice but to look at him. Surprisingly, I heard true regret in his tone. "You've been very naughty, beloved."
"I'm sorry, Sir."
My arm still held - just shy of painfully - up the middle of my back, he let his own fingers trail possessively down my stomach then tuck themselves cozily beneath the waistband of my only garment that stood between me and being even more vulnerably nude with him.
"Spread those pretty legs for me, little one." It was no less a command for its husky whisper.
My feet danced a few times and a dry sob escaped me as I fought to bend my own stubbornness to his will. In the mean time, he sought to give me some encouragement by leaving my warmth and claiming a nipple, which he then pinched unbearably hard while twisting it at the same time.
I immediately ratcheted my legs as far apart as the confines of the corner would allow, but was given no release from the torture until well after I had complied with his edict, until he had subjected its sister peak to the same abuse.
When his hand again disappeared into my panties, it was damp with my tears, and became even more so the further he explored into my crevasse, sending two fingers into me, then, with no warning, three, which had me gasping and fighting to remain in position, lest he punish me even more - on top of what I'd already earned that had landed me in the corner in the first place.
"This," he lay his thumb on top of my clit and began making circles with it as he flexed the fingers that were deep within me. "This is mine. It is only mine. No one else on this meager planet may touch it - not even you, without my permission. You know that, Princess."
Even at a time like this, I loved it when he used that nickname in particular.
I was already panting and, in truth, not very far from what promised to be a very violent culmination. But with a few more strokes of my clit and several heavy, potent strokes in and out of me, he left me, bereft and hanging, to lay another big, red hand print on my defenseless behind before rasping into my ear the four words I dreaded the most yet dared not disobey.
"Bring me your cane."