Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“Tessie,” he growls my name in a deep timbre. “Do you need a demonstration? Is that it? Are you in need of a sore bottom?”
“Oh god!” I let out a little shriek of glee.
He grabs me, thinking I am being disrespectful, and puts me over his knee, sitting back down in one of his old fashioned chairs which might very well have been designed to give spankings because it has absolutely no arms whatsoever. When he sits down, I am left dangling over his muscular lap, my head nearly on the floor, my toes just touching the floor on the other side.
“Disrespectful, giggling little pets are ripe for spanking,” Order growls down at me. I do not think he is quite as angry as he is playing. I think this is a demonstration we are both enjoying.
He has an abundance of limbs with which to hold me in place. There is an arm wrapped around my lower back, a hand on the back of my neck, and another one scruffed in my hair. The other half of his complement of arms is engaged with two hands all the better to spank me with, and one on my inner thigh, spreading my legs.
I am completely controlled, unable to move when he starts to spank my bare ass, sharp swats sending pulses of hot pain into my cheeks.
“Bad little pet,” he lectures as I start to gasp and writhe, my movement limited between his hands and the hard lines of his muscular lap. This might be a demonstration, but he is making it feel very, very real.
“Do you see how sore I can make your impudent bottom? How helpless you are when over your master’s lap? A good human pet must submit to her master, Tessie, or she will find herself very hot and very sore.”
He’s lecturing me, and those words are having an effect on my nether regions. I am already very well fucked and dripping his seed, but now fresh arousal is starting to make me wet, a fact that does not escape the many eyes of my newly self-appointed master.
I hear him make a sound of pure desire, and then his fingertips drift ever so lightly over my pussy lips.
“I don’t want you to go.”
This time he sounds less like an asshole out of the 1950’s and more like someone who will miss me very much and worry about me while I am away. His tone conveys a lot when he drops his stern facade even a little. I think this big, mean, possessive spider monster might actually be sweet on the inside.
He has made me feel wanted, not just sexually, but for everything I am. He’s made me feel desired, when I didn’t think anybody would ever desire me again. He thinks he has to keep me all wrapped up in his web, but he really doesn’t.
“Obigor is my pet, but I don’t have to keep him leashed to me all the time. He stays with me because he wants to. What if you kept me, but not like, as an actual prisoner?”
He narrows all eight eyes at me. “Let you go? Keep you without keeping you?”
“Yes. What if I came back of my own free will?”
He considers that briefly. “Are you saying you want to come back?”
“Yes,” I say. “I want to come back.”
He tries not to look too pleased and fails. “You want to come back,” he repeats.
“You think I fuck men all the time like this?”
“I don’t know what you do,” he says, narrowing his many eyes. “All the more reason to keep you safe and with me, in case your lustful drives betray any dedication you might have.”
“That’s a really longwinded way of calling me a slut. I haven’t been with anybody in over a year.”
“But you offered me no resistance.”
“No. Because I wanted you.”
“Did you not want any other men?”
“No. Not really. They didn’t understand, and I knew they would think I was ugly.”
“Ugly? You are an incredibly beautiful woman.” He sounds vaguely irritated that I dared call myself ugly. Perhaps more than vaguely irritated.
“Not with my scars. Men don’t like messed up women, and the ones who do are twisted.”
Order takes hold of me with five hands and uses the sixth to turn my face up to his. When he speaks, he does so with a formal intensity, as if he truly wants me to listen harder than I have ever listened to anything in my life.
“You are mine,” he repeats. “My pet. You belong to me. And if you do run away, I will find you.”
I feel tears welling in my eyes. I do my very fucking best to hold back the emotion that suddenly threatens to overwhelm me. I don’t want to cry.
“Sounds good to me,” I say, just barely getting the sentence out without bursting into tears.