Spanking into submission

Without warning, his hand found the soft flesh of my behind, the sudden smack resonating through the silence of the room. My body jolted at the sharp sting that blossomed across my skin, a desperate moan escaping my lips before I could contain it. The sound seemed to reverberate off the walls, a testament to the intensity of the moment.
"More," I found myself pleading, the word tumbling out of my mouth in a breathless whisper. Each spank that followed was a punctuation mark, emphasizing the relentless desire that drove us—the slap of skin against skin, a symphony of our shared lust.
His hand was firm and unyielding, yet every strike sent waves of unexpected pleasure coursing through me. With each hit, my moans grew louder, more urgent. They were sounds of pain intermingled with pleasure, of boundaries being tested and broken—a delicate dance between giving and receiving that left me yearning for more.
The heat from where his palm met my skin spread like wildfire, and I was lost in the sensation, adrift in a sea of wanton need. Each spank was a confirmation of our connection, a communication without words that spoke volumes of the passion that held us tethered to this moment.
The sudden creak of the door jolted me from the haze of my own fervor. My breath caught, a strangled gasp that sliced through the thick air of desire.
"Sweetheart? Are you... okay?" The timbre of my father's voice cut through the room—a stark, sobering intrusion.
Panic clawed at my insides as I scrambled to pull the sheets up to my chin, my cheeks flaming with the heat of a thousand suns. The last echoes of pleasure were snuffed out by a mortifying realization: my father had witnessed my unbridled moans.
"Uh, yeah, Dad," I stammered, willing my voice to steady, "just a dream. A weird one." I hoped he'd believe that lie; it was paper-thin but all I had.
His silhouette loomed in the doorway, a furrow creasing his brow. He seemed unconvinced, worry etched into every line of his face. Yet, there was also a reluctance to pry—as if stepping into a daughter's privacy was a battlefield littered with landmines.
"Alright then," he mumbled, still not moving from the spot. "Just sounded like... Never mind. You sure you're okay?"
"Positive," I croaked, my heart pounding against my ribcage. The closet door to my right stood slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness promising safety or betrayal. Shadow was in there, I knew, holding his breath just like me. If my father took two steps closer, the game would be up. Desperation glued me to the bed, an awkwardly tangled marionette of dread and hope.
"Okay..." he trailed off, finally stepping back. "Well, goodnight again, then."
"Night, Dad." My voice was a whisper, barely audible over the clamor of my own frantic pulse.
He closed the door softly behind him, and I exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. The silence that followed was suffocating, the tension almost palpable. I stared at the closet, the gap in the door an abyss where my recklessness could have been laid bare. My pulse still raced, a frenetic drumbeat reminding me how close I'd come to utter catastrophe.
Shadow remained hidden, silent as a shadow, and in that moment, I knew fear and thrill could coexist—each a razor's edge from slicing too deep.
My bedroom door creaked open once more and my father's head popped in, sporting a hesitant smile that made my stomach lurch.
"Can we chat for a sec, honey?" he asked, inching into the room.
"Sure, Dad," I said, my voice a forced calm while my insides churned. Shadow's presence, hidden in the closet, weighed on me like a secret sin.
He sat on the edge of my bed, clearing his throat with that particular gravitas reserved for 'serious talks.' "I...uh, heard some noises earlier, and well, I think it's time we had a little discussion about the birds and the bees."
"Really, Dad?" My cheeks reddened, not from embarrassment of the topic but from the absurdity of the situation - my virginity was the least endangered thing in this room.
"See, when two people care for each other very much—" he began, but I cut him off before he could dive into a lecture that neither of us wanted.
"Dad, listen, I'm still a virgin," I blurted out, cringing internally at the truth. His eyebrows shot up, a mix of relief and surprise painting his face.
"Virgin, huh?" he chuckled lightly, the tension dissolving into an awkward amusement between us. "Well, that's good to know."
"Very much a Virgin," I emphasized, hoping to steer him away from further probing. That beast in the closet just won't fuck me.
"Alright, alright," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. He shifted gears, his expression turning pensive. "There's something else, though. The Scott family... they're good people. And young Will, he's quite the catch."
"Father..." I sighed, rolling my eyes. Here we go again.
"Listen to me, he's a skilled hunter, can provide for a family. It wouldn't hurt to consider—" he persisted.
"Consider what, Dad? That marrying Will Scott will magically transform me into a happy, docile wife?" The words spilled out, laced with annoyance.
"Amina, be reasonable. He's a good match for you," Dad countered, his own frustration bubbling to the surface.
"Maybe for the Amina you imagine, but not for me," I replied sharply. "I want more than just a convenient match. I want—"
"Love?" he finished for me, his tone softening.
"Something like that," I murmured, thinking of Shadow tucked away in the shadows. Love, danger, freedom – they all seemed to blend together in the chaos of my heart.
"Alright," Dad said after a long pause, standing up. "Just promise me you'll think about it?"
"Promise," I lied, eager to end the conversation and the risk of discovery.
"Goodnight, sweetheart." He kissed my forehead, unaware of the storm of emotions swirling within me.
"Goodnight, Dad," I whispered as he left, the click of the door signaling the end of one ordeal and the silent resumption of another.
He found me in the bed again. Beside me, his chest heaved in silent mirth, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight with a mixture of thrill and relief.
"Can you believe we almost got caught?" I whispered, shaking my head in amusement. The adrenaline still pulsed through my veins, a lingering dance of danger and delight.
He grinned, white teeth flashing in stark contrast to the shadows that played upon his face. "With you? I'd risk being caught a thousand times over."
There was a warmth in his voice that wrapped around me, a reassurance that went beyond the close call we had just experienced. He leaned closer, the heat from his body melting into mine despite the chill of the night.
"I've always known you were special, you know," he murmured, his breath a feather's touch against my ear. "Not just because of your spirit or the way you fight, but because of your heart. You’ve never given it away lightly."
I felt the weight of his words, the significance of his appreciation for my choices, for the path I had walked alone until our fates had intertwined. His gaze held mine, and in those depths, I saw the reflection of a bond that ran deeper than the forest, more eternal than the stars above us.
"Waiting wasn't about patience; it was about knowing what was worth holding out for," I said softly, my hand finding his. Our fingers entwined, and there was a promise in that simple gesture, one that spoke of shared nights and unwritten tales.
He pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me in a protective embrace. I could feel the power that coursed through him, the strength of his werewolf heritage that commanded respect and awe. Yet here he was, appreciating my humanity, my untouched heart that had awaited a connection as profound as the one that now bound us together.
"Every moment led me here... to you," he said, his voice a low rumble that resonated within me. "And for that, I am grateful. For your wait, for your strength, for you."