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Auction 26 That Hurt, Didn't I

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"Pharaoh is a better name," I argue smartly. I know I should be quiet. I know I should agree to whatever they say. My butt is still stinging from when Mattias spanked me, but there is something inside me that just won't let me quietly agree to them and their terms. I have to fight.

They shoot looks at one another.

"Anyone object now?" Tore asks the question of the others. Apparently they had some discussion about what to do with me. Apparently, I've managed to make whatever Tore suggested palatable to them.

"No. Go ahead," Keanau sighs, making a gesture with his big meaty hand.

Tore sits down on the bed, reaches for me, and takes me by the back of the head, his fingers curling in my long blonde hair. He slowly, but firmly pulls me toward him, and then over his hard lap.

"Your spirit is impressive," he tells me. "But your mouth isn't. I want respect out of you, Trissa. I want obedience. I know you don't know how to behave yet, but you will learn tonight. How much that hurts is up to you."

Held over his thighs, I want to squirm and curse at him, but there's a warning in being held like this. My ass is vulnerable. I try to be good, quiet, but that is too little, far too late.

Tore's hand glides across my upturned cheeks, then slips away and returns with a sharp slap.

"Ow! Please! Ow! I already got spanked!"

"But the lesson obviously didn't take," Tore says. "This is for the attitude."

"I'm not giving you attitude!"

"Yes, you are," he says, rubbing my bottom once, before slapping it hard again. The sound is like a gunshot echoing around the room, and my plaintive cry afterward sounds pitiful. "I want to hear you calling me sir. I want to hear you thanking me for this spanking."

"Why the fuck would I... ow!"

Tore releases a barrage of hard, heavy slaps that make me scream out with shock and sudden pain.

The slaps Mattias gave me before are nothing compared to this. This hurts. This is pain searing through my bottom and finding every nerve in my body. I scream and writhe and wail. I kick and I squirm, but his arm is strong enough to hold me in place and make me take every single one of those vicious swats.

"Stop it! Stop it now!"

"I'll stop when you call me sir."

"You're a fucking asshole, sir!"

That does not go down well at all. The spanking intensifies, finds my upper thighs. I am spanked from leg to bottom and my kicking and squirming and swearing does nothing to stop him.

This is a battle of wills, but it is a battle I have no chance of winning. I am battling my own threshold for pain. Tore could do this forever, I am sure, so all I am doing is making it hurt me worse before it stops.

"Please, sir! Stop!"

I scream the words. It stops.

It stops, and I burst into tears, because his stopping has done absolutely nothing to stop the pain. That sears on even in the absence of the spanking, my thighs and ass burning and tingling.

Strong arms wrap around me, pull me up against Tore's chest. He cradles me, one arm underneath my knees, one around my back and he holds me close, murmuring soft, comforting words to me.

"It's over now, Trissa," he murmurs. "It's done, little girl. You learned your lesson, didn't you."

I don't know if I've learned anything. I am tearful and sobbing, and I am afraid. But I still bury my head into the crook of his neck and I let him comfort me, those same hands that whipped me into screaming whimpers now helping to soothe the sting away.

It takes long minutes for my tears to abate. When they do, I find myself cowering in the arms of yet another strange man in a long line of strange men who have laid claim to me only by merit of the fact they are men.

"It hurts," I whimper.

"I know," Tore says. "It hurts more than it had to, but remember this, so it doesn't have to hurt again."

So all I have to do is whatever they say, and it won't hurt. But I don't want to. I don't want to be obedient. I don't want to submit to this. I wasn't raised to submit.

He eases me back from his body so he can look down into my shameful, tear-filled eyes. I can't meet his. Can't look at him. Can't stand to see what he did to me, written on his face.

I bow my head and hide myself from him, and from the others. I can feel their eyes on me, looking at me as I cower. I hate this. I hate how it hurts. I hate how small I feel. I am cracked, beginning to break. If I can't get control of myself, I might fall apart completely.

This is terrifying. Men are frightening. When I was alone, I used to imagine what being with one would be like. I never considered it would be like this. I never understood how much more powerful they are, how demanding they can be. I never knew how the muscles I used to hunt, to survive, would suddenly feel so inadequate and weak in comparison to theirs. There is no fighting Tore, or any of the others. Pulling, kicking, twisting, none of it worked. He is so much stronger than I am, to the point I may as well not fight at all.

"Did I do too much?" I hear Tore whisper the question to one of the others.

"She's okay. She's not hurt. She's probably never been disciplined before, wild little thing."

Pharaoh plucks me off Tore's lap. His large hands slip beneath my arms and he holds me up before him in all my red-bottomed, naked shame.

"That hurt, didn't it." It's a flat statement, but I answer it like a question.
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