Check out how Delia reacts in this #SatSpanks edition, an exclusive excerpt from Duty Bound. Grab this hot anthology fast to find out what happens!
Delia’s breath caught in her throat, her anticipation building. The room was filled with a new energy, which seemed to pulse around her. Her belly knotted with anxious excitement. Why was he making her wait? This was too…
She never got to conclude that thought. In a flash, Turner’s hand had vanished from her body, and he had brought his palm crashing back down against her vulnerable arse. Delia yelped out of instinct, not because the swat was painful, but just because there had been one. He had finally spanked her, and despite her embarrassment and discomfort, she was glad of it.
“We will only use my palm.” Turner’s voice was like a soft, insistent thrum, the sound vibrating over her body to find her ears. “And for now, you may stay clothed, Delia. This is just a warm-up.”
There was a definite gasp at that, but he had already landed the second swat, and this was harder than before. A warm-up? Is that what he’d said? And what was that about clothing? Surely, he couldn’t think to strip her before she was spanked? That ignominy seemed too great for anyone to bear. Turner struck her upturned behind again, following with three fresh swats, all in fast succession. With each new spank, the sting intensified. She wasn’t sure if Turner was intentionally landing them harder, or if it was the cumulative effect of receiving one after the other, but by the time Delia had counted the tenth in her head, she could absolutely feel the weight of each impact.
As the cardinal settled into some sort of rhythm, the onslaught came harder and faster, until Delia reached a point where each new strike began to take her breath away. She squirmed over his lap as the swats rained down, instinctively reaching behind her and trying to protect her punished behind. His hand paused at once, one of those large palms catching her smaller wrist and holding it in place as Turner chastised her.
“No, thank you, young lady.” This time his voice was stern, reminding her of the way her father had once spoken to her before his untimely demise. “You shall not interfere with God’s work. You have confessed your sins, and come here for forgiveness. Now, you must endure your penance.”
“But, Cardinal!” she gasped. “Please.”
The hand which had trapped her wrist pulled it away from the curves of her behind, and drew it back towards her shoulders. Delia twisted awkwardly over his robes. The position wasn’t hurting her, but it was certainly less comfortable, and she instantly disliked the weight of his free arm against her back. As soon as her bottom was cleared of her self-imposed obstruction, his palm resumed, peppering her arse with cruel, loud swats which seemed to fill up the office like rolls of thunder. And still Delia resisted. It was like she couldn’t stop, as though she had temporarily lost control of her own body. The more he spanked her, the more her body rolled and countered him, her bottom searching for a way out of its penance. Yet the cardinal’s will was strong, perhaps even stronger than her own, and her wilful display did nothing to quell his ambition. The arm at her back held her steady, while his other hand worked relentlessly, spanking her over and over again.
The loss of control was maddening, but in her mind, the fight was not futile. Delia imagined herself, as Turner might see her, draped over his vestment; prone and exposed, and she despised the mental image. She hated how weak she was, and how vulnerable she felt. She resented the power these men held over her. Or at least, that’s what she told herself as she writhed over his body, that’s how she convinced herself that she wasn’t enjoying the surrender. But it wasn’t true, and if Cardinal Turner was right about God, then He would certainly know the deceit. The truth was it did hurt, and it was uncomfortable, and yet for all her protestations, Delia was secretly beginning to revel in it. The whole scenario was uniquely compelling. For the first time, she was being held to account for her actions, and it was all happening like this; she was being spanked by the gorgeous cardinal in the red robes with the mesmerising blue eyes.
As the realisation dawned over her, the fight left Delia’s body in an instant. She felt the miscellaneous energy rush from her body, and she slumped forward, panting as she finally began to understand. This was all part of the punishment. First the anticipation, then the resistance, and now, the resignation. And resigned she was, her eyes closing as she accepted the brunt of Turner’s palm as it punished her bottom over and over. At that moment of concession, her body relaxed, despite the wall of pain which was being built at her behind. At that moment, her mind was quiet, and as she slipped away from conscious thought, Delia realised it was perhaps the first time her head had ever been free. She no longer had to think. She no longer had to worry about what to wear, or do, or say. She no longer had control. She’d given that up to Turner, or to God, or whoever the hell was orchestrating this bizarre ritual, but whoever it was, Delia felt sure they could keep it. This quiet freedom was good. Better than anything she could have imagined, maybe even better than the simmering thrum of arousal which kept its insistent throb between her legs.
“Good girl, Delia,” crooned Turner from above her head. “There’s our good girl, brothers. She is finally capitulating, and submitting to the will of God.”
“Praise be His name,” murmured Cardinal Medlock from beyond her head.
The sound of their voices stirred her from the peculiar tranquillity Delia had found in the punishment, and she wished at once that she could return to its warm folds. But now another urge was coming to fore. The weight of sensation at her core was building, centring her, making her focus only the weight of the cardinal’s palm as it struck her jeans. She imagined the impact, envisioning the reverberations as they spread outwards, down towards her legs. Down between her thighs.
A small moan escaped her lips, and reflexively she raised her free hand to cover her lips at the sound. Delia swore she had not consciously meant to make it, but then she remembered, nothing about this act was conscious anymore. She’d had control at the start, when she consented to the penance, but since then; since she found herself draped over Turner’s vestments, Delia had none. There was no say over the timing or intensity of each swat, no ability to protect herself, and now, apparently, there was no control over her own body’s responses. A hot blush engulfed her face as she realised what she’d done, and yet it was already too late. She’d moaned gutturally over the Cardinal’s lap, and they must have heard her. At least Turner must have caught the sound, and probably Medlock and Brogan, too.
It was then that she registered the change. The spanking had halted, and in her embarrassed state of mind, Delia hadn’t even noticed.
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