Declaration to Submit by Jennifer Leeland Page B

But he tempted her, the scent of him intoxicating her. It would also assuage the guilt she felt. “Yes, Sir.”
    He removed his hand from his dick and gripped her hair to pull her closer. “All right, Anelda. Suck me off.”
    She inhaled his unique smell as she bent down to take him past her lips. He didn’t allow her much control, his hand on her head directing the speed and depth of his length in her mouth. He gagged her, pressing to the back of her throat until tears sprang in her eyes.
    “Take it. Take it deep down your throat.” His tone was guttural and harsh. “You’re going to have to work to make me come. I’ve already fucked you so many times my dick might not wake up.”
    He was wrong. His cock hardened until her lips strained to take all of him. It should have been claustrophobic, even frightening as he held her head and drove his dick to the back of her throat. But there was something comforting about the way he filled her mouth and held her to the task. She focused on the texture and feel of him, sliding her tongue over his length. Her reward was his low curse, and he tightened his hand in her hair.
    For a split second, she felt in control, like she could drive him over the edge. He jerked her head back and pulled his cock out of her mouth as if he knew what she was thinking. “I don’t think so, Anelda.” His voice was strained. “I choose the punishment.”
    She snuck a defiant glance at his face. “Don’t you want me to suck your cock?”
    His eyes narrowed, and he leaned down, his hand twisted in her hair. “Sir. ‘Don’t you want me to suck your cock, Sir?’ You’re just storing up more punishment for yourself.”
    Nell wanted to test him, see what he would do if she gave him a hard time. “That’s what you keep saying…Sir.”
    “That’s it,” he snapped. He released her hair but grabbed her arm. “If you’re going to be bratty, I’m going to treat you like a brat.”
    She thought he was going to punish her with his cock, looked forward to it, as a matter of fact. Instead, he turned her over his knee.
    The robe was no barrier to his determination. The hem drifted to her shoulders, and her ass was bare to his gaze. When his hand slapped her tender flesh, she squeaked. Fuck! That hurt . But there was something about the warm, sharp sensation of his hand that was infinitely sexier than the flogger or the paddle.
    It was instinctive to shift, to try and rub her clit against his thigh. His other arm banded around her waist and held her immobile. He spanked her in hard, short blows that she felt all the way to her scalp.
    She sobbed when the fire on her skin started to burn. He didn’t stop. After the tenth strike, she squirmed in earnest, her pussy as heated as her butt. “Please, Sir,” she gasped.
    “What, brat? Does it hurt?” he asked in a tight, strained voice.
    “Please let me come, Sir. Please,” she screeched as his hand smacked her bruised bottom.
    He froze for a moment and then dipped his fingers into her pussy. The relief and the arousal his touch caused made her moan longingly for release. His quick intake of breath made her arch toward his hand. She could tell he appreciated her wet like this and wanting.
    Her legs were unsteady when he pulled her to feet and turned her to lie across his lap on her back. The robe fluttered to the floor, and she was exposed, naked, needy. He gripped her hair and held her head so she had to stare at his face. His other hand cupped her cunt, his fingers seeking deeper inside her.
    He watched her face, an intense, determined expression tightening his skin over his cheeks. He thrust his fingers in a fast, quick rhythm that made her bow her back and reach out blindly with her hands. She clutched his upper arms and squirmed helplessly. “Sir, may I come? Please?”
    He stared at her, his face unreadable. “No.”
    She gritted her teeth and held back. It was crazy, but she wanted to please him, and she knew resisting her own pleasure,