Page 81 of Hollow

“Such a good, sweet witch.”

Finally, when I can just about take no more, he plunges his tongue up and inside me, pumping it in and out like a cock, and then I’m teetering over the edge. I cry out his name and surrender to the overwhelming pleasure that washes over me. He continues to work me through my orgasm, prolonging the experience until I am weak and shaking with sensation, almost falling to the ground. The energy my orgasm creates flows through me, and if only I could use my brain for just a moment, I know I could do something with that energy, create something from nothing.

He finally pulls back and looks up at me. I can barely focus on his face, the wild mess of his hair, the way his mouth glistens with my moisture on him.

“You taste like magic,” he murmurs. A look of molten darkness comes over his eyes, and I shiver despite myself. “Now, get on your knees.”

I stare at him in surprise. “What?”

But then he’s grabbing my arm and pulling me down until I land on my knees in the hay. Before I can say anything, he’s moving fast, suddenly behind me, one hand shoving my skirts up to my waist, the other pushing down between my shoulder blades until my chest is pressed against the ground.

“Stay there,” he commands. “And wait for it.”

I hear him walk off into the stable, the hay pressed against my cheek, loose bits of it scattering as I breathe hard, not knowing what he’s about to do.

You can get him to stop, I remind myself. He won’t let you feel unsafe.

But I don’t want him to stop. I like feeling afraid with him, knowing in the end, he’ll still protect me. It’s the best kind of danger, the one I feel my energy feeds on.

His footsteps echo as he comes back, and I only now realize the sound of rain falling outside the stable, the patter of it on the roof and the maple trees.

“Good girl,” he croons. “Waiting so patiently. So trusting.” He pauses. “Do you still want to continue?”

I try to lift my head to look at him, but suddenly, I hear a loud smack of something hard against his palm, and I jump.

“Keep your head down. Don’t look at me.”

I do as he says, my body tingling all over with anticipation.

Then he reaches forward and pulls down my drawers and stockings until my bottom is exposed.

He lets out a low moan. “What a prize student you are,” he says. “You’re about to find out about a saying us teachers have.”

I try to swallow. I can barely speak. “What’s that?”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child,” he says. “But you are no child, sweet witch. And you will not be spared.”

With that, I feel a sharp sting on my bottom as he spanks me. Hard. Not with his hand but with what feels like a riding crop. I cry out, not expecting the sudden pain, but then he hits me again, and again, and again, each time harder than the last, until I’m jerking against the ground. My hands clench into fists as I try to process the sensations, the mix of pain and pleasure causing my body to react in ways I never thought possible.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his breath labored. “I can stop.”

I make a noise.

“Is that a yes?” he asks.

“Yes,” I manage to say. “I’m alright.”

“Very good.”

He continues to spank me with the crop, alternating between hitting each cheek until tears are streaming down my face and my bottom is on fire. I can feel the wetness between my legs increasing with each strike, and I know he can too. But even as the pain becomes almost unbearable, the pleasure is still there, lurking just beneath the surface.

“You like this, don’t you?” he growls, his hand coming down harder, the crop stinging.

“Yes,” I gasp out. “Please don’t stop.”

He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “I thought you might. I’ll only stop when you say you’ve had enough.” He emphasizes that with another hit of the crop, and my body jerks. “I can go all night watching the marks I’m leaving on your perfect skin.”

Eventually though, my skin goes numb, the sensations flattening me, and my core pulses with a greedy need for release.