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As you’ve entered the penthouse you were forced to share, you were met with a petrifying sight. Pariston was home, way too soon.
“You weren’t there when I came home early,” he said lightly as ever, not accusing you of anything yet. Your husband made you stop in tracks, you standing just few steps into the hall after entering through the door. ‘Home early’?
Just attempting to escape was enough to receive a punishment. You could not yet step outside his penthouse by even a centimeter, and just finding out the effort to escape would guarantee a penalty. All worse--with Pariston, you could never know what to expect. You could theorize, think of worst things he could to you, and you’d be wrong about the answer each time. The unpredictability was why people hated him in the first place.
Few seconds of you staring at each other, him with curiosity, and you with discomfort, you finally opened your mouth. "What do you mean, Pariston?” you asked, trying to not let confusion eat you alive. Him being back early was a worst plotwist for your case. He tilted his head with a pout at your question.
“You see, darling, I was being such a nice husband, who just wanted to let you see me home much earlier, knowing how much you must miss me. So I’ve came home earlier. But you weren’t there! Isn’t this sad?” he sighed pitifully.
Your stomach dropped. You were sure to time your escape attempt perfectly, knowing his working hours. Out of all days, today, he decided to come home earlier, ruining your plan entirely. Your plan was simple-to leave for a moment, not permanently (as you knew he’d found you), to send a help message, and return home before he would finish his work, and make sure you’ve covered any possible sign of your departure.
“I…” your voice came out startled. “I just needed some fresh air. I know I should have asked, but I felt dizzy…” you excused quietly. A blatant lie. Maybe anyone else would buy it, as you did return on your own. But not Pariston. He’d see right through you, and enjoy your struggle to explain yourself. “You can’t really open windows at this floor…”
His pout continued. “But didn’t I tell you how dangerous it is out there for people like you?” His words were meant to be condescending hidden beneath feigned worry, reminding you how weak you were. At least against him. Though he’d always make sure to paint you as a weakling who can’t get through life on her own, whether it’s true or not. “Just don’t do it again, okay?” As he saw you nod, he asked you another question. “Are you hurt anywhere, darling?” he asked softly, and when he saw you shake your head no, he smiled widely. “Great! It means you’re healthy enough to receive your punishment.”
There it was. Your sentence. You stood there, your body being engrossed by uprising fear. You wanted to protest, you wanted to turn around and leave through the door you were so close to, you wanted to attack him out of another emotion you felt too-anger. How can you not be repulsed by a man punishing you for chasing your freedom he stole from you? It was yours. You were a human being, weren’t you?
But you simply stayed in your spot, feeling swallowed by his mere presence.
“But…I had no choice. I really needed that fresh air, I felt so suffocated!” you responded frantically, still gripping onto your lie with false hope. “I feel so claustrophobic.”
“Oh, I know, my dearest. I can tell you don’t like staying home all day. But you should have called me, if that was the case. I’m sure we’d have come down with some compromise…and you went outside behind my back, putting yourself at risk. I have to discipline you to make sure you don’t get such silly ideas again—I’m sure you can agree your safety is of upmost importance, and that you need to be taught a lesson?” Pariston asked in affectionately scolding voice, as if talking to a silly kid.
You disagreed. You were not a child, nor were you a prisoner. You can leave as you please…is what you’d gladly think, but not say. You’ve said it in the past—but now protests were discovered by you as simply dragging an inevitable consequence you’d be forced through. So you nodded, your eyes already gathering tears.
“Oh, don’t cry, darling, you know it saddens me!” And excites. “You know it’s all for your good, right?”Pariston patted your head, a mock attempt at reassurance. He didn’t let you answer, and grabbed your hand, dragging you away from the entrance towards your shared bedroom. Rather gently, as if he was simply guiding you for rest.
As you both entered the room, he left your hand and seated himself on spacious bed. You didn’t move yet, waiting for his verdict. As if to prolong your torture coming from not knowing, he looked at you for few horrendously long seconds, eyeing you with merit.
“Come here,” he finally said, patting his lap. Thinking he means sit, you walked few steps towards him, and as you were about to sit on his legs, he stopped you. “Not like this. Lay over my lap,” he said with amusement.
Over his lap. Over his lap. You could think of only few options for such position, each filling you with dread, if you could fit any more in your body.
You looked at Pariston pleasingly, but he remained unconcerned. “Come on,” he encouraged. With shaky breath, you had no choice but to finally put yourself over his lap. When you lowered your body enough, he helped you with setting you horizontally across his lap, face down.
Then you felt him flip up your skirt, followed by shove of your panties down, suddenly being exposed. It made you panic, and you tried to sit up, only to be pushed down by him. It felt like a small press against your back, yet carried so much strength.
“What are you-“ you tried to desperately ask, wanting to know his motives and intensions with you, but you were quickly silenced with an obnoxious slap against your bottom. A one that burned like a scorching brand against your skin and fat. You didn’t see it coming. You knew spanking was one of the options, but you were given no warning when it’ll happen. You jolted and cried out in pain. As you were about to respond to this abuse, you were once again shut up, with another stinging spank.
The tears that were pooling in your eyes previously quickly left down your face, staining his suit pants. You trashed on his lap, trying to get away from the future hits. Thankfully, he stopped after those first two hits, letting you react, no doubt enjoying your shock and pain. So you spoke quickly, as much as you could with your face muffled against the bed sheets. There was so much confusion, and you were gathering even more humiliation. To be spanked like a misbehaving child, all exposed.
“Pariston, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I won’t do it again! Please let me make this up to you!” you said through cries. He soothed your reddened ass, and not responding yet, landed another stinging slap. “Yes, you will make this up to me too; but that’s after you receive your punishment first.” You were busted, deciding to offer to make up. You should’ve expected he’ll want both if you offer it willingly, instead of exchanging punishment for this. You could’ve gotten away with just a punishment.
“I’m sorry…” you tried again, just being welcomed with another force. This slap was lighter, for a millisecond giving you hope he did accept apology and tries to level down on strength of each hit. But you were wrong-he simply hit you multiple times in a row. Even if the slaps were weaker, doing them in sequence created more pain with each move, as you were not given recovery time.
“Sorry won’t teach you a lesson. But I will,” Pariston cooed. You could tell he enjoyed it. Not only his voice carried that wicked twist, you were sure if you were to look up at him, you’d see his face to be the same. But you didn’t need any of those things to know this-his boner under your planked body was enough testament to how much he enjoyed your distress and pain.
Another break for you, or it would be, if that pause was with Pariston rubbing your red flesh bit too hard. He simply enjoyed the way you squirmed from ache. He looked at swollen ass with almost awe, yet being closer to fascination and excitement on his face.
Your sobs were now spreading tears all over your face, along with snot. You almost thought you were dry drowning with how many there were, not having proper escape with your face down. You couldn’t even see through them, but you could feel each sensation. You knew you won’t be able to sit on your glutes for a week. Pariston kept rubbing your ass, and it just provoked burns caused by his spanks, leaving you writhing in escape from pain.
He kept you tight in spot though. You couldn’t tell how much time has passed when his hand came down onto your bottom hard again. You punched the mattress, letting out a small scream. Too much pain, too much humiliation, too much enjoyment from Pariston were driving you crazy. Your hips jumped up, just to be pushed back down by his palm that wasn’t spanking you.
A quick, maddening to your sore ass rub, and you were hurt again. The next slap was the most painful one, not from its strenght only, also from the irritation your skin have gathered so far. You didn’t even know what you were saying at this point, or rather blabbering, but surely it was begging and begging and begging, worried your mind will break if he does not stop.
“Aww…just few more, surely you can do that, darling. I know you’re dependent on me for survival, but surely this you can handle,” he said with pity and encouragement. Pariston stopped his cruelty for a moment, to lean down and press a little kiss to your hair, before he sat up straight again. That kiss felt nothing like but mocking to you, of course.
He sent you few more slaps, leaving your body a shaking and trembling mess, with cries uglier than ever when he finally stopped. “Now, now, it’s all done. It wasn’t that bad, right?” Pariston announced positively. You didn’t move yet, nor did you answer, but you could feel his gaze lake over your body from above. He was even harder now, and his eyes roamed your form in delight, rubbing you again. Thankfully, it was your back this time, an action made to create soothe. if you were to ever care.
When you finally calmed down enough to try to get off his lap, he stopped you. It sent confusion into your brain, and any fear that was leaving you, returned. “W-what?”
“Don’t you want a reward?” When you didn’t understand, his hand suddenly slipping between your ass did. You tried to get away, not ready for even more stimulation, something you couldn’t call a reward. “Shh, it’ll feel good…” he comforted, and teased his finger along your slit, making you squirm again.
Pariston pushed his thumb into your hole, that to your dreadful realization, was wet already. You knew it couldn’t be from tease, as it was too short, but from spanking torture he put you through. You couldn’t have enjoyed that, but your body said fuck you. You were crying again, though less this time, as your body was gathering pleasure quickly. Perhaps it was a contrast between pain and pleasure that made it less dreadful for him to finger you. A pleasure to kill down your agony. It could never be a reward--it was just another excuse for Pariston to put you in uncomfortable position, for him to drink off your reaction.
The discomfort from stretch was still there despite wetness, as you were still tense from your punishment.
With his thumb in your pussy, his index finger rubbed your clit, way too aggressively, making you feel overstimulated and get near your orgasm embarrassingly quick. You started to moan, fueling your chest with shame. “See? Isn’t this nice? You were a good girl, you took your discipline like a champ…” he said appreciatively. Though that appreciation was targeted at every negative experience you went through more.
How wet you sounded too.
It was difficult to accept your body accepting Pariston’s pleasure, so right when you were about to come, you forced your body to crawl away from his lap. This time you’ve succeeded in your getaway, but just for a moment. Suddenly, you felt Pariston throw his body at you, lying on top of your prone position you were forced into on bed, as the force send you down on it. His fingers quickly latched onto your heat again, and he pushed three inside. He didn’t let you move under his weight, just kept stroking you internally. You were back onto your orgasm again.
It took you just few more seconds and you came, letting out a strangled moan. The previous pain from spanking, his fingers, the tension, it all made the coil snap as it collected into a destructive force on your body.
You trashed under his body, writhing in forced pleasure. He got off of you only when you stopped moving, and he pushed his body onto the bed next to you. You were gathered onto your back, making you flinch in pain from your rubbed raw ass hitting the bedsheets, and then onto your side. Pariston put you in his arms, on his side too, as he faced you. Being on your side saved you from lying on your bottom, but you could still feel pain and sting on it.
Pariston stroked your hair, humming a pleasant melody. Being so shaken up, you found the action to be involuntarily relaxing, your tears disappearing. Your body was growing limp and you were getting very exhausted. As you were about to slip into unconsciousness, you heard Pariston jolt you awake with a whisper. “Try to escape once more and I’ll break your legs the next time.”
Of course he had known your game. You're staying with him.