Not well

Lucas was not being gentle and never before had Kythril been so keenly aware of her bosom. He had slapped her breasts before, but that had been different: no less painful, but certainly less concentrated.

She could feel her fragile skin stretching, and she was worried bruises would soon form. Though she was practically naked in front of him—again!—he continued to be fixated on her nipple. He had toyed with it in different ways, but now he seemed focused on yanking it so hard she felt like he might tear it from her chest. She'd tried to suppress any exclamations of pain, but if anything, that just seemed to make him rougher. Did he want to hear her?

"P-please," she whimpered at last, "too much. Too much."

To her astonishment, he did release her nipple. She took a shuddering breath and cautiously opened her eyes. She was shocked at what she saw. He had only touched the left nipple, and now it was twice as long as the other. They kept aching even after he stopped, and the surrounding area was so red it could have given strawberries a run for their money.

Her reprieve lasted only moments. She could almost feel him grin behind her as Lucas switched to the other nipple and began giving it the same rough treatment.

"Aiiii!" She screamed in pain, unable to stop herself. She felt utterly helpless as he continued his **** on the soft flesh.

She should never have come here. It was all his fault. He had done something to her, **** her to come back, somehow. It was the only explanation. Why else would she have kept thinking back to her tormentor? For days afterwards, every time she had sat down, the raw flesh of her behind ached; every time she took a deep breath, her chest chafed against her clothing. It had been awful. Maddening.

And yet, as much as she tried to blame him, she was mostly angry with herself. The more she thought about it, the madder she got. Why had she chosen to put herself in further jeopardy? He had even given her a chance to escape! Of course, he could have just ignored her; he towered over her, and weighed twice as much as she did. Why bother playing a game like that, though? If he wanted to, he could have overpowered her with a hand tied behind his back. She would never have gotten away.

Gingerbread. It would have been so easy to say it. It was her pride that had held her back, she told herself. She was the daughter of a baron! This dirty peasant had no right to even speak to her, let alone demand things from her. And now it was too late.

"Ahhhh! Too much! Please!" she cried out again, hoping that he would listen to her.

"You want me to stop?" He asked. He actually had the audacity to laugh at her pain! "I thought we were having such fun."

"Y-yes! Please stop..."

"I don't know. I get bored very easily," he said, clearly faking thoughtfulness and not even caring she realized it. "You better come up with something for me to do instead, don't you think?"

Damn it, what was his game? She struggled to to think, but his rough fingers on her poor nipple kept intruding on her thoughts. Somehow worse, she could feel his body against her own, and something hard prodding against her lower back. She knew what it was, of course; she wasn't completely clueless. She wondered what it looked like—no, stop it! She clenched her jaw. If she had to suffer through this ordeal of her own creation, she would, but she wouldn't debase herself like some lowly whore for this... this bandit.

A hard twist on her nipple **** her mind back to his question.

"Well?" He asked impatiently. "What do you want me to do?"

"I..." She stammered.

He didn't stop, his wrist turned and turned and turned and the pain reached new heights. She had to think! "P-please... you..."

"Yes?"

"You could... you could... s-pank my a—my be-behind?"