Captivated is more than a spanking romance, it’s about living a fantasy and wondering if it will ever become truly real. Can Anna be the wife David truly desires or will she be dragged back to reality? It could happen any moment, any place.
This is the tale of Anna who wakes up one morning in the body of glamorous Henrietta and married to businessman David. She is pretending to be somebody else and finding her feelings for David are growing stronger each day.
David doesn’t understand his wife. Something has changed in her. Henrietta was hot for his dominance before they married, then after the wedding, she went cold, betrayed him and now they’re working towards separating. Except a few days ago, she changed again… now she wants him.
She sighed. It wasn’t intended to sound dismissive, more uncertain, but David latched onto it.
“Boring you, am I? I’m not going to force you, Hen, but there again, I’m not going to let you brush me off with this ‘I’m not in the mood’ business. I’m going to check and if you’re fibbing, then I’m going to punish you for it. Do you understand?” He spoke with the kind of husky voice that made the hairs on the back of her head stand on end.
“Punish me?” She blinked, her jaw lowering into a gape. It had to be a game, a play upon words or some other kind of verbal foreplay. Punishment conjured up a different, alluring meaning and whether she intended it or not, it meant something other than retribution to her. The air had thickened with heat and she pressed her hand to her constricting throat. “How?”
“You know what it involves. After I took you into the basement, you told me you didn’t like it, so I backed off, kept that room locked and off limits. We should try it again, help you discover what you need, what’s good for you.”
“If, if I submit to this punishment,” she stuttered, “do I get a say in what it is?”
He smiled. A subtle glint in his eyes. “No. You’ll get spanked, like last time.”
“Spanked?” Her voice trembled. She recalled the basement and the rows of implements. Each one etched onto her mind. Not quite viewing them like the kid in the sweet shop, she was tempted by some, repulsed by others. Years of wanting her bottom spanked by a strict man, the fantasies she’d constructed in her head, even the ones she’d written out on paper then destroyed, had come to this moment.
“Hen, you know I’m good for my word. Now please stand up. If my fingers find your pussy is soaking, your clit aroused, then your ass will have a meeting with my belt over this table.”
Not the basement. However, the relief was short-lived. The belt about his waist was a thick leather strap with a shiny buckle. Anna gripped the edge of the table with her fingers. Her clitoris, pussy, everything sexual shouted out for a fuck. She’d come the moment he laid his hands on her. All she had to do was submit and he’d take her anyway, without the spanking. Except, she so wanted the spanking, especially with a belt or strap. She’d lain many nights alone playing with her clit, wondering what it would feel like—the pain, the humiliation, the wantonness of yielding.
She cleared her throat. “Do what you want, I don’t care.” What the hell was she saying? Why play hard to get when he’d offered her the best fantasy of her life?
He strode around the table, dragged out her chair, and heaved her up with his hands hooked under her armpits. Too stunned to do anything but exclaim, she froze as he hitched up her skirt and rifled underneath for her panties.
He snapped the seam down the side, plucking the flimsy fabric out of the way and dove his hand between her folds, separating the labia with his nimble fingertips. He grasped her hair and bundled it into his fist, yanking her chin up until the back of her head rested on his shoulder. The roots of her hair stung sharply and she couldn’t look down. She saw, peering up from under her eyelids, his determined expression portrayed through the thin line of his lips.
She wriggled her bottom, trying to avoid his probing fingers. When he thrust them inside her pussy, her jaw dropped low. He drove what must be two, maybe three fingers deeper, forcing her vagina to widen to meeting his brisk entry.
“You are so fucking wet. It’s coating my hand.” He withdrew his fingers and held up his hand. The liquid glaze shimmered, trickling down between his knuckles. “Show me, slut, show me how much you want it. Lick off your honey.”
Oh, God. Her lips trembled. Dirty talk. Calling her a slut. Fuck, she was one. She’d go down on him if he asked her to, which came as a shock. She’d never sucked cock before, because Darren had rather he tasted her. The sting in her scalp sharpened as David aimed her mouth at his forefinger.
“Remember, Hen, nice slow licks. Give me one of your best performances.”
She stuck out her tongue, the very tip of it and touched the end of his finger. She curled it around the joint and immediately tasted a sweetness, then a saltiness. It wasn’t bad, her taste. He dipped his finger into her mouth, up to the knuckle. Pursing her lips, she formed a seal around the base of the finger and as he slowly drew it out, she sucked hard, cleansing the digit. He offered each finger in turn and she repeated the little ritual.
“Good. Very good, Hen. But this doesn’t alter the fact I’m going to spank your ass.” The last word resonated around the room, as he hissed softly into her ear.
Anna’s knees quaked; the tremors caused her calves to twitch and her shoulders to dip. Humiliated by his request, what would Henrietta do? It didn’t matter. She would do what she wanted to do.
David released the bolt of her hair and reaching forward to the table, swept aside the discarded plate and made a space. “Over you go, naughty slut.” He nudged her in the small of the back. “Play the brat if you want,” he whispered. “If it helps.”
Anna had no wish to fight back or play up. If David expected it, her behavior would mirror her ideals of submission, not some roleplay. Placing her palms on the polished surface of the table, she bent. A stiff fold around her middle, like bending thick cardboard.
“Makes a change,” David remarked, watching from behind. “Seeing you comply, Hen, it’s a good feeling for me. However, stay still. You don’t get up until I’m finished.”
The sound of him loosening the belt, the clatter of metal, and the whoosh as he drew out the belt from the loops sent a swirl of palpitations throughout her belly. Anna peered over her shoulder. He’d wrapped the belt around his hand, tightening it into a coil. The buckle was hidden in his fist, but the end with the holes hung at his side.
“Legs apart. I’m going to watch that pussy leak, drip all over this floor.” He lifted up the end of the dress and folded it over her waist.
Her bare bottom on display. She clenched her buttock cheeks together and buried her face in her hands, ashamed by her reaction—she could feel the pussy nectar creep down her inner thighs.
“My, my,” David chuckled. “I’ve not even started. This is going to hurt, Hen. But I’m not going to make it so bad you won’t be able to sit. I like that you’ve clenched your tight buns together. It reminds me that you’ve got feelings. That you can lose that cool exterior sometimes.”
The swish of the belt through the air was nothing close to as loud as the crack it made across her ass. The pain seared across her bottom and she jumped up.
“Back down, Hen. That doesn’t count. You know the drill.” He nudged her between the shoulder blades.
The pain rocketed. Fuck, it hurt, the thud, then the sting and the long burn of heat. The smarting blow rocked, propelling her forward and she flattened her body onto the table.
He swung the belt again. The same whoosh, the same thud as leather hit flesh. She yelped and screwed her eyes up tight. She stayed down, kicking her heels back.
No time to breathe, no time to assimilate, the next followed swiftly creating a rawness that spread across the skin. The pain wasn’t what she had expected. It was hellishly divine and wicked, transcending her imagination. The reality was better than her daydreams and worse at the same time. The edge it gave her arousal was real enough, yet the emotional release was beyond anything she’d imagined. She hadn’t anticipated the level of her vulnerability or the trust she had to place in him.
“You’re doing good, Hen,” he said, his voice soft, contemplative and masterful. “I like what I’m seeing. You’re not giving me lip, but taking this like an obedient sub should.” He rubbed the welts as he spoke, round caresses of his palm.
Anna sighed. Her shoulders slumped lower. What a strange sensation. She wanted him to say all those words all over again. Say it in the same tone of voice—what wasn’t there to like about David’s soothing words?