Spanking By Request!

Happy Birthday, Katie Meer and Casey McKay! Another year older; another year bolder. For those who don’t know, Katie requested a spanking scene between Veda and Emen and Scar. Now, I’m traveling this weekend and won’t have internet access in time to wish everyone a happy birthday tomorrow. So, here it is one day early! May you both have many fun spanks on this wonderful day! 🙂

I apologize, Katie, in advance. I tried to do a happy, fun, sexy scene. I really did. But there was no scenario I could think of that would fit into the existing story and still be believable, especially considering Scar. I did the best I could. I hope you like it.

Incubus Moon_ARE

For everyone else who finds their way over here, you should know, this is not a complete story. The characters come from my Penny Alley story, Incubus Moon. There is NO spanking in that story, although Scar does tend to slap Veda on the butt when he gets annoyed with her. You should also know that Veda is something of a masochist who deals with her guilt by goading Scar into hurting her, often sexually. If you didn’t know they had a progressive history of rough sex, the scene below would read almost like rape. So, consider yourself warned: this little snippet consists of rough sex, anal sex and a disciplinary-style spanking delivered as a means of waylaying Veda’s overactive guilt complex. Veda is very much in love with both Emen and Scar, this scene is a re-write of an existing scene in the book and so is not found anywhere in Incubus Moon. Neither Emen nor Scar ever truly spank Veda (or anyone else, for that matter), so don’t run out and buy the book in hopes of seeing more. Lastly, although Incubus Moon does contain its share of consensual non-consent, they do tend to be more consensual than is initially depicted below.

So, warning aside, once more happy birthday, Katie! Enjoy the read!

* * * * *

Both followed the direction of her stare. Emen startled, swearing softly; Scar bent and seized hold of the hilt.

“No…wait!” Veda grabbed at his wrist, but he ripped the blade out of her and quickly sheathed it between his belt and his waist while she screamed a sharp inward gasp.

“Did you fuck it?” he demanded just as soon as her warbling cry had dwindled to a raspy whine.

“You bastard son of bitch!” she wept, and tried to hit him.

He blocked and slapped her blow aside. “Answer the damn question!”

“We really should get inside,” Emen said again, looking away from Scar as he circled her waist with his arm, offering gentle support until Scar shoved him away.

“I said, did you fuck it?!” he roared into her face.

“Yes!” she shouted back, sneering viciously through her tears. “And loved every minute of it! He treated me a thousand times better than you ever could!” She clutched her bleeding knee, blood pouring in thin, dark streams through her fingers and down her calf. “If he were still here, I’d mount him again right in front of you, you sick sadistic—”

She let go of her leg and quickly slapped her bloody hands across his chest, smearing bright red handprints across his pale shirt. Shoving hard with all her might, she knocked him back half a step before he rebounded, more angry even than before.

He grabbed her wrist, his hand as hard as iron. Jerking away from Emen, her temper at a full boil, she lashed out, but Scar caught that hand too and clamped them both together wrist-to-wrist. His bruising grip left her gasping, but he did not relax it before ducking and hooking the backs of her thighs. When he heaved, she toppled, a wayward sheep across the shoulders of one very irate shepherd. Her yelp escalated in pitch, but her kick died the instant his hand clapped hard across her upturned bottom—not once, but three times in rapid succession—jolting her over his shoulder and sparking flashes of pain where he struck that were almost as hot as the wound in her leg.

Growling all the way, Scar carried her—groaning and cursing at him, unable to get her hands free even to rub—into the ruined temple. And Emen let him, trailing quietly behind them and turning to face the stone door once they were all inside. He reached for it with both hands, bracing himself to muscle it closed again, but at the first touch, the door began to move, rumbling on unseen tracks as it rolled closed and plunging them into absolute blackness.

Cursing, unable to see where he was going, Scar bent to shrug her from his shoulders. He tried to guide her to her feet, but she was just angry enough to fight him, slapping at his back, neck and head before she lost her balance and crashed backwards into a wall. His hands chased her through the dark all the way down to the rocky floor, and both of their tempers soared to ever higher peaks. Grunting with pain and effort, she lashed out, blindly kicking and punching—ineffectively, for the most part—landing only the occasional glancing blow off his shoulder, his arm when he grabbed her by the hair and the waist, and even off the side of his head.

He growled; she growled right back, and then yelled when he suddenly jerked her back up and over, pinning her against his hip. “You want to hit me, infant; feel how hard Daddy hits back!”

She felt the jerk as he yanked her tunic up, tucking it up under his arm and baring her backside to the cool caress of the air inside the dark temple.

“Stop! Wait!” She twisted, clawing at his back and thigh as he jostled her, dropping her head that much closer to the floor and bringing her naked hips right up into the air.

She shrieked at the first sharp clap, his open hand finding the vulnerable target he’d created, seemingly with no effort at all.

“Scar,” Emen said, but he sounded more tired than threatening. “That’s enough.”

Scar paid no attention at all. He struck again and again, hard and fast, his open hand filling the cavernous black with the echoes of each fleshy impact and her resounding yelps, growing higher and higher in both pitch and franticness because the blows kept coming. Hard. Fast. Over and over and over again, his open hand flattening her bottom with the force of each strike until all she could feel was heat and pain searing her from behind.

“Scar!” Emen snapped.

Abruptly, Scar did stop, but not because he was finished with her. When he let go, she landed at his feet, collapsing on hands and knees before crying out when he grabbed her again. She fought him with everything she had, but he still rolled her over, flipping her onto her belly and then dragging her under him. He wrestled her down flat upon a bed of broken tiles and rock chips and wrenched her right arm behind her back. She whacked the other into an unseen pillar when she tried to whip back and slap him off her.

And Emen never said a word. She could hear him breathing, the hard rasp that mingled with her panting grunts as, shoving his knees between her thighs, Scar forced her legs apart. She bucked and kicked, gasping with every breath and losing the fight by slow, straining degrees, until he lost all patience and grabbed her burning ass. She shouted when his claws dug into the wounded, throbbing flesh, but it worked. He won the wrestling match. Just as quickly, he switched his grasp to the back of her thigh and yanked her leg up, pinning it as close to her side as he could wedge it before tearing at the fastenings of his pants.

The pain of his hips slamming up against her wounded buttocks almost masked the agony of his brutal entry. Her rasping cry was lost under the volume of his conquering growl. One slow second of respite was all he gave her, one long heartbeat of savoring strain, before he pulled out of her completely and shifted.

She knew one startled second, just long enough to gasp in a breath when she felt the swollen head of him slick up between her buttocks and reposition at her back entrance. She slapped back at him, trying to twist but too late. He shoved, and her body became a sheath to fire and pain. The cavernous black echoed her rasping cry, but Scar was merciless. The shade had used her badly, and with very little effort, he found every bruise and enlarged it, every tender scabbed-over wound and tore it fresh again. He hurt her with deliberate vengeance, riding her with savagery, sinking his teeth into the back of her neck, banishing the memory of the shade and every phantom caress of those gnarled hands that her skin tried still to feel. Scar battered her, owned her, consumed her, until the tone and tenor of his growls gradually began to change and the overwhelming hurt became a low throbbing heat. His bites still blazed discomfort, but teasing flicks of his tongue began to soothe the wounds. His hips still slapped her ass in echoes of the spanking his hand had delivered, grinding her hips with bruising intensity against the rock-studded tiles, but his thrusts still sparked that roaring rage of need that chewed into her and set raw fire to her womb. She never should have found pleasure in this and yet Veda came, arching stiffly back against him, becoming in the end, the willing sheath he rode to his own completion.

A harsh shout, muffled by the final bite he sank into her shoulder and it was done. In the languid stillness that followed, his heart pounded against her back, beating in savage tandem with her own. His body was hot against hers. Powerful. Familiar. For all his violence, it even felt comforting.

“You’re crushing me,” she muttered, her broken voice barely recognizable, the whole of her—her ass, her pussy—pulsing and thrumming with lingering wounded satisfaction.

Scar chuckled, the heat of his breath puffing against her nape. He unsheathed his teeth from her shoulder and then, as near to tenderness as she had yet felt him, kissed the marks he’d left behind. His fingers combed lazily through her tangled hair, catching on snarls before closing in a tight fist. He dragged her head back far enough for her to feel the heat of his breath against the shell of her ear.

“When we get back to the Settlement,” he murmured, “if we get back, I am going to break you beneath me. You won’t leave my bed for days. I’ll brand your ass with my belt. I’ll fuck you until you have no voice left to scream how much it hurts. I’ll leave my mark upon every inch of you: your cunt, your breasts, even your face, and I’ll make you thank me for each and every one. I may have to share you with Numbfuck, but I’ll suck every cock in the Settlement before I share you with a fucking shade.”

His cock slid out of her, only half-flaccid. He could have rallied and plowed into her again. If she could have got her arm around him, she’d have tried to catch him. To roll onto her back and pull him back down on top of her, wrapping him in the ties of her limbs just so she could feel the power of him pounding into her once more. But there was no catching or holding him.

Scar released her hair last and brushed her chasing hands away.

“Every inch,” he promised while she gingerly sat up. His touch abandoning her entirely, Scar snarled, “Where are you, numbfuck?”

Emen sighed, sounding even more tired. “Here.”

“Take your turn.” Veda felt the coldness of the air when Scar moved away from her. She couldn’t see him, but his voice was little more than a growl as he followed the direction of Emen’s voice. “For once in your life, be what she fucking needs.”

“You’re incapable of knowing what she needs.” But though the words were right, there was no bite to them.

Scar snorted. She couldn’t see either of them; she didn’t know if they could see each other, but Scar must have turned. She heard the grinding of rocky debris against the cool stone floor as he pivoted on his heel. Tension like the static of a summer storm began to build in the dark.

“No?” he countered. “Must really bite your ass knowing no matter what you do, she just keeps coming back to me. You know why, yeah? Sure you do. She comes because I hurt her, because what I do makes all the rest of the pain and guilt inside her fall silent. You let a shade crawl on top of her,” Scar accused. “You did that. Well, don’t worry. I’ll banish all memories of that fucker when I get her back to the Settlement, but why should that absolve you? Own up to what you did. Pull her hair. Slap her ass. Punish her body with your cock and your hands, heal your wounds so you can help me defend this place when the Horde break in, and give her the absolution she needs to keep whatever the shade did to her from festering up inside her. If you love her, fucking act like it.”

The dark had turned stifling. Neither Emen nor Scar said another word, and when finally she heard the tell-tale scrape of slow footsteps approaching over broken rock, Veda reached out blindly. Her fingertips bumped the hard warmth of a thigh and then a forearm a half second before Emen’s reassuring scent reached her.

“Ignore him,” she said and tried to smile. Let him hear it in her voice that she didn’t blame him for anything. The ultimate decision had been hers and her alone. It had saved his life; no one would ever make her regret what she’d done. “I’m all right.”

His fingertips found her face, smoothing back along her cheek even as she turned to press into the cup of his warm palm. “I’m sorry,” Emen whispered.

“I’m not.” Veda opened her eyes. He was so close to her, but she could see no part of him. Not the closeness of his arm as he combed his fingers past her ear and back into her hair; not the look on his face when his hand unexpectedly closed into a hard fist, startling Veda with the harshness of it. She caught his wrist reflexively, confusion bleeding into surprise when she heard him whisper again, “I am so sorry.”

In the next instant, he had yanked her up by her hair, knocking her off balance before shoving her down again, all the way down, flat on her belly on the broken rocks and uneven stone tiles.

“E-Emen?” She tried to get her hands under her, fumbling for leverage even as he caught at her wrists. One at a time, he wrenched her arms behind her back and pinned them there. “Emen!”

He ignored her, and what initial hesitancy she thought she’d first felt at the start of this rough treatment, she could feel none of now. She gasped once, the musty air choking in the back of her throat when he jerked the length of her tunic up her body, pinning it to her back under her captured wrists. He touched her, his open hand smoothing down her naked skin, first the right side of her, following the curve of her buttock down her thigh, and then the left, before abandoning her entirely.

“Lie still,” he told her, his tone hard and implacable.

“Wait…Emen!” And then she heard it, the unmistakable clink of his belt buckle, followed by the hiss of leather sliding off cloth. “No. No!

She tried to twist sideways, but her knee met an unyielding stone block and in the next second, his belt snapped a line of absolute fire across her flanks. Pain seared her, licking flames that filled the lower swells of her bottom and, snap after unforgiving snap, began to spread. He whipped the fleshiest curve of her buttocks until she was kicking, feet scrambling wildly to get her around or over that blockage, to roll her over, to tuck her bottom somewhere his belt could not find her. But it did, again and again, never missing, never gentling, biting and snapping and slapping at her naked hinds, dropping from her bottom right onto the tender backs of her thighs and completely ignoring it when her howl turned to shrieks and then to frantic sobs.

From Scar, this would have infuriated her. She’d have lain beneath his hand, enduring kiss after leather-snapping kiss with gritted teeth and thrashing struggles until it stopped and eventually he let her go. She’d have crawled to her knees then, launched herself at him, spewed venomous declarations of pointless hate into his laughing, smirking face, and then fought (equally pointlessly) while he wrestled her down, forced her legs apart and battled his way inside her.

But this was different. This was Emen—gentle, even-tempered Emen—and this was devastating.

Veda burst into tears. She lay under the steady rise and biting fall of his wide belt, unable to escape the burning agony, not even fighting it anymore, until it was over. Burning agony suffused her from behind. Her thighs were one solid sear of stinging pain. Her naked bottom was a cry of wounded, pulsing flesh, and she was sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath.

Emen did not lay the belt aside; he threw it. His broad hand came to rest on the small of her back, moving down in the black to feel the heat, flaring unbearably under his minute caress, pausing after only one caress, as if he too could feel the pain swelling in the weals he’d striped her with. As if he were sorry, though he never said it.

Seizing her arm, he flipped her roughly onto her back and his weight came down over her. His hands lost all gentleness when he pushed her thighs apart and then he was in her, a single, forceful thrust that ground the wounded flesh of her ass against the scattered rocks she lay upon. He seized another fistful of hair, dragging her head back even as his arms came around her, holding her as close as she could come, though she made no attempt to break away. Punishing; there was no other way to describe how he took her, and still she came. Suddenly. Inexplicably. Within thrusts of his first hard entry, filling the darkness with her wailing sobs and the wet, slick sound of his pelvis slapping furiously into the cradle of hers.

Emen didn’t kiss her. He buried his face in the nook between her shoulder and throat and rode her, aggressively driving her from peak to jagged pain-pleasured peak, and then he was shouting, letting go of her hair to grab her throbbing, aching ass in both hands, digging in with his claws as he shoved and battered and slammed her into an orgasm so vicious that her whole body convulsed to wave after shuddering, womb-ripping wave.

He joined her, muffling his shout into her hair when he came, laying there on top of her for a long time afterward, with his breath scorching her throat and his face buried against her shoulder. His cock twitched inside her, pulsing, eager to ride again.

He made no effort to try.

Gasping, each breath a shaking, gulping hiccup of soft air, Veda shifted slowly. Her hands cautiously wandered up to caress the sweat-slick skin of his shoulders. “Emen?” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

He turned into her, pressed a single lingering kiss against her skin. She thought she heard a hitch in his breathing too, and when he pulled away, a whisper of temple air caressed wetness on her shoulder, turning it quickly cool. She touched it. It was tears. His tears, drying on her skin as he pulled away from her.

“I release you,” he whispered and turned away.

“No! Nonono!” Veda grabbed after him, frantic, all lingering pleasure dying hard beneath a tidal wave of such fear. “Don’t!”

He gently disentangled himself and pushed her hands away. “You are for Scar, Veda. You have been almost from the moment we found you. Forgive me my desire to keep you for myself. You are in my heart, but you cannot be for me. You belong to the one who can protect you best.”

12 thoughts on “Spanking By Request!

  1. Holy cow, Maren!
    That was unbelievably fantastic! That was a great place to put that scene.
    I agree with Patricia. It was absolutely brilliant!
    And I loved it!!
    Thanks so so so so much!


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