Sci Spanks (3 page)

“No. The
bed
.” Ellory shoved Manuel back. “I know good and well the bed also smells like
me
. You want to make this all better with pretty words and your slick tongue. But there were also
teeth marks
on the bench leather. I saw them from my ungainly position on the transport chamber floor.”

Manuel’s eyebrows winged up in devilry. “It tasted like you?”

“I taste like leather?”

Manuel shrugged, but he didn’t suppress a smile. He’d be a hundred years old one day and still nothing but a pup.

The air cleaner whirred and dinged in the corner. Ellory looked over to see the red indicator lamp flashing. Time to change the filter. But next to it…
Well, now.

Ellory strode to the wall and fingered his sharpening strop. He unhooked it, let it sag in the middle, then pulled it tight. Hard.

Crack.

The sound bounced off the walls, changing the game. “We’re going to do things differently this time. My rules are important.”

Manuel snarled and took a step back. Ellory held up a hand. “Stay.”

His heart skipped as Manuel’s growl dropped a pitch. His mate’s teeth lengthened. Ellory screwed up his courage and closed the distance between them.

Still, Manuel stayed.

Crack.

The muscles in Manuel’s shoulders tightened the barest fraction. Ellory circled him. “Of the two of us you’re the strongest. The deadliest. Whatever you want, you take. That won’t work here, pet.”

“Pet?” A shiver crawled up Ellory’s spine at the beast in Manuel’s voice. Just that slip of sound made him hard.

“Control yourself.” Ellory began to sweat
.
“I’ve spoiled you. Tonight I will rectify that.”

Crack.

Ellory ceased his circling at Manuel’s back. Gripping his mate’s shoulder to keep him in place, Ellory felt muscles ripple beneath his hand. “No, Manuel. No changing.”

Just below the level of human hearing, Manuel’s growl tremored through his body like a plucked bowstring. Ellory lifted the strop and brought it down hard on Manuel’s backside. The low rumble morphed into a whine. Ellory’s cock jumped. He should have spanked his wolf long ago.

Manuel shifted his feet, but Ellory tightened his grip, welcoming the resulting pain in his shoulder. “We’re not done, pet. Where do wolves nap?”

Nothing. Manuel clenched his fists, and his clawed fingers drew blood. A drop hit the floor next to his boot. Ellory came down with the strop again.

“Where do wolves nap, Manuel?”

Again, Manuel’s muscles undulated beneath Ellory’s hand. Ellory held his breath, but Manuel kept control of both his wolf and his tongue.

Ellory lifted the strop and brought it down, even harder this time. Manuel whimpered, and his breath came faster.

“
Where?
”

“In. The. House.” Manuel ground the words out, distorted by lengthened canines and his barely controlled beast.

“Correct.” Ellory let the strop dangle dangle and stepped closer, skin to skin. “Whose rules do you follow in this workshop?” Ellory ran his hand down Manuel’s arm, feeling the perspiration from his struggle to remain human. When threatened, Manuel’s instinct called him to shift, but he must learn. Ellory wasn’t a threat. He was simply in charge.

Ellory slipped his hand around his lover’s waist, then lower, to find Manuel as hard as himself. He dropped the strop and set his other hand on Manel’s rear cheek. “Whose rules?” he whispered so only wolf ears would hear, following with a bare-handed smack.

Manuel shuddered, jerking forward into Ellory’s hand against his cock. “Yours,” he choked out. “Oh, God in heaven, yours.”

Ellory spun Manuel to face him and took his mouth hard enough to bruise. “Mine. And I’m far from done with you, pet. Far from done.”

Taming the Wolf is both my first published work and my first spanking fiction, both of which are quite exciting. I’m a student of philosophy, linguistics, and computer science, who spends long evenings debating the ethics of human-tech biological integration with my remarkable sentient household appliances. In real life, I have a day job developing video games, and I write “steamy” steampunk adventure with my co-author Rose Hunt. I’m pretty sure this is the best life ever.

Get a taste of our Steampunk at
www.gaslightfantasy.com

On my own, I indulge in flash fiction of any genre at
www.flashinganne.com

Got Twitter? Give a follow: @AFOdom

By

Jessica E. Subject

Darryl sank into his chair, form-fitted by age. With his foot, he brushed the papers and dishes on the ottoman to the floor. He winced at the crash, but had little motivation to clean it up or do anything. Stretching out his legs, he rested them atop the cleared surface and closed his eyes. Opening them meant he would see her again, dressed in her pressed and polished uniform or naked with him in bed. But the memories of Beth simply fucked with his head. She was gone forever. Nothing he said or did would ever bring her back.

He cringed at the abrupt stabbing pain in his chest. No one said living with a broken heart was easy. He’d known the risks of dating her, but his awareness did nothing to prepare him for the agony of losing her.

Though a military woman marrying a civilian remained a rare occurrence at Beth’s base, they’d celebrated their seventh anniversary four months ago, right before she deployed for the last time.

A knock interrupted his memories. Darryl flicked his eyes open and stared at the door. Perspiration beaded his skin. The last time someone had knocked—most rang the doorbell—bad news had followed. Two weeks ago. And he’d holed up inside ever since, only emerging for Beth’s funeral.

He set his feet on the floor before walking on wobbly legs toward the entrance. What dark tidings would he receive?

Palms slick from sweat, he turned the knob. Catching sight of the two people on his stoop, he stepped back with a startled gasp. No way the people standing in front of him existed. He had to be dreaming.

The man in full military dress gave him a quick nod. “Mr. Malloy?”

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Yes.”

“I have a delivery for you.” The man touched the woman’s back, ushering her forward. “She’s all yours. Take care of her.”

She? His? But.... Beth had died. He’d watched her body lowered into the ground, received the country’s flag. No way could his wife be standing there. “There must be some mistake. Beth died.”

Strolling down the walkway, the man paused and glanced back at him. “That’s not Sergeant Malloy. It’s her clone.”

Hardly an
it
. Rather a copy of his wife. Darryl griped the doorjamb. His mind spun. Human cloning had just become public knowledge. And those created remained the property of the military. “Shouldn’t she be in a lab somewhere? Or training for a mission?”

The man, at his parked Humvee, shook his head. “We had special instructions to bring her here should anything happen to the sergeant.”

Darryl rubbed the back of his neck, studying the woman in his care. While she resembled his late wife in every way, from her tight bun to her sexy pout, he had no idea what to do with her. “So, you’re a clone?”

She tilted her head, pointing to the raised ring of skin on her long, creamy-white neck.

Darryl groaned, fighting the urge to lick her skin from her collarbone to the scar remaining from the removal of her information portal. She wasn’t his wife, but that didn’t matter to his libido. He craved her the same.

Not once had he strayed from his commitment to Beth. And when she’d arrived home after months away, they hadn’t wasted any time reuniting . Even though he knew the clone wasn’t his wife, his hormones raced.

With a brief smile, she glanced inside. “May I come in?”

In? To live with him? Taking Beth’s place in bed? He could turn his studio into a second bedroom, but hadn’t expected to have another person to worry about. At least not for some time. “I...I don’t even know your name.”

“I am B17.” She leaned close. Her uniform covered breasts pressed against him. “But Beth always called me Bryn.”

He sucked air through his teeth, and imagined lifting her by her ass to carry her straight to bed. He recognized the name, remembered Beth talking about her as if her best friend. Now he knew why his wife had never invited her over.

Clinging to his last ounces of control, he stepped aside and followed the sway of her curved ass. But she didn’t tread very far, stopping inside the foyer.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

He cringed at the sharp tone of her voice. “Of what?”

“This mess.” She spun toward him, pinching her nose. “Did you have a party to celebrate Beth’s death then let everything rot?”

“No!” Celebrate her death? Beth was his life. He still didn’t know how to go on without her.

“Then what happened? How can you live in this filth?”

She set her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows, tapping her toe.

Just the way his wife used to.

“I....” A lump formed in his throat. “It’s been hard these last two weeks. I’ve had a lot to deal with.”

“I suppose you have.” Her pursed lips offered little sympathy. “But Beth would not accept excuses. She would punish you if she saw this mess.”

Punish.
It seemed so long ago she’d last used the paddle on him. Perhaps he’d let their home become a mess, to give her a reason to come back to him. “Yes, she would.”

“Then I will have to do it.”

Blood rushed to his groin. His cock rose in anticipation. He didn’t know what Bryn had in mind, but with Beth, pleasure always followed the sting of her punishments. “If you must.”

She set her carry-on bag on the floor. Squatting, she reached inside and drew out a paddle longer than any Beth had ever used on him. Though wooden paddles did not come cheap, his wife owned one the size of a hairbrush. Her clone held one much bigger. At least sixteen inches long, and clear plastic riddled with holes to make the punishment sting more.

Bryn yanked on the elastic holding her hair up. Her caramel-colored locks fell past her shoulders. She unbuttoned her uniform to reveal a generous amount of cleavage and resembled a dominatrix of times past.

When she slapped the paddle across her palm, he groaned.

“You will clean up first.” She inspected the small living room and kitchen. “One swat for every ten minutes it takes you to make it shine.”

Ten minutes? His ass tingled. It would take at least an hour. Though likely much longer. “That’s not fair. The mess didn’t happen in a day.”

“Then you’d better get started.” She tapped the paddle to his ass. “I’m timing you.”

Great!
He wouldn’t sleep on his back that night, lucky if he slept at all.

Beginning in the living room, he picked up all the garbage and dirty dishes. By the time he’d finished, the floors sparkled and the rotten smell was replaced by lemony freshness. Almost two hours had passed. Ten swats.

“Much better.” Bryn nodded. “Now it’s time for your punishment, to remind you to clean up after yourself.”

He stripped and stood naked, hands behind his back and legs apart. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor lest more slaps be added to his high number.

“Over my lap.”

Darryl groaned at the sudden change in her tone, from stern to sultry. What would she do to him after his spanking? He kneeled and lay over her lap, sure to touch the tip of his cock to her thigh. Yes, he deserved the punishment, but he craved so much more.

Bryn caressed the cheeks of his ass, her palms delicate, like Beth’s. He’d never expected her to cause him any pain. Heck, he wouldn’t have guessed her in the military when they’d first met. But she’d surprised him in many ways and made her expectations clear.

“Your ass is round and firm. It will glow nicely by the time I’m done.”

Not the first time he’d heard the words. He yearned for her to stop playing with him and spank already.

Bryn reached between his legs. When she grabbed his shaft, he sucked in a breath and released it with a groan.

“Interesting. I’ve never met a guy so turned on by impending pain.” She squeezed before releasing him. “Let’s get started.”

He braced for the first spank. No matter how often Beth had punished him, the first swat came as a surprise. With a different paddle, Bryn could inflict even more pain.

The plastic struck, setting his ass on fire. He shot forward with a yelp, unsure he’d get through all ten.

“I expect you to count.” Bryn caressed his stinging skin, her touch absorbing some of the hurt.

“One.” Darryl closed his eyes, waiting for the next.

Smack!

Another cry. “Two.” His ass burned as if he sat on hot coals.

The next three followed in quick succession, the pain blinding. He’d barely caught his breath in between. Had he counted? But Bryn hadn’t scolded him.

The paddle clanked on the table, and she grabbed his cock. “Not so excited anymore. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“I’ve learned my lesson.” He rocked into her fist. The sting disappeared as desire surged.

Bryn let go. “I don’t think you have. You just want what Beth gave you after. Not this time.”

His muscles jerked with number six. All lust for the woman vanished. She wasn’t his wife. Just a clone who wanted to punish him. He tried to roll away, but she gripped his side.

“If you leave, I’ll add more.”

“Then get them over with.”

The next came so hard and fast, tears formed in the corners of his eyes. “Seven.” He didn’t want the woman there. She had no right to take Beth’s place.

“Eight, nine, ten.” She tapped out the last three. “I’m done.”

Darryl tensed, sure she baited him.

She stroked his back and his ass, soothing the burn. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend to be her. Not with you.” Gone was the confidence and command in her voice.

He slid from her lap and kneeled in front of her. “You don’t have to be Beth. I don’t expect you to.”