Elizabeta Brooke - Never - an erotic retelling of Peter Pan

"So bad," he said loudly, "that I'm going to have to spank you."

"No." She backed up against the door again, her gaze flicking up to where she knew the key lay. He was mad. She had to get out. "My mother will come looking for me," she said, glancing down at the pale mound of her shirt and bra on the floor, wondering if she should make a grab for them.

"Your mother won't come for you because she's bad too, but I don't want to punish her," he said, his voice suddenly sly. "I only like to spank young girls bottoms. And I won't hurt you, Wendee. You know I already promised that. In fact, I'm sure you're going to like it." He moved to sit on the stool and reach out a hand. "Just a little smack on that soft pink bottom. All right?"

He was sitting in a pool of faint light and she could see his penis was already starting to stiffen again.

She'd never known an adult to change their mood so quickly — from happy to angry to sneaky — not even her mother. It was frightening. But she remembered that he'd never hurt her. And her breasts ached to be touched. "All right," she said and took his hand, letting him arrange her across his lap where she felt his penis prodding her belly. Then he lifted her skirt and exposed her bare buttocks.

"Perfect," he whispered, and slid his fingers gently across the soft cheeks, kneading with both hands before gliding one down into the cleft, parting her thighs to caress her in the spot he'd found earlier. She bucked and bit her lip as a wave of pleasure shot through her. "All so new to you isn't it, little one? I told you you'd like it," and he stroked her there again and again, making her writhe and moan aloud. Then without warning he withdrew his hand and cracked it down hard on her tender flesh.

The pleasurable noises choked in her throat, and in the silence of the darkened, dusty room all that could be heard was the steady rhythm of his hand against her reddening flesh and her strangled sobs.

After several minutes he asked, "Do you want me to stop now?" but by that time his other hand had slid between her thighs again, and she spread them, willingly, wantonly as his fingers found the mark and caressed her in slow strokes that matched the rhythm of her pain.

"No. Please," she whispered, too full of the blinding sensations to question the depravity of the act she was involving herself in. The sickening excitement was building, gaining momentum and when he paused and asked her again, she couldn't help herself. She begged him, pleaded with him to go on, offering him her body, her mouth, anything he wanted, but don't stop.

The large hand crashed down, harder now as the other stroked her relentlessly. "What a bad girl you are. What a dirty little slut," he rasped, "You wanted to suck my cock. I knew it the first moment I saw you. You wanted to suck it, didn't you?"

"Yes, yes," she cried, her hands clutching his ankle as the fire raced through her. It was surging, pulsing, centring where the pain and pleasure gathered. Her legs trembled uncontrollably and she heard herself begging him, "Hurt me, hurt me," and then the waves peaked and she cried out as it ravaged her, exploding inside her mind as it spasmed around her body, making her shudder so much he had to grab her to stop her sliding off his legs.

Behind her eyes throbbed red, whether from over-excitement or hanging upside down she wasn't sure, but for a long time she lay still, feeling the hot sting of her flesh under his now gently caressing hand.

She'd expected pain, and she'd certainly felt that — still felt it, but her mother's dire warnings hadn't prepared her for the shock of that mindboggling thunderbolt of pleasure.

Lying across him, she savoured the memory of it still travelling in tiny firebursts through her veins. But only for a moment. With the chill of early evening came reality, and in the aftermath of pleasure, came wariness. Was the game over or did he want more?

"Pretty, pretty," he was crooning, his hand sliding away from the destruction he'd wreaked to dip down and caress her sensitised flesh again, causing another small shudder that ached more with pain than pleasure.

She was filled with the urge to gather her clothes and flee, to be alone to consider the implications of what had just happened to her, but she had to be sure she'd passed the test. "Can I go now?" she whispered. "It's late."

"Nearly," he said, the sly voice back, and despite his gentle hands she felt a tremor of apprehension.

"I've done what you asked," she said, wriggling a little to see if he'd let her go — not sure if her legs would support her if he did. "My mother really will come looking if I'm not home to do my chores."

It was entirely dark now, and only a faint light filtered through the dusty window from the streetlight outside. She wished she could see his face.

"Just one more thing." He pushed and she slid off to stand between his legs, her own shaking so badly he had to grasp her naked thighs to support her. Below her hoisted skirt, her genitals were visible to him and they seemed to interest him greatly. "Pretty little pink flower," he said softly, leaning forward to sniff her. The very tip of his nose brushed against her soft pubic hair and she felt the aftershock shudder through her body.

"I want you up here," he said, manipulating her towards the table and lifting her carefully to sit on it.

She cried out as her bruised buttocks touched the coarse grained timber, but he was insistent.

"Now lie back, little one," he said, crooning and stroking her thighs, reaching forward to brush and tweak her responsive nipples.

"You promised not to hurt me," she whispered as she obeyed.

"I know I did," he replied as he spread her legs and moved in to look down at her, one hand twining in her hair as the other fiddled at his pants. "But you begged me to hurt you. Don't you remember?"

And then she felt a stab of pure pain.

"It's only the bee, little one," he said deep in his throat as he slid the length of his penis inside her. She gasped, feeling as though it would push her stomach up into her throat. But with the pain was another, diffuse sensation that was harder to identify.

"It stings a bit…" he withdrew partially, groaning as he pushed his way back in, "…but every flower needs some pollen." And then he closed his eyes and began rocking his hips against her, setting up a pounding rhythm that he punctuated with soft grunts. One of his hands still clutched her hair, making it impossible for her to move, while the other groped at her breasts, kneading them until she felt the little darts of pleasure racing up into her brain. It was crazy — she hadn't wanted this, and yet when the pain had subsided into a sharp sting as he'd predicted, she could feel the incredible pressure of his penis inside her and the stiff fabric of his trouser fly rubbing against her with each thrust, right at the point he'd sensitised earlier with his fingers.

She felt the heat enveloping her again, her brain filling with static. It was so good, so good…

"You're so bad," he said as he let her hair go to clutch at her buttocks, lifting them to thrust into her more forcefully. "Such a slut. Such a whore. Such a naughty, naughty girl," he groaned, and in that last mammoth thrust Wendee felt the exquisite agony burst over her again, wrapping her in a warm, numbing cocoon, isolating her from his callousness as he dropped her thighs on to the table and backed away.

A moment later he said, "Well done, Wendee," in a near normal voice that carried only a trace of breathlessness. "You've passed your test with flying colours. This work most definitely deserves an A."

She closed her eyes, blocking the sickness from her mind. There'd be time enough to wallow in it later. Right now, she needed to get away.

"Let's hope we have an even better result next week, shall we?" he was saying, straightening up from the adjustment of his pants.