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into the floor. A hemp rope bit into his wrists before he could process the motion, the knots tightening with each squirm. He gasped as she planted a knee between his shoulder blades, her weight measured, enough to sting, not enough to bruise ... Yet. "Fuck, Beki, wait ..." his voice cracked.
She didn't answer. The storeroom door slammed shut with the finality of a dungeon door, sealing them in the amber dark. Dust motes swirled in the slatted light as she prowled behind him, her footfalls silent as a huntress'. Biraj's skin prickled. He'd coded this scenario a dozen times in VR, the variables, the escape routes, but reality had a visceral weight no simulation could replicate. Her knuckles trailed down his spine, slow as a blade being unsheathed, and his hips jerked involuntarily against the packed earth.
"Stand," she said, not a command, but a verdict. His knees wobbled as he rose, the imprint of her knee still burning between his shoulder blades. Beki's shadow draped over him, her heat radiating against his back in waves that smelled of saddle leather and crushed juniper.
She gripped his chin, tilting his face toward the scarred workbench. With a forceful shove, Beki guided Biraj to the table. "Lean." Her palm between his shoulder blades pressed down with tectonic inevitability. The wood grain bit into his hips as his body folded, his spine arching into the exact curve she demanded. Somewhere behind them, the last remnants of his holographic leopard flickered back to life, its artificial pupils dilating as it watched them. Beki's laugh was a low hum against his nape. "Clever boy. Programmed a voyeur?"
Baki reached around and untied Biraj's drawstring with nimble finesse. And with a single yank, she dropped his shorts to the ground. The first slap landed without warning, a crack of calloused flesh against bare skin that sent a shockwave of heat radiating outward. Biraj's gasp dissolved into a punched-out moan. The leopard's tail lashed, casting prismatic reflections across its body. Beki traced the blooming handprint with her thumb, admiring how his flesh rippled under her touch. "Now you'll see," she murmured, her breath hot against the shell of his ear, "how we break bad little boys on the steppe."
The next spank cracked like a whip, purposeful, precise, leaving a bloom of pink that darkened to mauve in seconds. Biraj's breath exploded outward, his forehead pressing into the workbench as his spine arched. Beki waited, counting the milliseconds before his hips rolled backward in unconscious search of more contact. "Oh, you greedy thing." Her next two strikes landed lower, the meat on his ass jiggling under the impact. The holographic leopard's pupils dilated, its tail twitching with each smack. Biraj's moans climbed an octave. She paused to drag her nails down the welted skin, savoring his full-body shudder.
The rhythm built like a drumbeat—five sharp slaps in quick succession, each angling to catch the sensitive crease where thigh met cheek. Biraj's cock dripped onto the floorboards, his thighs glistening. Beki watched his reflection in a polished bridle hanging nearby: lips parted, lashes fluttering, the tendons in his neck standing in sharp relief. She leaned over him, her breasts brushing his seared skin as she murmured, "Count." His voice shattered on "Seven," the number dissolving into a whine when she pinched the inside of his knee. The leopard's growl vibrated through the room, syncing with the next volley—open-handed smacks alternating with sudden, cruel squeezes that made his toes curl.
Beki's palm tingled from impact. She grabbed the back of his shirt and twisted him around. His cock stood straight and strong. "Looks like someone likes to be spanked," she laughed. "And you're dripping," she observed, smearing his precum on his shirt. Biraj whimpered, his shoulders trembling. The holographic beast paced closer, its simulated tail sticking up.
"You seem to be in some discomfort," Beki purred. "Good." She curled her fingers around his cock without warning, her grip just shy of painful. Biraj's knees buckled, his hips stuttering forward into her fist. She squeezed the base hard enough to make him sob, her thumb circling the swollen head in slow, torturous arcs. His thighs quivered, muscles jumping under sweat-slick skin. The leopard's tail lashed, its form pixelating briefly when Beki leaned in to whisper, "Not yet." Her free hand traced the fresh welts on his ass—each ridge a perfect match for her fingerprints.
Beki stepped back, stripping off her linen shirt with deliberate slowness. The fabric whispered over her shoulders, catching briefly on the hilt of her hip knife before pooling in the dust. Biraj's breath hitched, his pupils dilating further as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her riding breeches. The leather slid down her thighs with a hushed rasp, revealing toned muscle and the swell of her ass—the same power that bent stallions to her will. She caught his stare, her smirk sharp as a blade. "Eyes up, colt."
Beki dragged a large bundle of cloth across the floor and positioned it beneath her with ease. Leaning back against the storeroom wall, her legs fell open in a silent command, the apex of her thighs glistening under a sparse thatch of dark hair. The scent of her, salt and musk and something herbaceous, flooded the cramped space between them. "Kneel!" she commanded with the same tone she would use on her hounds.
Biraj's knees hit the dirt. His erection bobbed against his abdomen, flushed dark and leaking against his stomach as he scrambled forward. The first lick was tentative, a flick of his tongue along her inner thigh, but Beki's fingers twisted in his hair, yanking him into the heat of her. "Eat," she growled, grinding against his mouth. The taste of her obliterated thought; his whimper vibrated against her folds as his tongue speared inward, lapping at her with the frantic hunger of a man starved.
She let him flounder for three ragged heartbeats before wrenching his head back by the roots. His lips glistened, chin slick with her. "Slow," she corrected, dragging her thumb across his bottom lip. "You're not lapping up milk like the puppy you are, you're worshipping." Her grip guided him back down, this time with her thighs clamping his skull in vise-like pressure. He gasped when her hips rolled forward, smearing her wetness across his nose. "Teeth stay hidden," she hissed, grinding against his tongue. "Flat and wide, like licking nectar from a blade."
Biraj moaned into her, the vibration sending electric ripples up Beki's spine. "You learn quickly, my colt," she purred as she enjoyed the long, languid strokes alternating with tight circles over her clit. She could feel his pulse hammering beneath her grip, his breath scalding her inner thighs in desperate gusts. Beki's own breath fractured when his tongue flicked just right, the pressure and angle shifting from clumsy to perfect in the span of a gasp. "There," her hips jerked, her calf muscles tightening around his shoulders. "Right fucking there."
He obeyed like his nerves were wired straight to her voice, his tongue flattening against her swollen folds as he drank her down. The storeroom blurred at the edges, the holographic leopard's growls syncing with the wet drag of his mouth. Beki's fingers spasmed in his hair when he hummed, the sensation ricocheting through her pelvis like a spark along a fuse. She could feel it building, the coiled tension low in her belly, the way her muscles fluttered around nothing. Biraj whimpered when she ground against him, his nose bumping her clit with each roll of her hips. The sound shot straight to her pussy, sharp and sweet as a spur to the flank.
Her thighs trembled. The scent of sex and sweat clung to the air, mingling with the ozonic tang of Biraj's tech. His eyelashes fluttered against her inner thigh, damp with exertion or tears; she didn't care which. All that mattered was the white-hot pressure gathering at the base of her spine, the way his tongue curled just so when she snarled, "Harder." The leopard's tail lashed, its holographic form pixelating as Beki's back arched off the wall. Every nerve crackled, the rough wood against her shoulders, the bite of her own nails in her palm, the obscene slick sounds of Biraj's devotion.
She didn't warn him. Just fisted a hand in his hair and yanked him flush against her, grinding his nose into her clit while his tongue speared deep. The angle forced his chin up, his Adam's apple bobbing against her thigh as he gagged. Perfect. "Now," she hissed and came with a violence that surprised even her, spraying her juices over her prisoner's face. The orgasm ripped through her with the force of a stallion's kick, her vision blooming into static as her hips jerked against his face. She heard herself howl, the sound raw and guttural, echoing off the tin roof.
Biraj whimpered into her cunt, his tongue still working even as she shoved his head away. "Enough, my colt." His lips were slick, chin gleaming with her arousal, eyes glassy with unfocused lust. He sat back on his heels, his cock still hard as steel, bobbing between his thighs at half-mast. His chest heaved, the flush spreading down his neck to his collarbones, darker where her nails had scored his skin. Beki watched him struggle to regain his breath, his fingers twitching against his own thighs like he was resisting the urge to touch himself. Good. Let him ache.
She traced her own wetness down her stomach, fingers sliding lazily over her clit—already swollen and sensitive from his tongue. "Watch," she commanded, spreading herself open with two fingers. His breath hitched audibly when she circled her entrance, gathering slickness before dragging upwards in slow, deliberate strokes. She sighed, tilting her hips forward so the lantern light caught every glisten, every twitch of her muscles. His lips parted soundlessly, his gaze locked on her fingers, his own cock twitching against his stomach in helpless sympathy.
Biraj strained against the hemp ropes binding his wrists behind his back, the material creaking but refusing to yield. Every flex of his arms made his biceps stand in sharp relief, sweat dripping down his straining forearms. Beki clicked her tongue, curling her fingers deeper inside herself. "Struggle all you want, colt." Her thumb pressed hard against her clit, rubbing tight circles that made her toes curl. "These bonds were made for stallions." His groan was raw, punched out of him as she arched off the saddle, her thighs trembling. The holographic leopard paced behind him, its tail flicking in time with the slick sounds of her fingers.
She came with her teeth bared, a silent snarl that showed the whites of her eyes. Her hips jerked forward twice before she stilled, breath ragged. The orgasm crested like a wildfire through dry grass, leaving her twitching and oversensitive. Beki withdrew her fingers slowly, watching Biraj track the movement with black-pinned pupils. She painted his lips with her wetness, smearing it across his panting mouth. "Taste," she murmured, pressing down on his tongue until his gag reflex fluttered. He sucked obediently, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed her down.
Beki's gaze dropped to his erection, still dribbling precum in thick, glistening strands. The head was flushed dark as a plum, veins standing in sharp relief against the taut skin. She traced one with her thumbnail, smiling when his entire body jerked. "Stand," she ordered, snapping her fingers. Biraj scrambled upright on trembling legs, his knees nearly buckling as blood rushed away from his pounding skull. She untied his hands. The ropes had left angry red marks around his wrists, and the skin chafed raw from his struggles. Beki circled him like a mare assessing a new stud, her knuckles brushing the underside of his cock just hard enough to make him whimper.
Beki pointed to a box of almond oil. "Open and get me a jar," she ordered. Biraj went to the box, his legs still from kneeling, and retrieved a jar. Beki liberally coated her hand and his erection. The aroma of almonds filled the storeroom as she warmed the oil between her palms. Her grip when she finally took him in hand was perfection: tight enough to make his vision white out at the edges, slick enough that every downward stroke dragged a shattered moan from his lungs. Thumb circling the swollen crown on every upstroke, her touch was merciless precision—the same deft control she used to braid reins or whet blades.
Beki timed the squeeze of his balls to the hitch in his breath, rolling the tight sac between her knuckles like testing ripe fruit. Too soft and he'd spill too soon; too rough and he'd tense up. She found the sweet spot, just enough pressure to make his thighs quake, and smiled when his hips stuttered forward into her fist. "Look at you," she murmured, watching precum bead at his slit. The leopard's tail lashed against his calf, its holographic fur prickling with static. "Dripping like a broken spigot." Her chuckle was low and dark as she thumbed the wetness down his shaft, mixing it with the oil until every stroke sounded filthy.
She slowed further, her grip narrowing to just thumb and forefinger, a cruel, teasing ring that barely touched him. The drag was agonizingly deliberate, the oil cooling on his overheated skin between each ascent. Biraj's groan scraped his throat raw, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Beki watched the copper bloom with clinical interest. "Eyes open," she commanded, twisting her wrist on the upstroke. His pupils were so blown they swallowed the iris whole, his lashes clumped with sweat or tears, she didn't care which. She leaned closer, her breath hot on his parted lips. "Every. Stroke," she punctuated each word with a torturous pump, her thumb pressing hard under the crown. "You'll feel them all."
His hips jerked erratically, his cock twitching in her grip like a live wire. She could see the muscles in his abdomen ripple, the way his ribs flared with each panting breath. When his knees buckled, she caught him by the throat, not squeezing, just resting her palm against his hammering pulse. "Too fast," she murmured, slowing her strokes to glacial. The leopard's growl synced with the wet slide of her hand, digitized static prickling the air. "You'll take what I give you." Her grip tightened fractionally, her nails scraping the sensitive skin behind his balls. "Or you'll take nothing at all."
Biraj's whimper was a shattered thing, his forehead dropping against her shoulder. She let him nuzzle into her collarbone, his breath scalding her skin. The scent of him, ozone and sweat, and the sharp tang of desperation, filled her lungs. His hips stuttered again, his cock pulsing against her palm. Beki smirked when his teeth sank into the meat of her shoulder, the bite half-pain, half-plea. She rewarded him with a twist of her wrist, her thumb pressing hard into the slit. His cry was muffled against her skin, his body bowing like a drawn bowstring.
The leopard flickered closer, its holographic form pixelating at the edges. Static danced along her fingertips with each stroke, the programmed creature responding to Biraj's escalating heartbeat. She could feel the moment his control frayed, the hitch in his breath, the way his balls drew up tight against his body. Beki slowed deliberately, her grip loosening until he was sobbing, his thighs trembling with restraint.
Then she twisted.
Biraj's spine arched like a snapped bowstring, his cry tearing through the storeroom as ropes of cum streaked high, higher than should've been physically possible, glistening strands catching lantern light like flung silk. The first burst painted his own collarbones; the next three, splattered across Beki's tits with the visceral thwap of a wet whipcrack. She watched, transfixed, as his hips kept jerking through empty aftershocks, his cock still pulsing thin, pearly dribbles against his stomach.
Beki's laugh was low and husky, her fingers tracing the hot stripes across her skin before bringing them to her lips. "Mm. Impressive output, colt," she murmured, tasting salt and iron. The holographic leopard flickered wildly behind them, its form dissolving into golden static as Biraj's neural feedback overloaded the projection. His knees finally gave out, sending him crumpling forward into her lap with a boneless thud, his forehead pressed against her oil-slick thigh.
She let him pant there for three heartbeats, long enough for the aftershocks to still his trembling, before curling her fingers into his sweat-damp hair. "Up," she ordered, yanking just hard enough to make him gasp. His unfocused eyes followed the command of her free hand as she gestured lazily at the mess glistening between her breasts. "Clean it." His Adam's apple bobbed once, twice, before he leaned in, his tongue hesitant at first, dragging through the streaks with kitten-soft licks. Beki's nostrils flared. "Properly."
Biraj shuddered, his lips parting wider as he lapped at her breasts with deliberate strokes, his nose brushing her skin with each pass. The scent of him, musky and bright with youth, flooded her senses as his tongue swirled around her nipple, catching stray droplets. She arched into the heat of his mouth, her fingers tightening in his hair when his teeth grazed her. The sting lingered sweetly under her skin, a counterpoint to the slick slide of his tongue.
With a final pat to his flushed cheek, Beki pushed him back and reached for her discarded tunic. The fabric whispered against her oversensitive skin as she shrugged it on, the linen clinging to the sweat still cooling between her breasts. She dressed with the same unhurried precision she used for saddling mounts, each motion efficient, each fold intentional. The leather cord at her waist cinched snug just above her hips, the knot tied with a flick of her wrist.
Biraj watched from his knees, his chest rising and falling in ragged increments. Beki tilted his chin up with one delicately placed finger, admiring the way his throat worked around a swallow. "Stay," she murmured, pressing down just enough to make his breath hitch.
She dressed slowly, deliberately, first the linen undershirt that clung to the sweat at the small of her back, then the embroidered riding vest with its silver fastenings. Each button was a calculated pause, her fingers lingering just long enough to make Biraj's pupils dilate. When she bent to retrieve her belt, the movement pulled the fabric taut across her thighs, and she didn't miss the way his hips jerked forward instinctively, his cock still flushed and twitching against his stomach.
Beki circled him once, her sandals clicking against the stone floor in a slow staccato. She paused behind him, her breath warm against the nape of his neck. Biraj jumped as her hand found it, making a very satisfying CRACK. "You held up better than I expected," she murmured, her thumb pressing into a particularly dark bruise. His sharp inhale was reward enough.
Moving toward the door, she cast a glance at the holographic leopard curled in the corner. Its projection had stabilized into sleep, the rise and fall of its digital flank synced to Biraj's slowing breath. A flicker of amusement crossed her face, so his subconscious still clung to control, even in exhaustion. The door creaked as she leaned against the doorframe, sunlight cutting across her torso in sharp lines. "But you haven't learned enough," she said, voice rough with certainty. His head snapped up, eyes wide.
Biraj's legs trembled as he stood, his spent cock glistening, a single drop pearling at the tip before splattering onto the stone. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet. "Clean it," she said, nodding to the mess between them, streaks of oil, sweat, his own release painting the saddle and floor. He swallowed hard but didn't move, muscles twitching with residual aftershocks. She tapped her foot once. "Now." He dropped to his knees, his bound arms straining as he reached for a discarded rag, his movements clumsy with exhaustion.
Beki watched for a moment, long enough to see him scrub at a stubborn patch with his cheek pressed to the floor, before turning toward the door. The holographic leopard lay curled in a pool of sunlight, its digital ribs rising in sync with Biraj's slowing breaths. Static flickered along its tail when she passed, but its eyes remained shut. "Pathetic," she thought, nostrils flaring.
She paused at the threshold, one hand resting against the doorframe as she glanced back. Biraj was swaying on his knees, the rag dangling limply from his fingers. His stomach was still streaked with drying cum; his lips were parted around shallow, uneven breaths. His cock, now soft, bobbed gently with each movement, another drop splattering onto the stone. Beki's tongue traced her teeth.
The projection in the corner lay motionless, its digital ribs rising and falling in time with Biraj's exhaustion. A sleeping predator, or a spent one. Her nostrils flared. "You think this is enough?" Her voice was low, deliberate. Biraj flinched, his wrists twisting against their bonds. The ropes tightened in response, pressing into his bruises. "You scared the living shit out of Mali with your toy. It'll take Pete and Nadine a month to get her off the ceiling," she continued, stepping back into the room. Her shadow stretched long across the floor.
Beki circled him once more, studying his bowed shoulders, his trembling thighs. The scent of sex and almond oil clung to his skin—musky, warm, tinged with something sharper. Youth. She crouched beside him, her knuckles brushing his jaw. His pulse fluttered under her touch. "Tonight. Sunset," she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. "Black Rock Cove." She tightened her grip, forcing his head up. "You'll submit and apologize properly. Like the little imp that you are."
His lips parted, whether to protest or plead, she didn't care. Her fingers pressed harder. "Without your little pet." She jerked her chin toward the sleeping projection. Its digital chest rose and fell in perfect mimicry of exhaustion. Not real. Not alive. Just another of his clever, hollow tricks. Beki's nostrils flared. "Mali deserves flesh and blood remorse. Not," she flicked her fingers at the hologram, "this."
Biraj shuddered, his throat bobbing against her grip. The ropes cinched tighter as he twitched, his wrists flexing instinctively, too raw now to struggle. Beki leaned in, her teeth scraping his earlobe. "And if you're late? Well ... don't be." She didn't wait for an answer, just dug her nails into his scalp one last time before standing. His gasp followed her like a shadow.
Her sandals clicked across the stone, the echo sharp enough to make him flinch. She didn't glance back—didn't need to. The air itself trembled in her wake, thick with the musk of sweat and saddle oil and the sour-sweet tang of his humiliation. The door groaned shut behind her with finality, the latch falling into place with a sound like a guillotine.
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