Captured by Time Read Online Free

you to be quiet?" he growled.
    Her nightgown was up at her waist and her panties down at her ankles within seconds, although the panties did seem to give him a moment of pause before he yanked them down effortlessly. And all of a sudden that callused palm was being brought down on her newly-bared behind in such a sharp, rapid fashion that, for the second time in her life, she threw her head back, opened her mouth, and…
    Found it stuffed full of a white handkerchief that was quickly knotted over the hair at the back of her head. Her wrists were casually caught at the small of her back, and he picked up the spanking as if it had never been disrupted—indeed, to him, it probably barely had. Was her dream man spanking her? Was she actually over a man's knee and getting the first spanking of her life? What in the hell was going on?
    Cimmy's world—or what was left of it when she began to realize that she couldn't wake herself up from this nightmare—was crashing down around her, more so with every crisp, burning swat he landed.
    She had never really known the meaning of the word 'helpless', but she was learning it quite rapidly, to her complete and abject horror. No amount of twisting or writhing or arching or wiggling had any effect on him, and nor did any of the depressingly few blows she managed to land on his body. It was like hitting her fist against a brick wall, so eventually she stopped. She couldn't bite him; he'd seen to that. So she tried to pinch him instead, but there wasn't a spare inch of flesh on him, so he was immune to that defense, too.
    Why wasn't she waking up? Why was she not ending this crazy dream?
    There didn't seem to be anything she could do to avoid any of the havoc he was wreaking, and she seemed to be battling not only him, but also her mind and her body. Her mind wanted her to do nothing but scream, because dammit, it hurt ! She was going to have to completely reevaluate how she felt about spankings—if she lived through this one—because no one had ever told her just how amazingly painful it was! But her body had wandered off somewhere into the sense memories of the occasional spanking scene that popped up in Westerns, and although she knew intellectually that her bottom had to be the color of a lobster by now, she also knew that the close proximity of that offending palm to parts of her that had never known a man's touch, had those very same parts yearning for his hand to slip, somehow, until his fingers end up lodged between her legs, preferably right up against her clit. She was just as surprised by the wetness forming in her eyes as she was by the wetness forming between the folds of her pussy; both of which were caused by the spanking.
    The mortifying knowledge of her position, the reality and sensations of what he was actually doing to her, and her own traitorous response to it, had her about as close to fainting as she'd ever gotten in her life.
    Wait, can you faint in a dream? That stray thought popped into her head and out just as quickly, driven out by the blaze in her bottom.
    * * * * *
    When he stopped, she didn't—despite the futility of her actions. Her legs continued to kick, and she continued to arch up and try to squirm out of his hold just as actively as if he was still bringing his palm down on to what had to be a pretty sore behind, if the color was anything to judge by.
    He could hear her sobbing as if someone was wrenching her heart out of her chest, and was uncharacteristically touched by it. He didn't know or care in the least what any other man thought, but he was a firm believer that a woman needed to be taught a lesson occasionally, in exactly this manner, and her persistent attempts to call attention to what they were doing had been more than enough provocation for him to do what he'd just done. Not to mention the fact that she had the mouth of a drunken bandit on her. But her heartfelt sobs behind the impromptu gag prompted a twinge of guilt he would have sworn it