Chapter Text
Slam! You could swear that the mechanical doors close harder than usual, somehow infused with Mikkos' anger in spite of a lack of his touch. Your back remains turned to him. He's not the only one capable of seething.
You feel his words before he says them. “What were you thinking?”
You don't feel like dignifying him with a response.
His next action is expected, though still sends a shock through you – a bruising grip on your arm, his fingers digging into your cheek where he grabs your face, forces your head to turn his way. “I expect this from the others. I thought you knew better.”
You meet his eyes. Wide, piercing, dark and endless. Full of rage, and... disappointment. You hate him. He's beautiful. “I wanted to see the sun again.”
Exhale, sharply through his nose. “You let those harpies turn you against me. Their flagrant disrespect is one matter. Yours is another. You are my wife.”
Silence. What can you say? You let your eyes fall from his. A mistake, one corrected by him roughly shaking you. “You look at me when I'm talking to you.” A command that is heeded, like all his commands are.
Almost all.
“I'm sorry.” Your voice hinges on a whine. Embarrassing. Pathetic.
“No. I don't think you are sorry, yet.” He snatches you up, out of your seat, pain coursing through your arm. Chest to chest, held close, secured, captured. Your face mere inches from his own. His lips are still such a tempting pink, even as they're turned into a deep frown. “If you are going to behave like a child, then you shall be treated like one.”
You have no time to even consider what he might mean by that before you're being wrenched towards the bed, and as he sits at its edge, you're bent over his knee. “No!” You cry with astonishment. There's no way he means to-
He plants a hard smack right against your ass. You can't help the sharp yelp that leaves your lips, nor the way you jerk under his grasp. “Shut up!” He barks, “You will take this, and you'll take it with dignity.”
Your voice is like a stone in your throat, your anger working against you, even as you feel the looming presence of his arm rearing back high. It's a dull thwack that resounds, the sound muted by the thin fabric of your skirt – but not the pain.
It's instinctive, though, your attempts to obey him. Even if you want to resist. Even if it is in vain. You're still jolting with every swift blow, still suppressing soft whimpers. Above you, he huffs, clearly dissatisfied with your reactions... or maybe, given his next course of action, your lack thereof.
Mikkos flips your skirt up, bunches the loose fabric up around your waist. You gasp his name when you feel his fingers push beneath your panties, pulling them down to expose your tender, bare skin. Oh, if you thought it stung before... the first contact of his open palm against your right cheek steals your breath away. He pauses. Lets it burn. And then the second makes tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
From there, he picks up the pace, eager to demonstrate the meaning of the word 'punishment'. His anger is felt in the force of each strike, his complete control and dominance painted across your skin in bright red marks in the shape of his hand.
You're biting your lip in a failing attempt to muffle yourself; you're not sure just when the tears started to fall, only that they are, rolling down your face hotly. God, it stings. Stings and burns like fire, a contrast to his cold demeanor.
You hate him, you hate him, you swear that you hate him – but there's something strange deep in your core. A feeling that's as undeniable as it is unnerving. When he seems content to give you a break, the lack of immediate pain only calls more attention to it.
Your breath is heavy, you're trembling, your ass is stinging, still. But between your legs, a tingling sensation rolls, thick and heady. A euphoric warmth blooms in your chest. This... this is sick. What kind of little freak enjoys being hit by her husband?
Your squirming prompts him to grip you tighter. He offers a small mercy in the form of massaging your welted skin, stroking softly. He's quiet, and you can't help but feel nervous. If he knew how you're feeling... God, he might never touch you again, for better or for worse.
But he always seems to know you, can always seem to tell what you're thinking, what you're feeling. It's one of the reasons he caught your act of disobedience with such ease.
His eyes rake over you, sharp, like claws. You're surprised they don't draw blood. You ignore the strange shiver that courses through you at that thought. He doesn't, though. His hand slides from your ass to the curve of your thigh, thumb rubbing in circles.
A quick, sudden smack there, too. Makes you jump, makes your voice break out of you. “So,” He says, hand sliding between your thighs, not quite touching your cunt yet, “You really are this pathetic.”
Tears well in your eyes. You expect him to shove you off, bracing for the impact of the cold, hard floor. He shushes you. “Cease your tears. It's actually rather admirable.” The ghosting of his fingers over your folds, already slick with arousal, “A woman who knows her place is a treasure beyond words.”
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when he drags his fingers through the mess of your cunt, easily finding the little nub of your clit. Your body sags as he steadily works you, his tenderness a welcome change.
Mikkos talks you through it. “You see what happens when you respect me?” As you loosen, he starts to tease your entrance. “I'll give you the world, if you only submit to my hand.” A push, and you're filled, his fingers curling into that soft spot inside you. You can barely hear him beyond your languid moans. “Now, doesn't that feel good?”
“Mhm.” You mumble, warm, head spinning. You shift a little, feeling his hardness press into your stomach. You wonder, vaguely, if he's been hard this entire time, if that's why he chose this particular method of punishment. Either way, it has you feeling wonderful, relief flooding every inch of your body.
His thumb presses into your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you roughly. “Mikkos,” You whine, a lazy grin on your face, “I love you.”
“I love you too, my dear. That's why I need to punish you when you misbehave.”
“I understand.” You sigh deeply. He takes his time, fucks you until you're dripping, until wet noises sound with every push and pull of his digits. You hope he spanks you again for making such a mess. You feel on the edge of making an even bigger one, a heavy pulsing starting deep in your cunt.
He feels it too. Low laughter rumbles in his throat, pleased and entirely patronizing. “Oh, you're so close, aren't you?”
Your thighs shake, your hips rolling into his hand fervently. His voice is right at your ear, “You want to come, don't you? Tell me.”
“I want to come!” You cry out, tight heat coiling in your lower belly, and-
He stops. Pulls his hand from you to lay one final harsh smack against your backside. It almost pushes you over the edge. Almost. “Get up.” His words are as cold as steel once again.
“What?” You balk, mind reeling from hanging off the precipice, confused.
So he takes to manhandling you again, grabbing you and forcing you to stand on weak, shaky legs. The way he glares down at you makes icy tendrils of fear snake through your veins, makes your pussy throb.
He pushes you down against the bed, knocking the wind from your lungs. Even as he looms over you frightfully, you can still see a touch of amusement around his eyes. “You are going to lay here and think about what you've done. You will not touch yourself while I'm gone.”
“But-”
His hand comes down firmly over your mouth, smothering your words. “You will obey me.” He hisses, eyes boring holes through your skull. “You will not come. Not as long as you keep this attitude of yours up.”
And just like that, he withdraws from you, walking back towards the doors, leaving you to stare blankly at the ceiling. Stiff, sore, numb. Nowhere near as numb as you would like right now. “Don't make me teach you another lesson, my love.” Is the last thing he says to you before the doors shut behind him.