Excerpt:
Slipping his hand out of my bra, he pulls me to my feet and quickly turns me to face the table. His hand in the small of my back, he pushes me face down across the hardwood surface, sliding the iPad and my coffee cup to one side.
I start in surprise as he lifts the hem of my dress—surely he just said…
Then I moan out loud as he again slips his hand into my clothing, this time down the back of my lovely red lacy briefs, down the hollow between my buttocks, slowing slightly to circle my anus with one gentle fingertip. I stiffen, waiting…
“So sweet and tight. We’ll come back to this,” he murmurs softly, leaning close to kiss my neck before continuing on between the wet, swollen lips of my pussy. He slips one finger inside my moist entrance, working gently in and out, circling the outer lips, spreading my juices all around. I moan faintly, lifting my bum up in welcome. He slides a second finger inside, whilst with his other hand he attacks from the front to take my swollen clitoris between his thumb and finger, gently rubbing.
The combined pleasure is so intense, so sudden, it overwhelms me, and I come immediately. I scream, unable to contain any of the fabulous sensation of internal fragmentation now shooting out through my outstretched fingers—white-knuckled, still gripping the edge of the table—and my toes, still encased in my lovely, red fuck-me shoes. I whimper, almost in frustration that my climax has hit me before I even saw it coming.
“I’m not finished with you yet. Stay there.”
More? How wonderful.
His voice is low, seductive and commanding. I stay still. Waiting. He straightens, steps away from me, goes over to his desk. He returns a moment later, gently pulling my underwear down to my ankles. “Step out.” His command is clear. I obey.
“You have a beautiful bottom, Miss Byrne,” he observes, trailing his fingertips lightly down the furrow between my buttocks, then tracing the line of each lower curve before bringing something down on me—hard, sharp, fierce. I scream out loud, with shock more than pain, though the sting is real enough. Instinctively I start to stand up, but his hand goes to the small of my back, pressing me back down.
“We agreed on five strokes for every frown. I counted at least four frowns since we came into this room, and that’s me being generous, Miss Byrne. So that’s twenty strokes. Agreed?”
I don’t answer, still reeling from the sudden assault. He strikes me again, and I scream again, louder. “Agreed, Miss Byrne?”
“Yes, yes. Please don’t…”
“Eighteen to go, then. Grit your teeth, Miss Byrne.”
I do, flinching with every blow, my fingers curled desperately around the opposite edge of the table. Counting slowly. He takes his time, waiting between each blow for me to settle again, to be ready. After ten strokes he stops, places a ruler beside my face on the table, and steps away again. I know not to move. He comes back after a few moments and I feel something cool, soothing, being smoothed into my red-hot and extremely sore buttocks. He gently massages me, kneading my tender skin where his ruler has done its work.
“You’re new to this, Miss Byrne, so I’m really being very gentle with you. Next time it will be harder.” He taps my buttock lightly with his palm. “Relax—we’ll soon be done.” He stands, picks up the ruler again. “Are you ready to continue, Miss Byrne?”
I know he will demand an answer, so I whisper my consent, and he starts again. The next ten blows are excruciating. He alternates between bringing his ruler down hard on first one side of my bottom, then the other, always hitting the same spot on each cheek and now not even waiting for me to collect myself between blows. Each new blow builds on the sting left by the one before it. I lie there in my world of pain, biting my lip to keep from sobbing, waiting for him to finish.
After the twentieth stroke he straightens, stands still behind me. I can imagine his eyes on my abused bottom, and just hope he’s satisfied. I know better than to say as much, though, and I wait, desperate for him to give me permission to get up. I lie there, frozen with dread at what might be coming next.
“Open your legs, Eva.”
