Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I bit my lip to keep from letting out a sob. I could feel, deep in my body, how well I understood the notion, despite its utter opposition to what I had told myself about the workplace I wanted.
I need to assert my authority. I need to paddle Mandy.
I sensed Stuart moving toward me, standing next to me, looking at my naked, bent body.
“Spread your feet,” he ordered sharply. “I want you to know I can see the fuzz on your sweet little pussy. That will help you remember, next time.”
“Oh, god,” I whispered, unable to stop the words from breaking free of my throat. My whole body pulsed with heat, as if my spanked bottom cheeks, from which the soreness had almost completely faded, could ignite shame and arousal many times the intensity of the swats Stuart had given me over his knee.
I shuffled my feet apart, my forehead creasing so hard it hurt. I felt the air moving in a place I absolutely did not want it right at the moment. I remembered Stuart sniffing the air the last time I had found myself in this position. I felt certain the aroma of my current need must be a good deal stronger.
Stuart put his left hand on my waist, his fingers splaying across my skin. The touch sent a shudder through my limbs. I tasted blood as I bit my lip even harder, desperate to keep myself from making a sound. I felt the smooth surface of the paddle brush against my bottom, as if wordlessly admonishing me, and then lift away. I tensed involuntarily, my breath coming in little puffs through my nose.
The first stroke came without warning except for the split-second puff of air against my cheeks. The sharp crack echoed in the quiet office. Pain bloomed across my backside, and I gasped, my fingers curling against the polished wood of the desk. Before I could fully process the sensation, the second stroke landed, slightly lower. The sting was intense, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft wail.
The third stroke fell, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. My bottom throbbed, the pain radiating outward. I waited, breath held, for the next strike, but it didn’t come. Stuart said nothing, giving me no indication of how long this punishment would last or how many more strokes I could expect.
In the silence that followed, my mind began to wander. To my dismay, I found myself picturing Mandy bent over this very desk, her skirt raised and panties lowered. In my imagination, I stood where Stuart stood now, paddle in hand, ready to teach her a lesson about respect and following orders.
The image sent a jolt of arousal through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the thought. But as quickly as that fantasy faded, another took its place. Now I saw myself as I was, bent over and vulnerable, with Stuart looming behind me. In this vision, he brought the paddle down again and again, each stroke eliciting a cry from my lips.
I shifted uncomfortably, terribly aware of the gathering wetness between my thighs. The dual fantasies—of punishing and being punished—roiled in my mind, each one heightening my arousal in its turn. I felt my face flush with shame at my body’s response, at the ever-self-renewing realization that some part of me craved this.
Stuart’s hand on my waist tightened slightly, and I braced myself for another stroke. The anticipation was almost worse than the pain itself, every nerve ending on high alert. I found myself torn between hoping the punishment would end soon and, to my horror, wishing it would continue.
I couldn’t shake the image of Mandy’s insolent face, couldn’t stop imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that smirk off with a few well-placed strokes of the paddle. I chewed my cheek as the image made me clench involuntarily. I prayed Stuart hadn’t noticed.
The thought… the mental picture… the… the wish that succeeded that one, though, was much more mortifying.
Stuart should fuck that girl over the desk. It came out that way, in my head. Not me nor even Melissa: just that girl.
The boss has to fuck her, doesn’t he? To show her that he’s in charge.
Me. There, now I couldn’t help it. I did let out a sob, and my hips jerked, thrusting my punished backside even further up and back toward Stuart, as if begging him. He really should fuck me. Punish me with his hardness. Teach me with his cock.
As if he had waited for precisely that sound and that humiliating little movement, Stuart put the paddle down on his desk, right in front of me like a reminder of what my failure to wax my pussy had earned me. His left hand tightened on my waist, and then his right took hold of my bottom and my pussy in a single grasp, his middle fingers pressing against my clit as his palm gripped my punished cheeks and made me cry out.