Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
“Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered. “Get your ass in the air.”
I slid into position, and knew from the cool, damp fabric against my vulva that my black thong was already wet.
Not two feet from where I knelt, Neil had stood before me, six years after our first incredible night together, and inhaled the scent of me off a scrap of black lace.
“What did you do to earn this punishment?” he asked, slipping the handle of the flogger through one leg of my panties to pull them up tight between my labia.
“I shouldn’t have sucked on your thumb without your permission, Sir.” My voice quivered. I sounded so different to my own ears like this. I wasn’t used to my voice free from heavy sarcasm without restrained professionalism holding me in check.
“Do you know what I’m going to do now?” he asked.
“You’re going to whip me, Sir.”
“Five strokes. You count them.”
The decision to brace myself or not brace myself was taken from me when the first strike across my buttocks landed without further warning. I gasped a “one!” in shock; this was much harder than I was used to. I supposed that was what Neil had meant, when he’d said he would surprise me.
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth against the pain that would come. The tails of the flogger caught me right under the curve of my buttocks. I couldn’t help the shout that preceded “two,” and I was relieved we were only doing five. I wouldn’t be sitting down much for the next few days.
The next lash landed on the backs of my thighs, with less force in order to avoid the tails wrapping around my leg. The fourth and fifth came in crossed slaps over the already stinging welts left behind from the first, and by the time I uttered, “five,” the word was sandwiched between a sob and a gasp.
He tossed the flogger aside and sat on the couch. “Get up here. Across my lap.”
Seven years ago, in a not terribly impressive hotel room, I’d lain across his lap as he’d spanked me. It had been at my request; it had been the dirtiest thing I could think of at the time.
I was so glad we’d found each other again, and we’d explored so many other dirty things.
He caught me before I could kneel on the couch beside him. He held me with his hands on my thighs, keeping me motionless, and gazed up at me. Beneath the sadistic mirth, there was true tenderness; we both knew what we needed from each other, and that we were willing to fulfill those needs out of love and desire.
“Over you go,” he said finally, pulling me down and neatly up-ending me, so that my torso was supported on his lap, my hair brushing the floor on one side, my legs suspended behind me, ankles up and crossed. He’d tied me like this before, and my body had remembered the posture ever since.
His palm skimmed over my backside, and the gentle touch was still enough to set my welted skin stinging like the worst sunburn I’d ever had. He slipped his fingers up and down my slit, seemingly by mistake as he rubbed my ass, but the touch was far from accidental. My panties were soaked; he plucked at the fabric.
“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asked, increasing the pressure of his fingertips over my clit.
“Y-yes,” I stuttered out, my body caught between aching pleasure and just plain aching.
“Why did you like it?”
I could have said, “Because I’m a dirty slut,” but those words only turned me on if he said them. Besides, they weren’t the answer he was looking for. “Because it pleased you, Sir.”
He leaned down and kissed one of the burning stripes the flogger had left on my behind. “Good girl.”
His hand ventured down again to cup me, rubbing in firm circles, teasing with pleasure that felt sharper in contrast to the fading pain.
Slipping under the strip of fabric, his fingertips circled over my labia, parting my folds and slicking my wetness all over. He sank two digits in, drawing a long moan from me.
Then his palm fell in a loud smack on my burning ass.
There was a difference between a punishment spanking and a reward spanking. I might not have believed that, once upon a time, but now I could tell. When he’d flogged me, he’d done it to punish me for a violation of the behavior he expected from me tonight. Now, he was rewarding me for everything I had done correctly. It just so happened that my ideas of fun and punishment were pretty fucking close.
Another slap brought a hiss to my lips. His fingers were still buried inside of me, and I clenched on them. It was a struggle to keep myself still, though I wanted to reach out for pleasure.