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“You requested your clothing stay on, and I’ll allow it for now. Keep in mind, I’ll be hitting you harder to make up for it. And if you’re rude to me again, the pants will come down. Is that understood, Kate?”
“Um.” Her throat felt dry. I guess so probably wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. I want you to count. ‘One, Sir, two, Sir . . . Like that.”
“Okay . . . Sir.” As a second thought, she added, “How many?”
He didn’t answer right away, making her wonder if sometimes Doms didn’t plan everything out and just winged it. “Ten,” he finally said.
That wasn’t so bad. She could take ten.
The first blow stung a burning path across her ass, making her yell and go up on her toes. She hadn’t expected it yet. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be hitting her harder because of the pants. By the deep sting right across the center of both cheeks, she’d guess there’d be a nice big red welt. Fuck. And she had to do ten of these?
“Kate,” he warned.
“Uh. One, Sir.”
The belt whistled through the air, then whap!
Her entire world narrowed to a hyperawareness of every nerve ending in her posterior.
She whimpered. “Two, Sir.”
Whack.
“Ow!” She kicked out a leg and wiggled. This was awful—why did some women like it? “Three, Sir.”
Another landed right on top of the last one, and she squealed.
Punishment officially sucked. “Banner.” It was a whispered plea, but she wasn’t sure for what.
He stopped and for a silly moment, she thought it might be over. The belt fell onto the couch next to where she rested her hands. Relief swept through her, and she exhaled loudly.
“Don’t think I’m done, little one. You’ll get the full ten.”
Fingers edged under her waistband, and she panicked. “No!” She put her hand back to stop him.
He froze. “I’m just checking your skin.”
She thought he might wrestle the pants down, but he didn’t. He just waited. For her safeword? “What if I used my safeword during a punishment? Would you stop?”
“Of course. But if you deserved a punishment, and the one I chose was a hard limit for you, I’d have to think of a different one that matched the infraction. A D/s relationship is based on the Dominant being dominant. The submissive doesn’t get to decide whether they get punished or not. There are consequences for bad behavior.”
That made sense. She’d tested him and deserved every lick she got. It should have filled her with dread, but for some reason it didn’t.
“Are you going to let me check your marks so we can continue?” He paused. “Or are we done for the night?”
She didn’t want to be done, but she didn’t exactly want to finish the next six strokes either. She’d be disappointing herself if she made him stop and it wasn’t really that bad, especially not with her clit throbbing so hard she thought she might die if she didn’t orgasm soon. Leaving to go home and use her vibrator was an option. God, she’d get off in the car or maybe on her way out the door, she was so turned on.
But, no. She needed to finish this.
“Okay.” She placed her hand back on the couch and let him slowly draw her pants down.
Cool air hit her skin, reminding her of the dampness between her legs. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice. He ran his fingertips over her, the alternating tickle and soreness telling her where the biggest welts were. She let out a whimper when he pushed on them, but she wasn’t sure if it was because it hurt or turned her on.
Her cheeks grew hot when she realized she was bent over, pants down, while he stared at her ass. Again. They’d done worse last weekend but this felt different, more intrusive because he was studying marks he’d made on her. His marks. On her body.
Fuck. Why did she like this so much?
