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Ambrose delivered the first five before she finally went up on her toes. Admittedly, he was starting off light, but he was deeply enjoying the way her ass jiggled and the way she gasped with each stroke, trying not to get more turned on, even though he could see her arousal glistening along her slit.
“Flat on your feet, young lady.”
“Sorry, Sir,” Everly whispered. She looked over her shoulder at him, and her sultry expression came close to making him forget what he was in the middle of doing.
She was getting cocky because he was being nice. Of course. Brat.
That was the end of her warm-up.
The next two were hard. She gasped in surprise and wriggled for him, but moaned and leaned into him when he ran his hand over the welts. Not good enough.
He picked up his pace and increased his force. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.
Everly was screeching and writhing now.
“Ow, ow! Please, Sir. I’m sorry. I’ll be good!”
Thirteen, fourteen.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she babbled.
Fifteen.
“I doubt you’re sorry enough to satisfy me.”
Sixteen.
“Please, Master. I won’t sass you anymore!”
Seventeen.
“This one is for lying.”
Eighteen was especially hard. She shrieked, dancing up on her toes.
“Fuck!”
“Tsk, tsk. Such obscene language from such a wholesome girl.”
Nineteen. Twenty.
“Please, no more.” She sobbed. “Please, no more, Master.”
Her ass was fiery red and hot to the touch. Poor baby. As for Ambrose, he had a raging hard-on, and he was really hoping she’d sass him and give him a reason to keep going. He paced for a moment, unable to calm himself down. He felt like he could run a marathon and have energy left to fuck her senseless. There was something about her reactions that provoked his natural sexual aggression. Good thing she liked that. Yet another reason he couldn’t mess around with vanilla girls.
She stayed where he’d placed her. Was she waiting for a command from him, or just recovering? Unable to resist, he dropped to his knees and kissed her welts, loving the way it made her pant and nervously clench her ass.
“What’s the matter?” He bit a welt and she squeaked
in dismay.
“I just . . . I’m not comfortable with that.”
“With what? Me playing with your ass?” He grabbed some lotion out of the drawer. And sat down in the desk chair, then coaxed her, belly-down, over his lap. “We’ll work on that. First, though, I’m going to take care of your poor bottom. If you weren’t such a bad girl, I wouldn’t have to be so rough with you.”
“That wasn’t fun. Well, not the end of it, anyway.”
Ambrose made a soothing noise, then poured lotion into his palm, warmed it between his hands.
