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“Oh, my God, what the fuck,” I said, and I tried yet another time to get my body free, with even less success than the previous attempt. “Security! Security!”
“I…”
His huge hand came down again, this time on my right bottom cheek.
“Told…”
Another spank, on the left. My body shuddered, twisted not because of any intention of mine but out of sheer reflex at all the unwelcome facets of this utterly new sensation: the pain had definitely started to build, but it had done so in a way that stirred other kinds of nerve endings, or maybe stirred nerve endings elsewhere, or something. That stimulation in turn brought out emotions and ideas—ones I had to keep pushed down.
“You…”
Christian brought his hand down on the right, but lower down, on my upper thigh, where the fabric of the romper didn’t cover me completely. The spank made a loud, sharp sound, and I cried out as much at the noise as at the more intense sting of it there.
“No… please,” I wailed, but he kept punishing me, and talking to me.
“I…”
The left thigh, now, where it felt like the seat of the romper had ridden up so far that Christian’s hand caught only my bare flesh. I gave one more attempt at a struggle, and when it failed miserably I understood that my bottom, upended over his knee, lay completely at his mercy. He had fixed it in place there for his old-fashioned, firm-handed correction. He would spank it until I learned my lesson.
“Have… the… right… and… the… duty… to… punish… you.”
Christian quickened his rhythm as he delivered this sentence, his strong hand following what had to represent a practiced pattern—the best way, I imagined, to discipline a naughty young woman like me. The feeling of detachment, of being an observer of my own first spanking, had seemed to come and go as I alternately tried to resist and tried to endure. With these latest words, it took firm hold—as if the idea of hisrightanddutyto enforce his idea of how a prospective fuck toy should behave had sent me finally and forcefully into that strange, floaty headspace.
I realized I had gone limp. With each of the spanks I had let out a cry, but I hadn’t accompanied those noises with any kind of struggle. I had closed my eyes at some point. When I opened them, I saw the window again.
“Please…” I said without thinking about it. I meant to ask him to close the blackout curtain so no one could see in, when I… when I took off the romper. Because I knew—despite myself—that Iwouldtake it off. I didn’t have a choice, did I? Security clearly wasn’t coming: Christian clearly had a thorough understanding of how Selecta worked.
But if I meant to get rid of him at the earliest opportunity—the way I had to do, of course—shouldn’t I make sure I did everything to show myself and the rest of LA that there was nothing consensual about this spanking? Above all about the part where I took off my clothes so that the dominant billionaire could deliver my ‘real’ lesson?
The dilemma turned my thoughts, in the confusion that accompanied my detached, observing state of mind, in another direction. I needed a wayout.
“Please…” I repeated. “I only… I just didn’t want to tell you… I mean, in the bar. It’s so… embarrassing. It’s not fair to punish me for that!”
“You’re right,” Christian murmured, to my astonishment. “It’s not fair.”
I felt him loosen his grip a little, and shift his right leg so that I had some wiggle room. For a moment I thought the crazy scene had come to an end. The shadow of a bizarre disappointment once again seemed to raise its head, with the imagined words,Is that all you’ve got?
Then the loosening stopped, and I felt something else: Christian’s hand, not coming down hard, but frankly and almost casually working its way up the loose left leg of my romper, to take my whole bottom into his hand—my wholebarebottom, the cheeks left uncovered by the lacy thong.
Something between a whimper and a sob burst from my throat. My whole body shuddered, but my hips moved, not to try to get away but to try to push my punished cheeks up into his caressing hand. The wave of shame and need that traveled through what felt like every artery and every nerve ending in my body sent me spinning off into some detached psychic space a million lightyears from LA—but somehow, even there on the other side of the galaxy, I could feel Christian’s knowing fingers.
He fondled my hot bottom cheeks as if he wanted to make sure his spanks had done their work properly. He soothed so that I moaned, and then he squeezed so that I keened, softly, like a puppy punished for peeing in the house. He began to explore me further, two fingers between my thighs, just where they joined the tight, round apples of my backside.
With a sob, I parted my knees, helpless to stop myself. The fingers sought out the thong he had paid for, the shamefully narrow strip of lace that covered the pussy bared for him. From what seemed miles above me, as well as a universe away, I heard Christian make a sound deep in his chest, a sort of satisfied grunt that set my face newly ablaze.
“You’re very wet, Leah,” he said softly, and he began to rub his fingertips gently there, where the panties covered the opening of the aching sheath where no man had yet thrust his hardness. “You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you, so that you’ll get to come again, the way you did this morning?”
“Oh, God,” I moaned. I felt my head trying to shake, despite my cheek being firmly up against the couch cushion. “Please… Christian.”
“Sir,” he said, quietly but very firmly. His fingers moved further, deeper between my thighs. He fluttered them.
I cried out, my whole body bucking against his grasp, the motion starting in my wayward hips as my pussy tried, despite my attempt to stop the movement, to rub itself against Christian’s hand.
“What?” I gasped. After the flutter, he had begun to work me, down there, through my naughty panties. My bottom moved with every new pressure of his enormous, strong hand. Again I had the sensation of having traveled far, far away, to a place where having a gorgeous man spank you and play with your pussy as if you were only his shiny new fuck toy represented the only right and just way to live.
A place where you had to call the man who kept you for fuckingsir.
“You heard me, Leah,” Christian said. He took his hand away. I cried out in humiliating protest.
