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He gave me three very hard slaps on the backs of my thighs. I cried out at each one, the pain startling and fierce, both from the quick succession of the blows and, I realized, from the lack of the padding that my bottom had. I felt my face go hot as I understood why girls like me got spanked on their bare bottoms: that padding ensured that the men who mastered and guided us could punish us properly without harming us. A dominant man like Christian could strip a girl to her underwear, or naked, and then take his time teaching her the old-fashioned lesson she had earned, spanking her disobedient backside until he felt satisfied she had learned to respect his authority.
I managed to get my hands around far enough to try to dislodge Christian’s grasp. His forceful response took only a moment: he grabbed my wrists and expertly twisted my arms behind me yet again. He locked them there, and then he spanked my thighs three more times when I kicked out again.
Those spanks burned like fire, and I gave a full-throated wail of pain at the third one, tears springing from my eyes. I had a moment’s wild thought that of course someone would hear, and call the police, and why hadn’t I thought of just screaming before—and then I remembered where I was, and who owned this building and its security system. My thrill of hope became a new wave of humiliation as I wondered whether the young women in the adjoining apartments, hearing a girl crying out as her sponsor punished her, would fear for their own bottoms, and learn from my example to obey their own keepers.
“I know this is hard, Leah,” I heard Christian say from above me, “so I’m not going to consider it disobedience that you’re having trouble holding still. But your real spanking won’t start until you show me you’re trying to take your punishment like a good girl.”
The wave of gratitude that swelled through my chest made me feel once again like I had started to lose my mind. Christian had set it up perfectly, a logical part of my brain understood: he had told me the insane consequenceheintended to impose… the idea that seemed to send an electric shock of mingled terror and arousal through every nerve ending of my body… the image of my virgin pussy, newly waxed for his enjoyment, closed… sealed… to teach me the lesson I couldn’t learn any other, less severe way.
But knowing that Christian had manufactured that fear somehow didn’t stop me from feeling grateful when he relieved it—or maybe, I thought with a little jolt of terror, only postponed it. Even knowing that he would soon, if he carried out his stated intention,spankme there, on the most sensitive part of my anatomy, didn’t stop the warmth I felt toward my would-be billionaire sponsor.
Something about the terrible threat of closing me, down there… about the dismaying way it had called up in me not only fear but also a helpless fascination, an unwelcome need… seemed to have altered my thoughts and feelings very deeply. It hadn’tchangedme, really, but it had brought sharply into focus just how wayward and dark an imagination lurked in my head.
I had to fight it, didn’t I? I kicked again with my right leg, trying fruitlessly to use the momentum as a way to twist out of Christian’s grasp. He gave me three more hard slaps on the thighs, and I heard myself cry out, again the chastised puppy with her pitiful submissive noises, despite all the rebellion I felt inside.
“Get both feet on the floor,” he said grimly. “Present your bottom.”
The pain made me obey. With a sob, I returned my right foot to the carpet.
Christian put his hand on my ass and held it firmly. I felt how my naughty panties made my bottom available to him even while I still had them on. I had been twisting my head side to side as I struggled, but I couldn’t help looking once again at the reflection in the picture window, of the girl in her lacy lingerie with the billionaire standing over her. I watched Christian gaze down at my bottom as he fondled it, and with a rush of strangely mixed embarrassment and vanity I saw how the sight pleased him… how it made his dark eyes go even darker with hunger to do precisely what he had told his new fuck toy he would do.
“Bend your knees,” he instructed. “Arch your back and push this out. You earned this lesson, and it’s time for you to get it.”
Another sob burst from my throat. Something about the simple phraseget ithad struck into my mind and heart.
You’re getting it… you’re getting what you deserve, at last.
Whimpering, I obeyed his orders. I felt how the humiliating posture presented my backside for discipline… for firm-handed guidance.
For much more, too, I couldn’t help thinking.
“Good girl,” Christian said, and this time I seemed to feel the full, terribly ambiguous importance of the words.
Then he started to spank my bare bottom.
CHAPTER18
Leah
Christian punished me slowly and steadily, his hand rising and falling in a deliberate cadence, as if each spank represented the period of a wordless, reprimanding sentence. My body shook and my head went back with a yelp at each sharp blow.
I noticed first that it didn’t hurt as much as I had thought it would. Each spank’s sting rose and then fell a little before I felt his open hand return, never at first to the same spot. With a terribly ambiguous surge of emotion, a growing warmth in both my chest and in my cheeks, I understood beyond any doubt that Christian meant to train me with that slow pace; he wanted to teach me how to accept a spanking from a man who knew how to give one.
The glow of that idea spread, too; it seemed to join the heat that Christian’s firm hand on my bare bottom had started to raise down there. When he began gradually to quicken the pace, and to spank me in the same place twice and even three times in a row, it hurt more, yes, but it also made the warmth grow too.
“That’s it,” he said, so quietly I thought he must be speaking to himself. “That’s it, Leah. Take your punishment now.”
He stopped spanking for a moment. I felt him reach over my back and stroke my hair, wild and disheveled from the thrashing back and forth of my head. He smoothed it over my right shoulder, as if he wanted to see my face, and I had a hot flash of embarrassment at that: the man spanking me wanted to see my tears of repentance as they fell.
His left hand had relaxed a little on my wrists, so when my shoulders heaved at his caressing touch down my back, toying gently with my bra strap, I could wriggle a little to ease the tension in my arms.
“Is that better?” Christian asked, his voice soothing—even a little patronizing. Again I felt the twin glow of embarrassment and an affection. “You’re learning, aren’t you?”
“Oh, God,” I moaned. “Please… please…”
It took me long seconds, with his hand moving gradually downward until he held my bottom in it again, before I found any further words. When I uttered them, that possessive touch made them absolutely wrong even as I spoke.
“Please stop,” I whispered, but a sob of need rose, seemingly, all the way from my burning bottom into my lungs and out of my throat.
