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He warns me, not with words, but by removing the paddle. He brings it back down diagonally over my globes with a smack. Reflexively, my ass clenches. It stings, but it doesn’t hurt.
“Count, Lina.”
I grind my teeth and lock my jaw. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s taking pain. He underestimates me if he thinks I’ll break under his paddle.
“Count, Lina.”
“No.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I only gnash my teeth harder, preparing for the second blow, which will no doubt hurt, but I’m the one who’s underestimating. Instead of hitting me, he drags the thin edge of the wood through my slit, parting my folds as if I’m an object that needs closer inspection. I jerk when he reaches my clit. The sensations from the shower return. I’m swelling and turning slick. This can’t be happening. Not while he’s looking. The touch on my sex disappears, and then he slaps my left globe. Again, the smack is playful. It makes me hotter. It makes me ashamed. My nape turns damp with sweat.
His voice is hoarser. “Count, Lina.”
I can’t give in. I won’t. This time, I know what to expect. I think of icebergs and how much I hate him, but when he touches my slit with the knob-end of the paddle handle, I realize with a shock how wrong I’ve been again. I underestimated him again. Dragging the thick knob down my slit, he parts me wider. My struggles are meaningless. He’s too strong. When he reaches my clit, he runs circles over the nub with the wooden knob. To my horror, I turn wetter, my slickness easing the movement of the instrument. The only thing worse than my reaction is the knowledge that he’s watching.
Smack. My right globe comes alive with heat. I wish he’d make it hurt so I wouldn’t get aroused, but as long as he’s hitting just hard enough to jiggle my ass, I feel it deep in my core. My inner muscles clench.
“Three. Count, Lina.”
If he brings the paddle back to my sex, I’ll come. I don’t have a choice but to count.
“Three.” How I hate him for making me speak when my voice quivers.
There’s victory in his tone. “That’s my girl.” He’s the master of the situation, fully in control while I’m falling apart.
Smack. Right on the crack of my ass. Too soft. Too hot.
“F-four.”
The knob is back between my legs. It’s wet from my arousal. He rubs it over my slit again before starting to massage my clit.
“W-what are you doing?” Why isn’t he going on to five and six and seven so I can lower my dress and hide from his eyes?
“Count, Lina.”
“Five.”
Then he does worse. He twists the handle from left to right, wiggling it deeper. As I gasp, he applies pressure, stretching and entering me. I still in surprise at the sudden intrusion. Shock and embarrassment course through me. I want to hate it with all my being, but the sad and unfair truth is that the feeling isn’t unpleasant.
I can’t stop a moan from escaping as he pushes deeper. I bite back a whimper as he pulls out until the knob is barely lodged inside, stretching my opening. It’s dirty and good. I’ve never been this needy, not even in the shower with my secret thoughts. I must be a closet pervert. I can’t think when he’s teasing me with a few shallow thrusts. I’m fast moving beyond the ability to reason logically. What is he doing to me?
“Count, Lina.”
“S-six.”
He gives me my reward, fucking me with the paddle handle. Not gently, but not hard, either. Just enough to make my wetness gush around the intrusion.
“Seven, Lina.”
“Seven,” I gasp as he moves the object inside me again.
His rhythm turns harder, quicker, softer, quicker, and everything inside me clenches. My senses go haywire. I’m not resisting any longer. He knows it. He lets go of my wrists to spank me with his hand while he keeps on doing his wicked work with the paddle handle. I’m breathing hard, but so is he, and I forget to count.
“Count.”
“Nine. T-ten.”
I don’t know where we are, any longer. He’s careful and rough at the same time.
“Eleven,” he says, urging me on.
“Eleven. Twelve!”
He changes the angle of the paddle so that the thin side presses on my clit. I gasp again, speechless, but he rolls the handle, hitting not only my clit, but also a sensitive spot inside. My nails scrape over the wood of his desk. My body goes taut. I’m going to come if he doesn’t stop. I’m going to come right in front of his eyes.
“Count, Lina. Thirteen.”
I’m a blabbering mess, mixing up numbers and signals. He spanks me harder, but what’s supposed to hurt feels good.
“Thirteen,” he repeats, relentless. “Count with me, Lina.”
He leads, and I follow.
“Fourteen.”
We speak in tandem. “Fifteen.”
