His hand landed, confusingly, on my bare thigh. I had not expected this and I squeaked and raised my spine a little, but he pushed me right back down.
‘Lovely lacy knickers,’ he said, covering them with medium-strength strokes. ‘I’m going to spank you until this pattern transfers itself to your skin. Won’t that be pretty?’
‘Yes, Sir,’ I moaned, my voice sounding almost the way it did when I came. It was going to be impossible to hide my growing arousal.
‘You’re already the same colour. Deep pink. Soon you’ll be red, though. My favourite shade.’
The heat was increasing, starting to become uncomfortable now. I wondered how long he could go on for before tiring. What if he carried on for an hour or more? What if I asked him to stop and he didn’t? He’d said, hadn’t he, that I only had to say no. He’d been telling the truth. Yes? Had he? Fuck, I hardly knew him. What kind of idiot was I, making important judgements about people on such a flimsy basis?
‘Ouch,’ I said experimentally.
He stopped.
I let out a breath.
He yanked down my knickers.
I inhaled again.
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘No?’ he murmured, rubbing my stinging bum so very gently. ‘Enough?’
‘It’s OK,’ I decided. I’m telling him it’s OK to take down my knickers! Why am I telling him this? ‘Just … a surprise.’
‘Bad girls always get spanked on their bare bottoms, Sarah. I thought you’d know that.’
‘Yes, I did. Sorry, Sir.’
‘Thank you for your apology. You’re deliciously warm now. But not quite the right colour … so …’
The crack of his hand making contact with my bare skin was so supercharged with eroticism that I pushed my bottom out for more. I wanted that noise echoing in my ears, ringing around the room. I wanted to make a sound clip of it and listen to it over and over.
He repeated it, with variations, perhaps twenty or thirty times. His hand fell harder and harder, and then he sped up and that was when I started to struggle.
‘Painful, is it?’ he crooned, dashing off a final half-dozen while he massaged the shoulder he still held me by. ‘You should see the glow. Like a glorious sunset.’
He stayed his hand then, using it instead to caress my hot round arse cheeks.
‘How was that?’ he whispered.
I contemplated my position, bent over a desk with my knickers around my ankles and my soundly spanked bottom on display. I was so wet he must be able to smell me, matching up the aroma with that he’d sniffed on the strop earlier.
Oh. The strop. What about that?
‘Thank you, Sir,’ I said.
He made a sound of deep satisfaction.
‘You’re good,’ he said. ‘You can stay.’
I tried to push myself up but he held me firm.
‘Ah, ah, ah, not so fast,’ he said.
I heard the slither of leather close to my ear, felt it creep off my back.
‘The punishment has to fit the crime, remember.’