Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I squeezed my eyes shut, my cheeks burning with humiliation. How could she expect that of me? To ask for my own punishment, as if I wanted it?
I. Do. Not. Want. It.
“I’m waiting.” Sharon’s voice hardened. “Unless you’d prefer we make it fifteen swats instead of twelve?”
My eyes flew open in panic. To my disgust, my hands flew to cover my bare bottom. “No! I mean… please…” I swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. I took my shaking hands away and put them, clenched into fists, on the seat of the chair in front of me. “Please… paddle me… ma’am.”
“And why are you going to be paddled?” Sharon pressed, her tone just a hair away from mockery.
My whole body seemed to burn with embarrassment as I whispered, “Because I… I interrupted the orientation.”
“Louder,” Sharon commanded. “I want everyone to hear you.”
“I…” I croaked, trying to raise my voice and finding that I had to clear my throat before I could manage a single syllable. “I… interrupted.” I felt certain Sharon would keep demanding more, so I went on, in hopes of getting the whole thing over with as quickly as I possibly could. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
CHAPTER 3
Melissa
“Very good,” Sharon said, her voice full of sarcastic praise. “Now, let’s begin.”
I tensed, bracing myself for the impact. The seconds stretched into an eternity as I waited. I could hear my own ragged breathing, feel the rapid thudding of my heart against the chair’s back.
When the first swat finally came, it was both better and worse than I had imagined. The crack of the paddle against my bare flesh echoed through the room, followed by a burst of stinging pain that radiated outward from the point of impact. I gasped, more from shock than agony. The pain wasn’t as intense as I had feared. It hurt, certainly, but it was a sharp, localized sensation rather than the overwhelming agony I had anticipated. For a brief moment, I felt a flicker of relief.
“One,” I managed to choke out, remembering Sharon’s instructions and wanting to get it over with. “Th-thank you, ma’am.”
But as Sharon paused, as if to let the sting settle in, I realized that the physical discomfort represented the least of my worries. The heat from the paddle seemed to spread, radiating up and down through my body in waves. To my horror, I felt more of that unwelcome warmth coalescing low down, intensifying the mortifying arousal I had desperately tried to ignore.
“Ask for the next one,” Sharon prompted, her voice cool and professional.
I swallowed hard, fighting against the conflicting sensations coursing through my body. “Please… may I have another, ma’am?”
The second swat landed slightly lower than the first, overlapping just enough to reignite the sting. I yelped, then quickly counted and thanked Sharon, my voice trembling. I remembered, as humiliating as it felt, to request the next stroke.
As Sharon continued the punishment, I started to wonder if the slow rhythm she was establishing had a diabolical reason behind it. She followed each swat with a pause, just long enough for the pain to transform into the helpless, spreading warmth that fueled my body’s betrayal. The contrasts—pain and pleasure, humiliation and arousal—roiled inside me, threatening to steal what remained of my rationality.
“Five,” I gasped after a particularly hard stroke. “Thank you, ma’am. Please, may I have another?”
I closed my eyes, trying to push away the feeling of my fellow recruits’ gazes boring into me. I saw their faces behind my eyelids, nevertheless, wearing a mix of fascination, sympathy, and arousal. Knowing that my peers had to watch my punishment… wondering how they felt about it… I didn’t see how I could possibly ever work with them without blushing and hiding my eyes.
Sharon kept drawing out the paddling, making each swat count. She varied the force and placement, ensuring that every inch of my bottom and upper thighs would bear the evidence of my misconduct’s reward.
“Seven,” I counted, my voice hoarse. “Thank you, ma’am. Please… please, may I have another?”
As the paddling continued, my initial impression that it didn’t hurt as much as I had expected underwent serious modification. Each swat built upon the last, intensifying the pain and, between the strokes, the unwelcome arousal coursing through my body. The sharp crack of the horrid plastic against my bare flesh echoed through the room, each of those reports now followed by my increasingly desperate cries.
“Eight!” I choked out, tears streaming down my face. “Th-thank you, ma’am. Please… may I have another?”
Sharon’s next stroke landed with brutal precision across the curve where my bottom met my thighs. I let out a strangled sob, my legs trembling with the effort of staying in position. The burning sting traveled outward, mingling with the heat of my shameful arousal.
Worse, that ninth swat seemed to increase the agony exponentially, the pain simply growing and growing until, to my mortification, I couldn’t stop myself; I put my hands behind me to protect my backside and I tried to rise from the back of the chair, my eyes flooding with tears. Johnson and Ramirez apparently didn’t need Sharon’s command; I felt their hands on my shoulders almost instantly, pushing me firmly back into my place over the chair.