Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
I continued to struggle, but as his hand moved across my heated flesh, I felt a treacherous sense of relief flood through me. This was what I had needed from Ryan—not hesitation and guilt, but firm, decisive action. Master Paul wasn’t asking if this was okay or apologizing for what he was about to do. He was simply doing it.
“I said, do you understand?” His voice carried a warning that made my pussy clench despite my fear.
“Yes,” I whispered, my struggles becoming more halfhearted as arousal began to course through my body.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Master Paul.”
“Good.” His hand lifted from my bottom, and I braced myself for the first blow. When it came, it was hard and sharp, nothing like Ryan’s tentative swats. The sound echoed through the room, and I cried out at the immediate sting.
“You were warned not to touch yourself,” Master Paul continued, his hand falling again across my other cheek. “But you couldn’t help yourself, could you? You’re so desperate for stimulation that you disobeyed within hours of arriving here.”
I squirmed across his lap, my movements becoming more frantic as the spanking continued. But each struggle only seemed to send fresh waves of arousal through my body, making my pussy grow wetter despite the pain blooming across my backside.
“I can tell you’re getting turned on,” Master Paul observed, his hand pausing mid-stroke. “Your body is responding exactly as it should. But you’re being punished, and I’m going to spank this horniness right out of you.”
His hand resumed its relentless rhythm, each blow harder than the last. The spanking continued without pause, the huge, strong hand falling with mechanical precision across my burning flesh. I couldn’t stop the thought from bubbling up in my fevered brain: unlike Ryan, this man knew how to punish a naughty girl properly. No leniency, no stopping to ask if I was okay. Just the steady rhythm of punishment that my body craved even as my mind recoiled from it.
“Your husband tried to be gentle with you,” Master Paul said, his voice calm and measured as his palm connected forcefully with my sit spot. “He thought kindness would be enough. But you need firm boundaries, don’t you, Heather?”
I twisted desperately across his lap, my movements becoming more frantic with each stinging blow. But the struggling only made everything worse—or better, depending on how I looked at it. Every writhe and buck sent jolts of electricity straight to my core, my body interpreting the helplessness as arousal rather than distress.
“Stop fighting and answer me,” he commanded, his hand pausing just long enough to rub the heated flesh he’d been punishing. The gentle touch after the harsh spanking made me whimper with need.
“I don’t know,” I gasped, my voice breaking as I tried to process the conflicting sensations. “I don’t know what I need.”
“Liar.” The word was delivered with another sharp slap that made me cry out. “Your body knows exactly what it needs. Look how wet you’re getting from this.”
The humiliation of his observation made me struggle even harder, but Master Paul’s grip was unrelenting. His left arm tightened around my waist, pulling me more firmly against his thighs while his right hand continued its work. Every movement I made seemed to press my aching pussy against his leg, sending shameful pleasure through me.
“That’s it,” he murmured, and I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Fight all you want. It just proves my point.”
He was right, and we both knew it. The more I struggled, the more aroused I became. My body was betraying me completely, turning what should have been punishment into the most intense sexual experience I’d had since Chad. The realization made me sob with frustration and need.
“Please,” I whimpered, though I wasn’t sure what I was begging for anymore. “Please, I can’t—”
“What you think you can or can’t take is irrelevant.” His hand fell again, targeting the tender crease where my bottom met my thighs. “You’re going to learn to accept your husband’s authority. You’re going to learn to ask permission before touching what belongs to him.”
The spanking intensified, each blow landing on spots that made me scream.
“I could look at the data from your perineal sensor if I wanted,” Master Paul said, his voice taking on a conversational tone even as his hand continued its relentless work. “See exactly how your body is responding to this. But I like to do things the old-fashioned way.”
He said nothing more, just delivered blow after blow to my burning flesh with mechanical precision. The silence was somehow worse than his lecturing had been—just the sound of his palm connecting with my skin, my ragged breathing, and the occasional whimper that escaped my lips.
The pain built steadily, each slap landing on increasingly tender flesh. My struggles became more desperate, more frantic, as the arousal that had been building began to ebb under the relentless assault. The pleasure I’d been deriving from the helplessness started to fade, replaced by genuine distress as the spanking went on and on.