Page 67 of Thor

I moved slowly, unsure exactly how to position myself. He helped, his big hands guiding me until I was draped over his thighs, my ass in the air, my face turned to the side against the comforter. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and weirdly safe all at once.

His hand came to rest on my lower back, warm and heavy. "You comfortable?" he asked.

I nodded against the bedding, then remembered he wanted verbal confirmation. "Yes," I said. "I'm okay."

"Remember, you can say yellow or red anytime. No questions asked, no judgment." His thumb rubbed small circles against my spine. "And if you can't remember the words, just say stop. I'll listen. I promise."

That promise, delivered in his deep, serious voice, melted something inside me.

"Are you ready, princess?" he asked, his hand still making those soothing circles on my back.

Was I? My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty, and I was draped half-naked across the lap of a man who could probably bench press a motorcycle. But underneath the nerves was a steady pulse of yes, please, finally.

I turned my head, looking up at him over my shoulder. His face was tight with restraint, but his eyes—God, his eyes were hungry. "Green," I said. "I'm sure."

His hand moved from my back, hovering over my ass. "I’ll count them for you," he promised. "Just remember your words."

I nodded, facing forward again, gripping the edge of the mattress. I had no idea what to expect. Would it hurt? Would I cry? Would I hate it? Would I love it? The questions swirled in my head like a tornado, but underneath them all was a strange, buzzing anticipation.

I felt his hand withdraw, heard the slight shift in his breathing, and braced myself.

The first strike caught me completely off guard. It wasn't the pain—though there was pain, a sharp sting that bloomed across my right cheek. It was the shock of contact, the deliberate way Thor's hand connected with my flesh. The sound came first—a crisp crack that seemed to echo in the quiet room—then the sting, then a strange, spreading warmth that rippled outward. I gasped, my body tensing, even as Thor's deep voice rumbled above me: "One."

Before I could fully process what had happened, his palm was caressing the spot he'd just struck, soothing the heat with gentle circles. The contrast was jarring—pain followed immediately by comfort. My brain scrambled to make sense of it.

"Color?" he asked quietly.

"Green," I answered, surprising myself with how quickly the word came. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, but beneath the surprise was curiosity. What would the next one feel like?

I didn't have to wait long. His hand lifted, then came down on my left cheek this time. The sound was just as sharp, the sting perhaps a little more intense since I knew what was coming. I flinched but didn't cry out.

"Two," Thor counted, his voice level and calm. Again, the immediate follow-up of his palm soothing the spot he'd spanked, rubbing away the worst of the sting and leaving that same spreading warmth behind.

By the third strike, I was starting to understand the rhythm. The anticipation of the blow. The sharp crack and bloom of pain. The gentle, soothing caress. The way each touch, harsh or gentle, sent ripples of sensation through my entire body. It was like he was activating nerve endings I never knew I had.

"Three." His voice was steady, but his hand on my ass lingered longer this time, kneading the flesh he'd just struck. "You're doing so well, princess."

The praise sent an unexpected thrill through me. I'd always been a good girl—good grades, good job, good daughter. But being good for Thor felt different. It felt so real.

The fourth strike was harder, making me jerk against his lap. "Four," he counted, then asked, "Color?"

"Green," I said again, and this time there was a catch in my voice that had nothing to do with pain. Something was happening to me. Each impact sent waves of sensation not just across my ass but radiating through my whole body. Including between my legs, where a heavy, insistent pulse had begun.

"Five." The fifth strike was as hard as the fourth, but I was ready for it now. I didn't just endure it—I found myself leaning into it, almost pushing my ass up to meet his hand. What the hell was happening to me?

Thor must have noticed the change in my posture because his hand lingered after this stroke, fingers dipping slightly lower, skating along the crease where my thigh met my ass. Not touching anything intimate, but close enough that my breath caught.

"Halfway there," he murmured, voice deeper now. "You're taking this so well, princess. I bet you’ll never disobey me again."

I felt myself melt at the praise, like butter on a hot skillet. The initial shock and nervousness was giving way to something else—a floaty, dreamy feeling where the pain didn't register as pain anymore. It was just sensation, intensity, like a strong drink burning down your throat but leaving you warm and loose afterward.

“Never, Daddy,” I whispered.

The sixth blow landed, and I heard a small sound escape me—not a cry of pain, but something needier. "Six," Thor counted, and was it my imagination or was his voice rougher now?

His hand lingered after this strike, rubbing slow circles on my heated skin. I felt myself sinking deeper into that strange, trancelike state. The rest of the world fell away until there was only this—only Thor's lap under me, his hand on my body, the push and pull of pain and pleasure.

"Seven." The next blow seemed to light up every nerve ending, and this time I definitely moaned. I felt wetness between my legs, my body responding in ways I hadn't anticipated. I should have been embarrassed, but in that floaty space, nothing seemed to matter except the next touch, the next sensation.

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