Page 8 of Dean's Delinquent

I can’t just pull out a cane. That will draw far more questions than I want to have answers to. This is not the time to divulge how much of a kinky fucker I really am.

Instead, I reach for the Loftry paddle. No one can question why I have it. School spirit should be celebrated in all its various, deviant ways, after all.

“Shelaine, demonstrate to Miss Hartwell how she is to stand at my desk and accept her punishment.”

At that, the little reporter pales just a touch. “Wait. You’re serious? You’re going to fucking cane me?”

“Language, Miss Hartwell. You will refrain from profanity while awaiting punishment in my office. And of course, I’m serious. Granted, it will be a school paddle and not a cane that will kiss your backside. So sorry to disappoint.”

She turns to Shelaine. “You just let him paddle you? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Before my secretary can answer, I butt in. “No, she doesn’t. Because Shelaine is a good girl and doesn’t need any sort of reminders to keep her obedient. Shelaine, the desk.”

Just as always, she eases her body over and grips the other edge, bending her in half and stretching her out. Ashleigh simply watches, her eyes so large and round I nearly drown in them. How I wish I could watch the emotions flit through them as I paddle her.

“Thank you, Shelaine. That will be all. And please tell my five o’clock that I will be with him shortly. Just have to take care of a few things first.”

“Yes, Mister Anderson.”

Once the door clicks closed, I turn to Ashleigh. “This is your last chance to say no. Either leave and go change the article right now, or submit to my punishment for willfully disobeying me. Your choice.”

My gaze locks onto hers as I toy with the button at the base of my sleeve. Does she even realize her eyes travel up my arm as I fold the crisp cloth, rolling it up to expose my forearm? I swear, I can almost hear her swallow as I flex my arm, showing off the strength flowing through my muscles.

When I go to the other, a light blush fans her cheeks. I take my time, rolling up the fabric in a slow, methodical way. She can say what she wants, spout off any protest she wishes, but she’s entranced by this simple action.

“Well,” I growl out, pulling her attention away from the bulging muscles as I make them dance with each minute movement. “What do you wish to do?”

For a moment, she merely sputters. “You’re absolutely serious.”

“Deadly.”

“Well then, why stop there?” she cries out, her eyes clearing as if coming out of a trance. With a twist of her lips, she pulls her skirt up, exposing herself in a way I didn’t expect. “Why not go all the way and smack my bare ass? Hmmm? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Yet another pathetic attempt to gain control.

My cock lurches forward as I glimpse her pale cheeks bisected by a dark red thong. Just the idea of turning her skin that same shade has precum pearling at my tip and smearing across my underwear. Fuck Doctor Andrew and his heavy-handed, but always correct ways. One of these days, I’ll deck his pompous ass.

“I had no intention of striking your bare bottom. But if you insist, I’m more than willing to oblige. Grip the other side of the desk. I can take it from there.”

As she reaches over, her limbs lengthen, stretching her taut. God, but she’s perfection. Even if she’s not so willing, she’s a vision of submission. How much lovelier would she be if she were taking my punishment with the practiced grace I’ve come to expect from the Society submissives?

But then, part of me likes this show of defiance. I get off on it. It’s so different and unexpected. A challenge. Just as I’ve been wanting, craving even.

As I stare down at her prone form, I resist the urge to reach out and caress her, to see if her pussy is as soaked as I imagine it to be. With her looking at me like this, I can’t just look down and check. Once I’m paddling her, though, I will certainly drink her in. Every. Fucking. Inch that I can see.

She turns to look at me, her cheeks blazing with what I can only assume is anger. Soon, they will be just as red as her ass when I get through with her. Now I’m beginning to see what Grigori and James like so much about their brats. It’s exhilarating knowing that I will forcibly bend her to my will.

Tisking softly, I gather the hem of her skirt and tuck it into the band of her thong. Not that I really need to. With her bent over like this, it comes about halfway up her ass, anyway.

It takes every ounce of willpower not to make a donkey of myself right then and there. Do I want to punish her? Yes. But do I want to bury myself into her pussy even more? Fuck yeah, I do. All I can hope is that this show of defiance will somehow lead into far more devious actions. Ones I can use to bend her to my depraved will.

“Last chance, Miss Hartwell. Will you yield?”

She glances over her shoulder and glares at me. Her eyes speak of defiance and anger, but the way her jaw hangs slightly ajar speaks of lust. Pure and simple.

“The free press doesn’t yield,” she retorts as her lips twist up into a ‘make me’ sneer.

I want to laugh. Truly, I do. The whole thing is absurd. Comical even. The fact that I have little miss Ashleigh Hartwell face down and ass up on my desk over an article is just hilarious in a way I can’t even put into words.

It should exasperate me. It should make me want to throttle her and cast her into the abyss of The Society where others can and will teach her to have manners and do so in the most agonizing way. But no. All it does is make me want her even more.

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