Page 33 of Punish Me, Daddy

Breathless. Shaky. Betraying me.

Another strike landed—hard and fast.

My pussy clenched, catching me off guard with its intensity.

He didn’t give me any time to recover between swats, so I didn’t expect it when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my shorts. I froze, hands pressing into the cool marble beneath me, breath locking in my throat.

“No—”

He didn’t say a word.

Just pulled them down.

Slow. Intentional. No rush. No hesitation.

My cotton shorts slid down my thighs inch by inch, dragging over skin that suddenly felt too exposed, too hot. The air hit me like a slap—a rush of cold against burning flesh. My face went red, but not from the impact.

From thehumiliationof having my shorts pulled down for no other reason than that I’d been a bad girl, and I was getting spanked.

He left my shorts bunched around my knees.

The burning sting of his earlier smacks still tingled beneath the surface—but now, with my bare skin exposed, I felt everything more acutely.

Everything.

I glanced over my shoulder, wide-eyed, mouth parted.

“You can’t do that,” I whispered.

His eyes met mine. Calm. Cold. Unshakable.

“You made your choices, naughty girl,” he said simply.

And then his hand came down on my bare ass.

The sound echoed off the walls, louder than it should have. My whole body jolted, and the sting bloomed fast—hot, quick, and shocking—radiating out like fire licking across my skin.

“Aiiyy—!” I gasped, eyes flying open.

Another.

Then another.

Each one landed with perfect precision. Not wild. Not careless. Each strike measured and delivered with absolute purpose.

This wasn’t some petty revenge fantasy. This wasn’t about bruised ego or proving a point. This was about disciplinebecause I overstepped into his world.

I squirmed against the pressure of his arm holding me down, my hands clawing at the edge of the counter.

“Nikolai, that’s enough!” I shrieked.

Another smack. Harder.

I whimpered this time. My thighs quivered. My skin was hot, burning, and not just where he was touching me. I hated that my body was confused, that the pain was laced with a lick of a different kind of heat. I tried to ignore it.

Worse than the pain, I was scared. Just a little.

Because I thought this would be a game. I thought he’d bluff. That maybe he’d bark and threaten and storm out, and I’d be left smug and victorious, curled up in silk sheets with my winnings and my pride intact.

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