Page 59 of Objection

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Each growing sharper.

I played with her sensation.

Swat, swat, stroke.

Swat, stroke, stroke.

My nails scratching over her heated skin.

Her skin erupting in goosebumps.

Tense. Melt.

The crop dropped and I picked up the flogger.

Christ the way her body melted into the spanking bench to a whole new level at the feel of the thuddy hit.

Melt. Melt.

Scratch, pinch.

Gasp, groan.

Each sensation, every reaction, I drank in like a man dying of dehydration.

The flogger made way for a heavy paddle.

Her body tensed; her gasps grew short.

“Breathe, little one,” I reassured, pulling a single earbud out of her ear only momentarily. She nodded, and I resumed.

Swat, swat.

Tense, tense.

Soothe.

Melt.

Again.

I swapped the paddle out for a crop. It was new, but she was ready. I knew it.

Tap, tap, tap.

Prepare her.

Tense, melt.

Tap, tap, tap.

Swat.

I groaned, watching her hands fist, her body arch, her lips hiss.

Temptress.

Tap, tap, tap, swat!

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