Page 63 of Enforcer Daddy
My voice was getting higher, breathier, the counts becoming moans. The world had narrowed to just this—his hand on my skin, the building heat, the desperate need between my legs. I was floating somewhere outside my body while being completely present in it, aware of every sensation but removed from them simultaneously.
"Nineteen . . . twenty . . ."
At twenty, something shifted. The spanking had become rhythm, had become breath, had become a conversation between his palm and my skin that transcended words. I wasn't thinking anymore, wasn't planning or analyzing or protecting. I was just feeling, existing in this space he'd created where sensation was everything and nothing.
"Twenty-one . . . twenty-two . . ."
Each number floated from my lips without conscious thought. My body had gone liquid, pliant, accepting each strike like a gift. This must be what people meant by subspace—this dreamy, disconnected-but-connected feeling where pain became pleasure became something beyond both.
His hand rubbed between sets of five, soothing the sting while building the heat higher. Sometimes his fingers would trail so close to my pussy that I'd hold my breath, hoping he'd touch, but he never did. The denial was its own kind of torture, keeping me balanced on the edge of something I couldn't quite reach.
"Such a good girl," he murmured, and I realized I was crying—not from pain but from the intensity of it all, from the praise, from the care he took even while spanking me. "So perfect, taking your punishment so beautifully."
My ass was on fire now, the heat incredible but not unbearable. Each strike added to the burn, but also to thepleasure, the two sensations so intertwined I couldn't separate them. I was so wet I could feel it on my thighs, could smell my own arousal mixing with his cologne and the leather of the couch.
"Twenty-eight . . . twenty-nine . . ."
Almost done. Part of me wanted it to never end, to stay in this space where I was his good girl taking her spanking forever. But another part, a bigger part, desperately needed what came next, whatever that might be.
"Thirty."
The last strike was the hardest, firm enough to make me cry out, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment. Then his hands were on me, both of them, rubbing the heat into my skin, soothing and inflaming simultaneously.
"Perfect," he said, voice rough with his own need. "You were absolutely perfect, little one."
His hands kept moving on my heated skin, no longer pretending this was just about soothing the sting. Each pass grew bolder, fingers dipping lower, spreading my cheeks slightly, making me gasp and arch into his touch. I could feel him hard beneath my stomach, his cock pressing against me through his pants, and the knowledge that he was as affected as I was made me even wetter.
"You're dripping," he said, voice rough as gravel. His fingers traced the crease where my ass met my thighs, so close to where I needed him. "I can see how wet you are, little one. Can smell how much you want this."
I pushed back against his hand, shameless in my need, no longer caring about dignity or control. "Please, Daddy, please touch me."
His fingers brushed against my pussy, just the lightest graze against my swollen lips, and I nearly came from that barely-there contact. A broken moan tore from my throat, my wholebody shuddering, and I felt his cock twitch beneath me in response.
"Fuck," he groaned, fingers sliding through my wetness, not entering but just feeling how soaked I was. "You're so wet, Eva. So ready."
I was beyond ready. I was desperate, empty, aching in ways I'd never experienced. Every nerve ending was alive, every cell crying out for more. His fingers traced my slit, gathering wetness, and when he brushed against my clit—just the smallest touch—I screamed.
"Please," I begged, not even sure what I was begging for anymore. "Daddy, please, I need—"
"I know what you need," he said, but his hand withdrew, leaving me empty and wanting. "Stand up."
The command took a moment to process through my lust-fogged brain. Stand? How was I supposed to stand when my bones had melted, when my legs were jelly, when my pussy was clenching around nothing?
His hands helped, guiding me up, steadying me when my legs shook. The shorts fell completely off as I stood, leaving me in just his t-shirt, naked from the waist down. My ass burned with the most delicious heat, and I could feel my arousal literally dripping down my thighs.
When I turned to face him, what I saw made my breath catch.
Dmitry looked wrecked. His control, that iron discipline he wore like armor, had cracked. His pants were tented obscenely, the outline of his cock clear through the fabric. There was a wet spot where I'd been lying, evidence of how aroused I'd been. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, like he was physically stopping himself from reaching for me.
"Look what you do to me," he said, voice strained. "Look what you've done."
I looked. God, did I look. He was huge, straining against his pants, and I wanted nothing more than to drop to my knees, to free him, to take him in my mouth and show him how good I could be.
Chapter 12
Dmitry
Thelastthreadofmy control snapped like a wire under too much tension. Thirty strikes against her perfect ass, watching her drip down her thighs, feeling her soak through my pants—I was done pretending this could wait. She stood there in just my t-shirt, naked from the waist down, her arousal literally running down her legs.
