Page 13 of The Count

A single drop of arousal rolled down my inner thigh, blazing hot and utterly shameful. He paused for a moment, using his finger to catch it.

My mouth went dry as a desert.

He took that wetness and wiped it across my stinging bottom cheek. My shame expanded in the back of my throat like a cotton ball.

He spanked me even harder after that. I struggled to take it. Then, something happened. My body relaxed. My back arched a little and the rest of me succumbed to the punishment.

My eyes watered and I blinked several times. I sucked in a breath, trying to keep my composure and he started to spank my thighs so hard that I started to fight what felt like very inevitable tears.

“Please. I’m sorry. I won’t leave my rooms at night,” I begged.

“I mean to make sure of it, my bad girl,” he reassured me, and I sniffled, tensing as a few particularly hard strikes nearly stole my breath away.

Then I started to cry. There was no stopping it. One moment, my eyes were dry and the next there were tears dripping down my cheeks.

I wailed and the spanking slowed, each smack heavy and deep and my clit pulsed with need. Finally, he stopped, and I just lay over the table, trying to catch my breath. For a moment, he allowed me to stay there.

That moment passed far too soon.

He grasped my upper arm and lifted me off the table. I nearly stumbled, but he quickly steadied me. Gently, he led me to a corner of the room.

“Hands on your head. Nose in the corner. I want to see your bright red bottom while I prepare the next part of your punishment.”

I whimpered. It wasn’t over?

I followed his instructions. I made no move to pull my panties up or my leggings. They’d fallen down past my knees now, but what did it matter? He’d already seen all of me.

I heard him open the fridge. I sniffled, feeling more than a little sorry for myself. I threaded my fingers together on the back of my head, wondering if he was looking at my ass. Did he still like what he saw? Did he enjoy the fact that he’d been the first man to spank me ever in my life?

Was he still hard?

A soft clatter sounded behind me, piquing my curiosity. What was he doing? I tried to quiet my interest, wanting to be obedient like he told me to be, but also wanting to know what he had planned. Slowly, my tears dried, and I eventually got a hold of myself.

I stood there with my bottom stinging. As the seconds passed, maybe minutes, I wasn’t sure, I became shamefully aware of the absolutely soaked state of my pussy and I wanted nothing more than to take my hands off my head and slide my fingers over my needy, throbbing clit until I came.

The worst part was I knew that I would be thinking about the way he’d pinned me over the table and punished me the whole time.

Soon enough, I couldn’t resist the temptation anymore. I had to look. I had to see what he was doing, but I also desperately needed to know that his cock was hard too.

For me.

CHAPTER4

JASMINA

It felt like I shouldn’t be looking, but I did anyway. I peered at his tall strong form, admiring the way his suit hugged the planes of his muscles. I tried to temper my reaction, but it was difficult. His back was wide at the shoulders, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it looked like beneath his shirt. Would he be just as chiseled as I imagined?

His waist narrowed at his hips. His legs were strong too, thick, and sturdy beneath his slacks.

My gaze stole to his crotch.

His cock was massive, and it was still rock hard. I could see the outline tented clearly through the fabric of his pants.

I fidgeted, stepping from one foot to the other.

A cock that big would hurt a lot when he fucked me.

When. Not if.When.

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