Page 185 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 1

He inhales. His exhalation sounds as affected as I feel. “Does it make you hot, bunny? Horny?”

I promised to obey him. I feel that includes honesty. “It does,” I whisper.

“Do you want my hand between your legs?”

Good god. “Yes.”

A warm palm slides up along the inside of my thigh, a barely there touch on my labia, on my clit. I jerk forward, suddenly afraid of the unknown. I’ve never, ever…

“Shhh,” he says. “Just the touch. Nothing more.”

I nod and swallow hard as I resume the position. His fingers, more demanding this time, gathering the flowing moisture, spreading it over my most private, sensitive area. I almost explode from the unbelievable sensation his caresses evoke. I wiggle my hips and push back on his hand. I want to feel him. More. More fingers. Touch me, I beg in my mind. Please.

“Do you remember the next ten slaps?” He keeps stroking. Up, down, drawing circles around my clit. He does it like I do it, and despite all that is new and scary, I feel the release coming closer with each moment.

“No, what?” I mewl.

He instantly removes his hand, and I sag in desperate frustration, the pending release escaping me. Then slap number eleven lands, making me straighten my legs and moan.

Number twelve.

“Why am I spanking your delicious butt?”

I try to think through the haze of desire and uproar. “Punish me,” I gasp as he keeps spanking me, making me impossibly hotter and needier.

“Good girl.” At ten, he pauses. “And the last ten?”

“T-to make me remember, but—”

“But?”

“I’m too— You make me—”

“Yes?”

“Excited. I can barely remember my own name.”

My tormentor chuckles. Then he gives me ten more rapid slaps, the last one hitting between my legs, making my nethers explode in pain.

I shoot forward and fall on his couch, my hands between my legs. “God!” My pussy and butt burn like floods of lava, and I rock back and forth, trying to take back control over my fragmented emotions.

“Now, how do you feel?” He picks up a throw blanket and wraps it around me, then lifts me with ease and cradles me in his arms.

As he sits, I tentatively lay my head against his chest and snuggle in. He smells fresh, of soap scented with bergamot. His heart beats as rapidly as mine.

“Hot.” I whisper. “And cold. I feel everything.”

He kisses the top of my head, and I all but melt in his strong arms.

“I’m Summer Jones,” I say.

His smile is a vision that makes my heart lurch.

“I know.”

I hesitate, then I blurt out, “I’m a virgin.”

“I know that too.”

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