Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“You’re going to wear these,” he said softly, “but not how you’re used to.”
Before I could process his words, he began stretching the delicate lace, pulling the leg openings wider. My breath caught as I realized what he intended. “Please, sir, I—”
“Shh.” He positioned the panties above my head, then slowly, deliberately, began pulling them down. The waistband caught on my hair, tugging slightly as he worked them lower. The leg openings framed my face obscenely, and then—oh, God—the soaked gusset pressed directly against my nose.
The scent of my arousal surrounded me, inescapable. Every breath I took filled my lungs with evidence of my desperation. I whimpered, the sound muffled by the fabric, as he adjusted the panties to ensure the wettest part sat perfectly over my nostrils.
“There,” he murmured with satisfaction. “Now you can’t pretend you’re not a desperate little slut, can you? Every breath reminds you of what you are.”
My pussy clenched hard at his words, at this complete degradation. How could I be aroused by this? How could my body respond with such urgent need when I was kneeling on his office floor with my own soaked panties over my head like some kind of perverted mask?
But that was the thing about Scott—he didn’t just dominate my body. He reached into the darkest corners of my mind and pulled out fantasies I didn’t even know I had. Jacob had been controlling, yes, had used my body according to his rights as my husband. But it had always felt… surface level. Obligatory. Like he was following a script from the New Modesty handbook.
Scott was different. He saw through me, into me, finding those shameful desires I’d buried so deep I’d forgotten they existed. And somehow, in the midst of this complete humiliation, he made me accept them. Made me accept myself.
The realization hit me like a physical blow: I was falling in love with him.
Not just attracted to him, not just submitting to his authority. Actually falling in love with this man who could strip me bare in every sense, who could make me beg for things that should horrify me.
“Stand up and turn around,” he commanded, breaking through my spiraling thoughts.
I obeyed, the panties still covering my face, my vision obscured by the white lace. I felt him move behind me, his hands on my hips, guiding me toward the easy chair next to the coffee table.
“Bend over,” he said. “Elbows on the seat of the chair. Just like Ruth when she got her bottom fucked.”
CHAPTER 14
Grace
Unable to stop myself and unable to think about why, because the sheer humiliation of having my panties over my face seemed to turn the whole world hot and red, I positioned myself exactly as he commanded. My elbows sinking into the soft leather of the chair seat, forcing my back to arch further, my bare bottom to stick out more. I felt the white dress ride up immediately, exposing everything below my waist. The wet gusset of my underwear pressed against my nose making every breath a reminder of my shameful arousal. My backside felt impossibly vulnerable, raised and presented for whatever he intended.
He won’t… he won’t do that… will he? Not what Abe did to Ruth. Will he? I felt my forehead crease so hard it hurt. A tiny whimper escaped my chest.
I heard him moving behind me, the soft whisper of fabric that told me he was removing his belt. My whole body tensed in anticipation, remembering Sharon’s paddle, remembering Abe’s belt on Ruth’s bottom. But when the first strike landed, it wasn’t leather—it was his hand, hard and unforgiving against my right cheek.
The sharp crack echoed through the office, followed immediately by the burning sting. I cried out, the sound muffled by the panties over my face, my fingers clutching at the leather cushion. He didn’t pause, didn’t give me time to process. His hand came down again on my left cheek, then back to the right, establishing a punishing rhythm that had me sobbing within minutes.
Each strike seemed harder than the last, his palm covering so much more area than Sharon’s horrid paddle had. After thirty seconds, I was bouncing my knees, clenching my punished cheeks, trying desperately to escape the relentless punishment even as my pussy grew wetter with each impact. The contradiction made my head spin—the genuine pain mixing with undeniable arousal until I couldn’t separate them anymore.
“Hold still,” Scott growled, putting his left hand across my waist to grip my hip and hold me in place.
“Please!” I yelped, after what seemed like an eternity, but must have been less than a minute. “Please, sir!”
“Please what?” His right hand never stopped its assault on my burning bottom, his left hand tightening as my attempts to escape grew more frantic. “Please stop? Or please fuck you?”