“No, ma’am.”
“Then don’t.”
I freeze. Every nerve feels like it’s waiting for her next move. She walks around me again, her hand brushing my back, my hip, my jaw—soft touches that still manage to feel like orders.
“Good,” she says finally. “You learn fast.”
Her palm lands with a firm smack against my chest. Not hard, just enough to remind me who’s setting the pace. She does it again, a little harder, and the sound of it echoes louder than it should in the quiet room.
“That’s for thinking too much.”
I breathe out. “Yes, ma’am.”
She studies me for a second, then nods toward the bed. “Then we’ll keep going.”
My pulse jumps. I move where she tells me, sitting first, then lowering down when she gestures again. The sheets are soft against my skin, cool and expensive. I can feel her watching me, waiting for me to settle.
“Hands flat,” she demands. “Face down. You stay still unless I tell you otherwise.”
I obey. The position makes me feel exposed, vulnerable in a way I didn’t expect, but I don’t fight it. That’s the point.
She walks around the bed, her footsteps slow and even. I can feel the shift in the air as she comes to stand behind me. A pause. Then a light touch across my back, fingers tracing over tense muscles, making sure I’m paying attention.
“Color?”
“Green,” I breathe.
What follows is a hard smack on my left ass cheek. It’s controlled, deliberate. She gives me another on the right, then left, then right again. Every time I tense, she waits until I exhale before continuing. It’s not punishment. It’s rhythm. It’s release.
Between each one, her hand smooths down my back, grounding me, keeping me present.
When it’s over, she presses her palm against the back of my neck, warm and steady. “Good boy,” she murmurs. “You’re learning fast.” She snaps her fingers. “Up.”
I push myself upright, still catching my breath, and she nods toward the cross. “There.”
My legs feel unsteady as I move across the room. Every nerve in my body’s alive, humming like I’ve been rewired. I adjust my cock without thinking, trying to get comfortable, but there’s no hiding how much she’s gotten under my skin.
I’ve never been as hard and dripping as I am right now. There’s a damn wet spot on the front of my boxers from my precum.
She notices—of course she does—and the corner of her mouth lifts like she’s proud of the effect she has on me.
“Hands up.” A quiet order. “Let’s see if you can stay still.”
The wood is warm against my back when she straps me in, and my pulse won’t slow down. She steps in close, eyes on mine.
“Breathe,” she tells me again, voice calm, controlled. “You’re doing fine. This isn’t about pain—it’s about letting go.”
She walks around me slowly, nails trailing over my shoulder and down my ribs. The touch makes my muscles jump. Then she picks up a crop from the table, flicks it lightly against my thigh once. Just enough to sting.
I suck in a breath. She smiles as if she’s testing how much I can take. Another light tap, higher this time. My skin burns in the best way.
“You’ll stay present,” she warns. “If your mind drifts, I’ll bring you back.”
I nod, head falling back against the cross. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Color?”
“Green.”
