Then another.
He wasn’t holding back. Each impact came hard and fast. The sting was immediate, escalating into a deep, throbbing burn that spread through me like wildfire.
I kicked, my legs flailing out, trying to twist away. A string of curses, quick and breathless, spilled from my lips.
He pinned my legs with one of his, his weight settling over the back of my thighs. His other hand rested on the small of my back, holding me firmly in place with nothing more than his body.
I fought. I really did. I bucked, I squirmed, I tried to roll, my muscles straining against him.
But he was stronger. And he was relentless.
I buried my face in the cool silk pillow, my hands fisting in the fabric as I tried to survive the spanking. The burn built, layer upon layer, until my entire backside felt like it was scalded, a pulsing, molten brand of his making.
He paused.
I lay there, panting, my body trembling. The sudden silence was just as jarring as the impacts had been.
His palm smoothed over the curve of my ass, a gentle counterpoint to the intensity of the moments before. His fingers traced the line between my cheek and thigh, then dipped down, feather-light touches brushing against the slick, swollen lips between my legs.
He let out a soft, rough curse.
I jolted, not from pain, but from the shocking intimacy of the touch. My body reacted instantly, a fresh wave of heat washing over me, sending a flood to my pussy. A knot of arousal pulled tight deep in my core. I was so wet I could feel it dripping onto my thighs. And soaking his hand. I let out a shuddering breath.
“Christ, Katya,” he breathed, the words a hot puff against my skin. “You’re soaked.”
I couldn’t answer. My face was burning, a blush of shame and a dizzying, undeniable desire mixed together. I’d never been so turned on in my life, and the humiliation of it was almost as potent as my rising need.
His finger traced my entrance again, teasing, circling, before slowly, deliberately, sliding inside me.
I gasped, my back arching. He was right. I was drenched. His finger moved with an easy, slick glide, exploring me from the inside, hooking just slightly to find that spot that made me see spots before my eyes. He stroked it once, twice, in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made a moan slip from my lips.
Then he withdrew.
A whimper escaped me before I could bite it back.
I felt the loss of his touch deep in my core. But he wasn’t done. He quickly rearranged me over his knee and ran his finger backand forth through my slit. Then he brought that slick, coated finger up, slowly and purposefully, until it rested against the tight, puckered ring of my ass.
My entire body went rigid.
“Andrei,” I warned, my voice a strained whisper.
“Shh,” he murmured, his other hand stroking my lower back in a soothing gesture that was at complete odds with the fire he was about to light. “I want to do this and you will let me.”
He pressed gently. My muscles fought him instinctively, but he didn’t force it. He just held that slow, insistent pressure against my forbidden hole and there was nothing for me to do but survive it.
“Relax for me, princess,” he urged. “Let me in.”
His finger, still coated with my own arousal, was the only lubrication. It was obscene. It was terrifying. It was intimate, violating, and wickedly electrifying.
A soft gasp slipped free from my lips as my body gave way.
He paused, letting me adjust, his other hand still stroking my back. Slowly, he pushed deeper, burying his finger in all the way.
A choked sound escaped me. My hips lunged upward. The friction of his finger inside my ass, the lingering burn from the spanking, the shame of being so exposed and so wet—it was a vortex of sensation that threatened to pull me under.
He worked me open carefully, methodically, stretching me with a patience that was almost more punishing than the spanking itself. Each slow glide was a fresh wave of desire and vulnerability. After a few moments, he added a second finger.The stretch was more intense this time, a deep, full ache that made my thighs tremble.
I couldn’t help but cry out.
