The second one lands on the other cheek, just as hard. I yelp, fingers digging into the couch cushion.
"That's for lying to me about it."
A third. A fourth. He's methodical, alternating sides, covering every inch of my exposed skin with heat and pain. I'm squirming against his lap, trying to get away, but his other hand presses harder on my lower back, holding me in place.
"Stay still,mija." The word is low, almost gentle, completely at odds with the punishment he's delivering. "Take what you earned."
"Stop!" I gasp. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again!"
"You're right. You won't."
He keeps going. Five, six, seven. I lose count. The pain blurs into something else, something hot and overwhelming that spreads from my ass to my core, and I realize with horror that I'm not just gasping from the spanking.
I'm wet.
He has to feel it. His thigh is pressed right against my center, and every time I squirm, I'm grinding against him, and I can't stop, can't control my body, can't do anything but take what he's giving me and try not to moan.
The last spank is the hardest. I cry out, tears springing to my eyes, my whole body shaking.
And then it's over.
He pulls my shorts back up, the fabric dragging over my burning skin, and I whimper at the friction. His hand stays on my lower back for one long moment—warm, steady, almost gentle.
Then he lifts me off his lap and sets me on my feet.
I'm trembling. My face is wet with tears I don't remember crying. My ass is on fire, and between my legs, I'm throbbing with something that is definitely not pain.
Cesar stands up. He's breathing harder than he was before, but his face is unreadable again, locked down tight.
"Go to bed," he says. "And don't ever make me do that again."
He walks past me without another word, disappearing down the hall toward his room.
I stand there for a long time, shaking, aching, confused.
Humiliated.
And so turned on I can barely think.
I go to my room and lock the door.
I lie face-down on my bed because I can't bear to put pressure on my ass, and I stare at the pillow and try to process what just happened.
He spanked me. Like a child. Like a brat who needed to be taught a lesson.
I should be furious.
I should be on the phone to my father right now, demanding Cesar's head on a platter.
Instead, I'm sliding my hand into my shorts.
I'm so wet it's embarrassing, soaking through my thong, slick against my fingers the second I touch myself. I gasp at the contact. I'm swollen, aching, my clit throbbing like it has its own heartbeat.
I think about his hands.
How big they are. How hard they came down on my bare skin. The crack of his palm, the sting that spread through me like wildfire, the way he held me down like I weighed nothing.
I push two fingers inside myself and moan into my pillow.
