Page 12 of Mason

“Did you like that?” he asks, catching me off guard with a stroke much firmer, more painful than the last. The sting takes me by surprise but I can’t lie. “Yes,” I say, so softly I barely hear it myself.

My mind just keeps repeating:

This isn’t happening.

Mason Wood did not tell me to strip naked and then put me over his desk to punish my bare bottom.

He spanks me again, twice in succession and with increasing force. I bite my lip to stop from crying out and barely have time to recover before he paddles me again. This time, I bite back a scream that is also a moan. Tears spring to my eyes but I blink them back. Why do I like this?

Mason flips his hand over and trails his fingers along my skin, soothing the stinging sensation with a gentle caress. “The markets can be very unforgiving,” he says, whispering. “They ebb and flow with unpredictability.”

My butt glows, throbs, pounds with hot blood that races through the tissue. It hurts, no question, but I’m reluctant to ask him to stop, because beneath the discomfort there’s something else. A low, deep throb of erotic pleasure.

His hand dips between my thighs, fingertips just grazing the tip of my clit. A delicious wave of ecstasy ripples through to my core. I let out a noise that is more whimper than moan, an almost plea for him to continue.

His palm connects again with my skin, harder. I dig my fingers into the side of the desk, arching and squirming. My flesh is pins and needles, stinging and numb. An intense yearning aches between my thighs, unlike anything I’ve ever before experienced.

“Sometimes, the markets can be cruel,” Mason says.

The ominous tone of his voice makes me clench, and yet, I’m still shocked when his hand hits my ass with another sharp slap. His fingertips drag across the tip of my clit and I feel the last of my willpower unravel.

My orgasm comes swiftly, unexpected. One second I’m biting down to stop from crying out, and the next, my pussy is clenched and throbbing beneath his touch. A wave of pleasure spasms through me, and in the throes of my climax, I whisper Mason’s name.

Chapter 7

In the long mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door, I study myself critically, looking for any symbol—however subtle—that I have changed.

I run my hands over my breasts, nipples tight beneath the silk top of my pajamas. My fingers slide across my gently sloped stomach, along the curve of my hips. My flesh is firm and resilient. Smooth. Unblemished.

No different than this morning, and still somehow—

Changed.

I turn, pirouetting on my toes, and look over my shoulder at the cheeks of my bottom. At one time, I would have said they were too round, too ample, but I’m not so sure anymore. If this afternoon is any indication, Mason is an artist that seems to prefer broad strokes. He certainly wasn’t complaining.

After my “punishment,” Mason told me coldly to get dressed and report for work in the morning. Then he left the office with me still in it.

I could have snooped, but I’m sure there are cameras everywhere.

Instead, I quickly got my clothes back on and hurried out as if my very life depended on exiting the building within a matter of seconds.

So, I got the job.

I sure did.

My skin tingles and I’m sure beneath my pajamas I’m still red from his touch. Reaching around, I cup myself, cradling my tender ass cheeks in my palms, remembering Mason’s hands on me. An inkling of fear—and pleasure—spikes through me. Why can’t I stop thinking about him and why is it always about being fucked by him?

As if I even know what it would be like.

My sexual experiences could fit in a thimble and have room left over.

Closing my bedroom door, I crawl onto the bed. The mattress digs into my back, but I don’t roll over. I stare at the ceiling instead, listening to the thump thump thump of the obnoxious music playing from the apartment overhead. I’ve never met the tenant, but based on the raw tunes and gritty lyrics that grind through the vents, I peg him early 20s.

A young and inexperienced dope of a guy, unlike the fully formed man that spanked me today in his office.

Heat rushes to my cheeks and I close my eyes to block out the mysterious stains on the ceiling. And now it’s Mason’s face I see, hovering over me with those smoldering eyes and that perfectly shaped mouth.

My ass stings and I should be absolutely ashamed, but I’d be lying if there wasn’t a lingering rush of adrenaline simmering behind that humiliation. I’ve never been spanked before—not even by my parents with a wooden spoon. Certainly I’ve never thought of it in a sexual context.