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“Last night, in the club, you came for me like a stripper, performing for a client,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

He pushed the tip of his thumb inside me, just a fraction and I cried out, my entire body tensing. He hadn’t used any lube, not even my own juices, and it burned. My entire body clenched around him, trying to push him out, but he simply pushed his thick digit in deeper.

“Now,” he growled, “you’re going to come for me like my naughty little pet.”

His fingers slipped between my legs, finding my clit while he kept his thumb inside my bottom hole. He circled it once, twice, a light, teasing touch that made me whimper. I tried to squirm away, but he just fingered my asshole more roughly, and I finally stilled.

“Don’t fight me.”

“I hate you,” I sobbed, the words torn from me.

“No, you don’t.”

He pushed his thumb deeper, stretching me, punishing me. The cacophony of sensations was overwhelming: the scalding bite of pain from my welted bottom and thighs to the intense pleasure from his fingers, and finally to the shocking intimacy of his thumb inside my ass.

“You’re going to wear a tail for me soon,” he murmured, the words a dark, possessive promise. “A pretty little tail, right here, so everyone knows who you belong to.”

The image was so debauched, so utterly humiliating, that a fresh wave of shame washed over me, even as arousal flooded my pussy. I fought him then, bucking my hips as wildly and desperately as I could, but it was futile. He was in complete control.

“Still fighting me, little pet? Do you need more of my belt?”

“No more belt. Please!”

“Then be a good girl and take what I give you.”

Defeated, I went limp over the arm of the sofa, a sobbing, pliant mess, my body begging for what my mind was still trying to reject.

“Good girl,” he crooned, the approval in his voice like a caress. “That’s my good girl.”

My whole body warmed at his praise.

His thumb pushed in deeper as his fingers found my clit again. This time, I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. I rocked back against him, taking him in, chasing the pleasure he was offering. His fingers moved with a devastating skill, making me tremble and gasp and bite back a moan. The sting from the spanking, the fullness in my ass, the slick heat between my thighs—it all merged into one overwhelming, all-consuming sensation.

“Come for Daddy, little pet,” he commanded. “Now.”

The command broke me.

My orgasm tore through me, and I cried out, my body convulsing, my pussy clenching under his hand, my ass clenching around his thumb. It went on and on until I was nothing but a collection of trembling, overwhelmed nerves, sobbing into the leather cushion, completely spent.

When it was finally over, I collapsed over the arm of the sofa. He pulled his thumb free, and I sobbed in relief until I realized that my entire bottom was still burning, inside and out. His hands gentled, no longer punishing but soothing. He traced the welts on my bottom and thighs, his touch a strange, comforting balm against my punished skin.

He left me there for a long moment, just breathing, just feeling the aftermath. Then he scooped me up into his arms and carried me upstairs to the bedroom. He laid me down on the bed, face down on my stomach, pulling up a soft blanket to cover my legs but leaving my spanked bottom and thighs exposed to the cool air.

I heard him in the bathroom, running the water and rummaging in a cabinet, then he returned and sat beside me. I heard the click of a cap opening, then the cool, soothing touch of lotion on my burning skin. He smoothed the cream over the welts gently. He worked methodically, covering every inch he’d thrashed so very thoroughly.

“You’re going to learn,” he scolded gently, “that disobedience has its consequences.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I just lay there, my mind a confused, embarrassed, aroused mess.

His hands continued their work with long, slow, soothing strokes. He moved lower, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin at the tops of my thighs, then dipping between them, finding the slick heat that still lingered there.

“You’re still so wet for me, even now.”

Shame warred with the undeniable truth of his words. He was right. I was soaking wet. I knew it, and now he knew it too.

His fingers explored me then, teasing my folds and circling my entrance without entering me. I tried to stay still, to pretend I wasn’t affected, but my hips had a mind of their own, rocking back, seeking more, and then a soft, desperate sound escaped my lips.

He chuckled darkly. “There’s my sweet little pet.”