Page 35 of His Naughty Girl

“Yes?” she asked.

Purely out of instinct, I pushed a little further, tilting my head a bit and intensifying my gaze. Andrea swallowed visibly.

“Yes, sir?” she whispered.

“Good girl,” I told her, smiling again and then watching her own mouth curve upward at the praise. A surge of warmth filled my chest, and at that moment I knew it for sure—I had fallen hard for Andrea Jacobsen. But where we went from here didn’t seementirely clear to me, given the complexity of her reaction to life in Cato.

“I’d like to take you up to your bedroom,” I told her frankly.

Andrea started to chew on her lower lip, looking intently into my eyes. The blush in her cheeks grew darker in the red glow of the setting sun.

“What… what does that mean?” she asked.

“I think you know what it means,” I replied, refusing to let her off the hook. I could see in her blue eyes that she definitely did know. I had not the slightest doubt that Ethan had made use of his associate privileges to enjoy that sweet mouth with his cock.

The pink tip of Andrea’s tongue slipped out of her mouth, as if despite her mind’s efforts her body wanted to prepare itself for the service she knew she must give. I didn’t want to demand that service, though, or at least not in the way I felt certain Ethan had. I wanted to help her resolve the conflict I could see troubling her eyes.

“Could we…” she started. “Could we maybe just, you know, cuddle? And maybe… like, kiss?”

I smiled as gently as my raging erection would allow.

“We’ll start there, sweetheart. But if you let me take you up to your bedroom, there are only two ways it can end.”

Andrea’s eyes went very wide.

“Wh-what do you mean?” she whispered. I thought I could see her pulse jump in her throat, even in the fading light.

“With my cock in your mouth, or with you over my knee with your panties down for another spanking,” I said matter-of-factly, studying Andrea’s face intently to gauge her reaction.

Her lips parted, but for a moment no sound came out. Then she breathed, “You’d…makeme?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes, sweetheart. If I have to, I’ll make you suck my cock like the good girl I know you can be.”

Andrea

A few minutes later Dylan’s big hand, on my bottom, propelled me gently into my bedroom. We had said a brief hello to Devin and Greta, who were watching TV in the den. To my relief, Dylan hadn’t said anything to Devin about my misbehavior in the restaurant or the humiliating consequences he had imposed.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turned to Dylan, my breath hitching in my throat as I caught sight again of just how handsome my suitor was. The soreness from my spanking in the truck had gone away completely, but the memory lingered insistently both in my mind and, worse, down there where that strong hand had corrected my faults. I wondered if something about the training panties had the property of making a girl’s bottom and pussy extra sensitive, or extra receptive, or something, to old-fashioned discipline.

“Will…” I started, and then I saw that same look in Dylan’s eye that he had fixed me with in the truck, and with a flutter of my heart and a hard swallow I corrected myself. “Sir… will the other guests at the restaurant… will they…?”

“Gossip?” Dylan asked. “I don’t think so. People in Cato generally mind their own business, especially the older folks. You’re worried about Devin and Greta hearing?”

I nodded silently.

“Even if they did hear from a neighbor,” Dylan replied seriously, “they would trust my decision not to report you to them. I told you that you’re forgiven, and I meant it.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Dylan had respected my concern and answered it. More important, he had made clear an element of life in Cato that I hadn’t really yet appreciated. Spankings hurt, and they were embarrassing. I felt certain whippings were even worse, in that department. But once they were over, they were over. You got to move forward. I had paid fully for my childishness in the restaurant, and now I had the chance to show I could put it behind me.

The idea of what moving forward meant, though, here alone in my bedroom, made my tummy flip. The memory of Ethan’s hands on my shoulders and his rigid penis in my mouth rose into my mind. I felt my smile fade as I looked at Dylan, wondering what he meant to do—hoping and fearing at the same time.

I realized abruptly that I had unconsciously put my right hand behind me, over my bottom, as if to ward off the punishment for my refusal to pleasure him. It had sunk in on some level deeper than conscious thought: subservient girls of the Weathers household had no choice but to do that for an associate, or get their bare bottoms spanked.

No choice.

Dylan stepped toward me and took me into his arms. He put one hand on the small of my back and the other on my rear end. Ilet out a sob and melted into him, feeling all resistance leave my body.

The hand on my back moved higher, to cradle my head and to turn it gently to the side so that Dylan’s handsome mouth could meet mine. He kissed me softly, and then more urgently, his tongue dominating my mouth as if he meant to prepare me for my shameful service.

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