Page 43 of His Naughty Girl

I leaned against the doorframe, my heart pounding in my chest. Part of me wanted to cry out in protest, to beg for mercy. But that other part, the place in my mind, or my body, or some strange mixture of the two I still felt too ashamed to really acknowledge, felt a terrible thrill of excitement at the thought of Dylan wielding the strap.

“Seems like the right thing to do,” Devin continued, his voice carrying clearly to where I stood. “I think all that pleasure Dylan gave her last night is what caused her lewd conduct in bed this morning. I mean, Lila screams pretty loud with Bill, but you should have heard Andrea.”

I bit my lip hard, stifling the whimper that threatened to escape. Heat bloomed across my cheeks as I remembered the sounds I’d made, how I’d cried out as waves of ecstasy crashed over me. I hadn’t really thought about how loud I’d been, how the whole household must have heard my shameful cries of pleasure.

“Dylan certainly knows how to handle a girl,” Travis chuckled. “I bet she was dripping wet for him.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Devin replied. “Greta told me that when she checked the sheets this morning, there was quite the wet spot.”

My face flamed even hotter at their crude discussion of my arousal, but at the same time, completely without conscious thought, my hand drifted between my thighs. I gasped softly as my fingers encountered the slick heat there. To my mortification, I realized I was still soaking wet. The combination of my nudity, the memory of Dylan’s touch, and the knowledge that he would soon be punishing me had my body humming with unwelcome need.

I jerked my hand away, appalled at my body’s betrayal. How could I be aroused at a time like this? I was going to be whipped tonight, for God’s sake. And yet… the thought of Dylan’s strong hands gripping the strap, the anticipation of its sting across my bare bottom, sent another surge of heat straight to my core.

“I can’t deny I’m looking forward to seeing how she reacts to the strap,” Travis was saying. “Do you think she’ll cry?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Devin replied. “Dylan won’t go easy on her just because he filled her belly with his seed last night. If anything, I think he’ll be even harder on her. He knows she needs to learn her lesson.”

I shuddered at his words, imagining Dylan’s face set in stern lines as he brought the strap down on my upturned bottom. Would he caress me afterward, soothing the burning skin with his gentle touch? Or would he leave me aching and needy as a reminder of my punishment?

The hours crept by. Greta sent me to my room to “think about what is going to happen to that naughty backside of yours after dinner.”

Trying to show a bit of meaningless defiance, I turned onSingin’ in the Rainon my Selecta-provided tablet. At first it seemed utterly pointless; even the amazing first scenes of the film couldn’t take my mind off my nudity and what it meant. But knowing Dylan loved the movie as much as I did seemed to calm me enough to follow along, and then, to my surprise, an hour had gone by.

“Andrea, honey,” Greta called from the bottom of the stairs, the strictness of her tone making a lie of thehoney, “get your butt down here. You’re serving dinner by yourself tonight.”

I descended the stairs with trembling legs to find Greta waiting for me, a stern expression in her eyes. She thrust into my hands a piece of blue cloth that turned out to be a tiny apron.

“Put it on, girl,” Greta ordered, “and get the food to the table.”

The flimsy garment barely covered my breasts and my pussy. It left my bottom completely naked. The contrast between the protected parts of my body and the still naked ones made the air on my uncovered skin feel like a reminder of my naughtiness with every step.

The dining room was alive with chatter as I entered, but a hush fell over the assembled guests at the sight of me. I kept my gaze downward, but I felt their eyes roving over me, enjoying the shameful sight. My face burned with humiliation as I made my way to the kitchen to begin serving.

Greta stood by the stove, a knowing smirk playing at her lips. “Now remember, Andrea,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet, “you’re to serve everyone their meals. You’re not going to eat yourself, as part of your lesson.”

I nodded mutely, my stomach churning with a mixture of hunger and dread.

“Not that you’d want to eat anyway,” Greta continued, her tone turning sympathetic even as her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I know you must be terrified, as you should be before your first real whipping. I doubt you could keep anything down even if you tried.”

The reminder of what awaited me after dinner sent a shiver through my body. I busied myself with arranging the plates, trying to ignore the way my hands shook.

As I carried the first round of dishes to the table, I could feel the heat of multiple gazes on my skin. The tiny apron did so little to preserve my modesty that I felt certain it actually drew more attention to the parts of me it barely covered.

Devin sat at the head of the table, his eyes roaming appreciatively over my form as I set a plate before him. “My, my,” he murmured, loud enough for the others to hear. “Quite the lovely sight, isn’t it?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled around the table. I kept my eyes downcast, focusing on not spilling anything as I continued to serve.

Dylan was seated to Devin’s right, and as I leaned over to place his plate, I felt his warm breath on my neck. “You look beautiful, Andrea,” he whispered, his voice a low growl. “Even if you are in trouble.”

I felt his hand on my bottom, holding me possessively just as I remembered Bill had done with Lila my first night there. A shiver ran through me at the frankness of his touch and I had to push down a whimper in my throat. My cheeks burning, I snuck a glance at Dylan’s face, seeing both desire and stern determination in his eyes. My stomach flipped as I remembered that the strong hand on my rear end, the one that had brought me such pleasure last night, would soon wield the horrid strap against my bare bottom.

After I had served everyone their meals, I stood uncertainly by the sideboard, unsure what to do with myself. The chatter around the table resumed, punctuated by the clink of silverware against china. The delicious aromas wafting up from the plates made my empty stomach clench painfully.

“Andrea,” Devin called out suddenly, his voice cutting through the din. “Come here, girl.”

Heart pounding, I made my way to the head of the table where Devin sat. He gestured for me to stand beside him, andI complied, acutely aware of how exposed I was in the flimsy apron.

Devin cleared his throat, and the table fell silent. All eyes turned to us, and I felt my face flame with embarrassment.

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