Page 46 of His Naughty Girl

And there, standing tall and imposing next to the ottoman, was Dylan. His broad shoulders and strong jaw radiated quiet authority. Those hazel eyes I had come to adore now blazed with determination. He held himself with the easy confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was about to do and felt no hesitation in doing it.

“Andrea,” Dylan said, his voice low and commanding, “come here and get over the ottoman.”

My legs felt like lead as I forced myself to move forward. With each step, the reality of what was about to happen crashed over me anew. By the time I reached the ottoman, I was trembling so violently I could barely stand.

Dylan’s strong hands gripped my waist, guiding me into position. “Bend over,” he instructed softly. “Stretch your arms out in front of you.”

I complied, the smooth leather pressing against my belly and breasts as I draped myself over the ottoman. Dylan workedquickly, securing my wrists and knees to the lower corners of the thing, with my thighs spread well apart. I let out a little sob as I understood just how shameful a posture my disobedient self-pleasure had put me in.

Dylan’s strong hands moved over my body, checking the straps to ensure I was securely fastened. His touch sent shivers through me despite my fear. Finally, as if fully satisfied with my positioning, he stepped back. I could feel his eyes taking their own pleasure as he surveyed the lewd site of me, offered naked for his strict justice.

“Andrea,” Dylan said, his voice low and authoritative. “As your accepted suitor, I want you to understand something very clearly. I will not tolerate disobedience or misbehavior of any kind.”

I whimpered softly, my face burning with shame as I recalled my actions that morning.

Dylan continued, his tone stern but not unkind. “Your body belongs to me now. That means you don’t get to touch it or pleasure it without my express permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“Good girl,” Dylan said. “Now, I want you to know that someday, when you’ve proven you can be obedient and well-behaved, I may sometimes give you permission to touch your pretty little cooch and make yourself feel good. But that privilege must be earned through consistent good behavior. It’s not something you get to decide for yourself.”

My breath hitched at his words. The idea that I might someday be allowed to touch myself, with Dylan’s approval, sent an unexpected thrill through me. But the knowledge that I hadviolated this rule before it had even been explicitly stated filled me with remorse.

“Andrea,” Dylan said, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “Did you know you weren’t allowed to masturbate?”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I answered truthfully. “Yes, sir,” I sobbed. “I… I knew it was against the rules.”

“I’m disappointed, Andrea,” Dylan said, each word measured and precise. “You knew better, and yet you chose to disobey anyway. You showed that you need a firm lesson in obedience and controlling your impulses.”

There was a pause, and I could almost feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. Then Dylan spoke again, his voice ringing out clearly in the hushed room.

“For your willful disobedience and lack of self-control, you will receive twenty-four lashes with the strap. This punishment will serve as a reminder that your body belongs to me, and that you are not to touch your cooch without permission.”

I heard a little gasp, from Lila or Lydia, maybe—whichever of my fellow subservients didn’t have her suitor’s cock in her mouth at the moment. Twenty-four lashes seemed an impossibly large number to me, and I began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Please,” I whimpered, tugging futilely at my restraints. “Please, sir, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise!”

But Dylan remained unmoved by my pleas. “I know you’re sorry, Andrea,” he said, his voice firm. “But being sorry isn’t enough. You need to learn your lesson, and this punishment will help you remember it.”

CHAPTER 23

Dylan

I raised my arm high and brought the strap down hard across both cheeks of Andrea’s adorable, round bottom.

The sound of leather meeting flesh echoed through the room. Andrea let out a strangled cry, her body jerking against the restraints.

“One,” I said firmly, watching as a bright pink stripe bloomed across her pale skin.

I paused for a moment, letting the sting sink in. Andrea’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. I could see the muscles in her thighs and buttocks tensing as she braced herself for the next blow. I raised my arm and brought the strap down again, the lash ringing out like a gunshot as it made contact with her sweet globes.

“Two,” I counted, as another stripe appeared just below the first.

Andrea whimpered, her fingers clenching and unclenching where they were bound at the sides of the ottoman. I hardened myself against the urge to comfort her. This was a necessary lesson, one she needed to learn thoroughly.

I delivered three more blows, grimly counting each one. Andrea cried out louder at each lash. Her bottom began to take on a uniform rosy glow.

“It hurts, sir!” Andrea sobbed. “Please… I’m so sorry! Dylan… sir, please…”

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