Page 49 of His Naughty Girl

Andrea

Something about that filthy word—cooch…the objectification, the obscenity… combined with the praise… It sent a thrill of arousal through me stronger than anything I could ever remember. Somehow the pride that rose in my chest, and my mind’s desperate effort to push it down and away, to deny I could ever feel happy that a man had called mycooch‘heavenly’ seemed to strengthen the spasm of need that took hold of me there.

In my cooch. In my naughty cunt.

I let out a sob of mingled pain, lust, shame… everything. Everything this house had brought into my life. Everything Dylan, the man I loved, represented to me now.

Before I knew it, he had gathered me into his arms and had begun to carry me toward the stairs.

Finish claiming her.He’d said that, hadn’t he? My whole upper body seemed to blush as I put it together, and understood. I felthis hand there, on my bottom, gripping tightly enough to keep me from slipping out of his embrace—and tightly enough that when I realized it, I whimpered at how my suitor’s big, strong hand had reawakened the agony he had brought there with the family strap.

“Dylan?” I whispered as he began to mount the steps. “Sir?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice showing no strain from the effort of carrying me.

“Will we have… you know… our own family… our own family, you know…” I felt my mouth twist to the side as I shied away from actually asking, because I suddenly had absolutely no idea what kind of answer I wanted to hear.

But Dylan already knew me much too well. He knew a girl like me had to be given no choice but to confess her needs.

“I would like to have our own family,” he said, in a low voice full of meaning. “But I think there’s a word you’re not saying, too.”

I swallowed hard as I understood… how he had taken my question at first, about family—really about children. Babies. It almost distracted me from the other question as a warm glow filled me at the idea of Dylan putting a baby inside me, of us raising kids together. I had asked Lila about how that worked in Cato, and she had told me that households with kids operated very differently, though those wives of course submitted to their husbands behind their bedroom doors.

The thought of what I had learned from Lila about family life, though, led me straight back to the original question.

“No, sir,” I breathed. “I… I meant…”

We had almost reached my bedroom door.

“Will we have a family strap?” I finally managed to get out, my face flaming with embarrassment.

“Of course,” Dylan said. “I’m pretty sure you know by now just how badly you need a man’s firm hand to keep you in line.”

The way he said it, just as he crossed the threshold of my bedroom with my naked body in his arms, nearly made me swoon with the emotions and sensations swirling in my body. Somehow, he had the skill of making sure that I understood he would always correct me when I misbehaved, but not more than I needed.

Though, I realized with another hard swallow, if my first weeks in Cato were any indication, I needed a great deal. And Dylan had told me that my lesson wasn’t over tonight, hadn’t he?

My bottom squirmed against his hand as he covered the final few steps to my bed. It would hurt… I knew it would. But I had done a naughty, naughty thing, here in my bed with my hand between my thighs. Someday Dylan might give me permission, but I hadn’t had permission this morning, and I had done it anyway.

My eyes went wide as I realized the full implication. Dylan meant to finish my lesson by claiming me completely. He would use me in my most private place, taking his pleasure there even though it hurt me, opening me on his hard cock and filling my bottom with his strength. I would learn, as decisively as a man could teach me, that I belonged to my accepted suitor.

Dylan lowered me gently to the bed. He positioned me on my knees at the foot, with my face pressed to the covers, his big hand on my back, instructing me to arch there. Then his strong hands gripped my hips, pulling them up and back even further as hespread my knees apart. I whimpered softly at the humiliating feeling.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Dylan murmured, his voice coming from low in his chest. “Present that pretty little bottom for me. You’re going to remember your whipping for a while, aren’t you?”

My face burned with embarrassment as I pictured Dylan’s view of me. Everything—my swollen, glistening pussy, the tight pucker of my virgin anus, and worst of all my bruised bottom, harshly punished for illicit pleasure.

“Such a lovely sight,” Dylan murmured, his fingers trailing lightly over my sore flesh. “You won’t break a rule anytime soon, I would guess.”

“N-no, sir,” I whispered, shivering at his touch.

Dylan’s fingers dipped lower, sliding through the slick folds of my newly opened pussy. I gasped as he gathered my arousal, spreading it upward toward my bottom.

“My naughty girl,” he chuckled. “Your little cooch is still so wet.”

I whimpered in response, unable to form words as Dylan’s finger circled my tiny flower. He pressed gently, not quite breaching me, just teasing the sensitive flesh.

“This pretty little hole belongs to me now, Andrea,” Dylan said calmly, though I could hear the desire in his voice. “I’m going to train it to take my cock, to stretch around me and pleasure me whenever I want.”

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