Page 26 of His to Correct

“Oh, god,” I whispered, unable to stop the words from breaking free of my throat. My whole body pulsed with heat, as if my spanked bottom cheeks, from which the soreness had almost completely faded, could ignite shame and arousal many times the intensity of the swats Stuart had given me over his knee.

I shuffled my feet apart, my forehead creasing so hard it hurt. I felt the air moving in a place I absolutely did not want it right at the moment. I remembered Stuart sniffing the air the last time I had found myself in this position. I felt certain the aroma of my current need must be a good deal stronger.

Stuart put his left hand on my waist, his fingers splaying across my skin. The touch sent a shudder through my limbs. I tasted blood as I bit my lip even harder, desperate to keep myself from making a sound. I felt the smooth surface of the paddle brush against my bottom, as if wordlessly admonishing me, and thenlift away. I tensed involuntarily, my breath coming in little puffs through my nose.

The first stroke came without warning except for the split-second puff of air against my cheeks. The sharp crack echoed in the quiet office. Pain bloomed across my backside, and I gasped, my fingers curling against the polished wood of the desk. Before I could fully process the sensation, the second stroke landed, slightly lower. The sting was intense, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft wail.

The third stroke fell, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. My bottom throbbed, the pain radiating outward. I waited, breath held, for the next strike, but it didn’t come. Stuart said nothing, giving me no indication of how long this punishment would last or how many more strokes I could expect.

In the silence that followed, my mind began to wander. To my dismay, I found myself picturing Mandy bent over this very desk, her skirt raised and panties lowered. In my imagination, I stood where Stuart stood now, paddle in hand, ready to teach her a lesson about respect and following orders.

The image sent a jolt of arousal through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the thought. But as quickly as that fantasy faded, another took its place. Now I saw myself as I was, bent over and vulnerable, with Stuart looming behind me. In this vision, he brought the paddle down again and again, each stroke eliciting a cry from my lips.

I shifted uncomfortably, terribly aware of the gathering wetness between my thighs. The dual fantasies—of punishing and being punished—roiled in my mind, each one heightening my arousal in its turn. I felt my face flush with shame at my body’s response,at the ever-self-renewing realization that some part of me craved this.

Stuart’s hand on my waist tightened slightly, and I braced myself for another stroke. The anticipation was almost worse than the pain itself, every nerve ending on high alert. I found myself torn between hoping the punishment would end soon and, to my horror, wishing it would continue.

I couldn’t shake the image of Mandy’s insolent face, couldn’t stop imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that smirk off with a few well-placed strokes of the paddle. I chewed my cheek as the image made me clench involuntarily. I prayed Stuart hadn’t noticed.

The thought… the mental picture… the… thewishthat succeeded that one, though, was much more mortifying.

Stuart should fuck that girl over the desk.It came out that way, in my head. Notmenor evenMelissa: justthat girl.

The boss has to fuck her, doesn’t he? To show her that he’s in charge.

Me.There, now I couldn’t help it. I did let out a sob, and my hips jerked, thrusting my punished backside even further up and back toward Stuart, as if begging him.He really should fuckme.Punish me with his hardness. Teach me with his cock.

As if he had waited for precisely that sound and that humiliating little movement, Stuart put the paddle down on his desk, right in front of me like a reminder of what my failure to wax my pussy had earned me. His left hand tightened on my waist, and then his right took hold of my bottom and my pussy in a single grasp, his middle fingers pressing against my clit as his palm gripped my punished cheeks and made me cry out.

Without a word, Stuart began to work my bottom and my pussy. His strong fingers kneaded my sore flesh, sending sparks of mingled pain and pleasure radiating through my body. I swallowed hard, chewed my lower lip, wrinkled my nose, determined to remain silent, to maintain some shred of dignity. As his expert touch explored me, though, I found my resolve crumbling rapidly.

Stuart’s fingers ran up and down my slick inner lips, teasing and probing with maddening precision. When he slipped two fingers inside me, curling them to stroke that spot that made my knees weak, a moan escaped my lips before I could stop it. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet office, and I flushed with renewed embarrassment.

But that was only the beginning. Stuart’s thumb found my clit, circling it with just the right pressure to make my hips buck involuntarily. His other hand continued to knead my punished bottom, the sting of the paddling heightening every sensation.

I tried to stifle my cries, but it was useless. As Stuart’s fingers worked their magic, I found myself moaning louder than I ever had in my life. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears—wanton, desperate, needy.

“That’s it,” Stuart murmured, his voice low and husky. “Let me hear how much you want it.”

His words, the first he had spoken in long, hot minutes, fueled the fire building inside me. I whimpered as he withdrew his fingers, only to gasp sharply as I felt them probing at my back entrance. I clenched instinctively, but Stuart was relentless. He circled the tight ring of muscle, applying steady pressure until the tip of one finger slipped inside.

“Such a tight little asshole,” he growled. “I bet you’ve never had anything in here before, have you?”

I shook my head frantically, beyond words, thinking despite myself of Grace and Jacob, Georgette and Michael. The feeling was so foreign, so dirty—and yet, to my shock and shame, intensely arousing.

Stuart chuckled darkly. “We’ll have to change that soon. But for now…”

He resumed his ministrations on my clit and pussy, his fingers moving with expert precision. All the while, that single digit remained inside my ass, a constant reminder of my complete surrender to his will.

“Look at you,” Stuart continued, his voice dripping with lust and authority. “Your cunt is dripping for me. Such a greedy little hole, so desperate to be filled.” He punctuated his words by thrusting his fingers deeper inside me. “And this tight ass of yours? I can feel it clenching around my finger. You love this, don’t you? Being spread open, totally at my mercy.”

I moaned helplessly, my hips rocking back against his hand. Every filthy word he uttered sent another jolt of arousal through me. I was lost in a haze of sensation, teetering on the edge of an orgasm more intense than any I’d ever experienced.

“Oh, no,” Stuart said, his voice seeming to come from miles away. “Not yet, you little whore. You’ll come when I let you.” He pulled his hand away.

“Oh, god… please…” I gasped.

“Is there something you’d like to ask for, Miss Mitropoulos?” His hand returned, rubbing a circle on my right ass cheek with maddening gentleness.

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