Page 4 of Shameful Needs
“Tell me what you fantasize about.”
“I can’t.” The words came out as barely a whisper. “Sir, please, I can’t.”
“You can, and you will.”
“No.” I shook my head frantically, still staring at the floor. “I won’t. I can’t tell you that.”
Ryan was quiet for a long moment. Then I heard him move, settling onto the couch with a soft exhale.
“Come here.”
My feet moved before my brain could engage, carrying me the few steps to where he sat. His hands were gentle but firm as he guided me across his lap, positioning me so my hips rested over his thighs.
“Since you won’t tell me,” he said, his palm resting lightly on my lower back, “maybe this will help you find your voice.”
The first slap landed across my ass with a sharp crack that made me gasp. Even through the thick sweatpants, I could feel the heat blooming across my skin.
“Ryan—sir—please—” I didn’t know why I hadn’t started to struggle yet. I didn’t want to think about it. Something inside me wanted it to happen, maybe just out of guilt about the car—the feeling that I should have to pay some price for my stupidity andmy carelessness. For the moment the rest of me had apparently decided just to let it happen.
Another slap, harder this time. “What do you think about?”
“I can’t—” The third slap cut off my protest, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
He established a rhythm, his hand falling in measured strokes across my backside. The sweatpants provided some cushioning, but I could feel each impact sending waves of sensation through my body. Worse, I could feel myself getting wetter, my treasonous body responding exactly the way it shouldn’t.
“These need to come down,” Ryan said, his fingers finding the waistband of my sweatpants.
“No,” I whispered, but my body betrayed me, lifting slightly to make it easier for him to slide the fabric down over my hips. The cool air hit my skin, and I was acutely aware of how the training underwear clung to me, displaying me in ways that made my cheeks burn.
His hand came down again, the sharp crack echoing through the room. Without the buffer of the sweatpants, the sting was immediate and intense, radiating across my skin in surges that made me squirm against his lap.
“Better,” he murmured, his voice thick with something I’d never heard before. “Now, what do you think about in the shower?”
“I don’t—” Another slap cut me off, and I couldn’t suppress the small cry that escaped my lips.
“Don’t lie to me.” His hand rubbed the spot he’d just struck, the gentle touch somehow more overwhelming than the pain. “Tell me what makes you so desperate you can’t wait for your husband.”
The spanking continued, each stroke building on the last until my entire backside felt like it was on fire. I gripped thecouch cushions, trying to focus on anything except the way my body was responding, the way each impact sent jolts of sensation straight to my core.
“These are soaked,” Ryan said suddenly, his fingers tracing the edge of my training underwear. “Jesus, Heather, you’re completely wet.”
Shame flooded through me as he hooked his fingers in the waistband and slowly pulled the panties down, exposing me completely. I felt his sharp intake of breath as he saw the evidence of my arousal, the way my body had betrayed every protest I’d made.
“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice softer now, confused. “If this is what you want, why won’t you tell me? Why do you keep running from me?”
His hand came down again, skin against skin this time, and I couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped. The sound horrified me, revealing everything I’d been trying to hide.
“I don’t know what the problem is,” Ryan continued, his palm resting against my heated flesh, “but I’m going to do everything I can to figure it out.”
“It’s not—I’m not—” I stammered, unable to form a coherent thought. “Sir, please, I’m not aroused, I’m just?—”
“You’re just what?” His hand moved lower, fingers trailing along my inner thigh. “Just so wet you’re dripping onto my pants?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge what my body was doing, what it was begging for. “I don’t fantasize about anything,” I lied desperately. “I think about… about grocery lists and laundry and?—”
“Liar.” His fingers found my center, and I gasped at the contact. “Tell me what you really think about.”
“I can’t—” I gasped as his fingers circled my clit, sending shockwaves through my entire body. The spanking had stopped, but this was so much worse. So much more dangerous.
