Page 53 of Shameful Needs
“I asked you a question,” Ryan said, his voice carrying that dangerous calm that made my knees weak. “Were you touching what belongs to me without permission?”
“I… I…” I stammered, my voice catching in my throat as water continued to stream over my naked body. There was no point in lying—he could see exactly what I’d been doing, could probably smell my arousal even in the steamy air.
“Get out of the shower,” he commanded, stepping back to give me room. “Right now. When Mrs. Chen texted me to say you would probably be playing with yourself by the time I got home, if I left right then, I had to see for myself.”
I turned off the water with trembling hands and stepped onto the bath mat, my body still aching with unfulfilled need. Ryan’s eyes tracked every drop of water that rolled down my skin, taking in my flushed face and the way my thighs pressedtogether in a futile attempt to ease the throbbing between them. My mind whirled—the sensor, I realized. The sensor must have shown my need even before I thought of touching my clit.
“Did you come?” he asked bluntly.
“No, sir,” I whispered, my face burning with shame. “You stopped me before…”
“Good,” he said with satisfaction. “Because if you had, your punishment would be much worse.”
The wordpunishmentsent a jolt of fear and anticipation through me. I’d been so good, so obedient for the past week. The thought of disappointing Ryan, of proving I still couldn’t control my shameful urges, made tears prick at my eyes.
Ryan set the paddle down on the bathroom counter and reached for one of our large bath towels. To my surprise, his movements were gentle as he wrapped the soft terrycloth around my trembling body, pulling me against his chest as he enfolded me in warmth.
“There,” he murmured, his voice unexpectedly tender as he rubbed the towel against my back. “Let me take care of you.”
I blinked up at him in confusion, my heart hammering against my ribs. The gentleness in his touch, the way he was drying me so carefully—it was so different from the dangerous authority in his voice moments before.
“Sir?” I whispered, hope creeping into my voice despite everything. “Are you… are you thinking better of punishing me?”
Ryan’s hands stilled for a moment, and when he looked down at me, his blue eyes were soft with something that made my chest ache.
“Oh, babe,” he said quietly, his fingers stroking my damp hair. “Of course I’m going to paddle you. You touched what belongs to me without permission. But I love you too.”
That hit me like a baseball bat covered in velvet. I felt tears spill down my cheeks. He was going to hurt me—badly, from thesound of it—but he was also holding me with such tenderness that I could barely process the contradiction.
“You need to be dried off properly,” Ryan continued, his voice gentle but firm, “but you also need to be punished severely for what you just did.”
A sob escaped my throat as the reality of what was coming crashed over me. I pressed my face against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent as he continued to towel me dry with methodical care. His hands were so gentle, so loving, even as he prepared to discipline me in a way that would leave me screaming.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed against his shirt, my hands fisting in the fabric as I clung to him desperately. “I’m so sorry, sir. I tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t.”
“I know,” Ryan murmured, his arms tightening around me. “I know how hard it is for you to admit what you need—whether it’s to ask permission to masturbate, or to acknowledge that you need such firm discipline. But I’m going to help you, Heather. I’m going to help you learn the control you need.”
His words made me cry harder, not from fear, but from overwhelming gratitude. Even now, even when I’d betrayed his trust by touching myself without permission, he understood what I needed better than I understood it myself.
Ryan guided me from the bathroom, his arm around my shoulders as we walked down the hallway to our bedroom. My legs felt weak, and I stumbled slightly, the towel slipping from my shoulders to drop to the floor behind us. I left it there, focused entirely on the man who owned me, body and soul.
I watched through tear-blurred eyes as Ryan moved to our bed, gathering two firm pillows from the head and arranging them carefully in the center of the mattress. My stomach clenched with recognition—I knew exactly what those pillowswere for, how they would position my bottom high in the air for the paddle’s devastating work.
“Come here,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a gentler kind of authority that if anything made my knees weaker than his harshness could. “Lie over the pillows, Heather.”
I approached the bed on trembling legs, my naked body still damp from the shower. The sight of those pillows, positioned so deliberately, made my breath catch in my throat. I knew what was coming, knew how much it would hurt, but I also knew I deserved every stroke.
I climbed onto the bed and positioned myself over the pillows as he’d commanded, the soft mounds lifting my bottom high while my face pressed into the comforter. My cheeks heated as I thought, as so often, of how my most intimate parts were displayed for Ryan’s viewing while I waited for my punishment to begin.
“There,” Ryan murmured, and I felt his warm palm settle on my lower back, holding me firmly in place. “Stay still, ass girl. You’re going to take every stroke I give you.”
The first blow landed without warning, the paddle connecting with my bare flesh with a sharp crack that echoed through the bedroom. Fire exploded across my bottom as the impact sent a shockwave through my entire body. I gasped against the comforter, my hands fisting in the fabric as the burn began to build.
The second stroke fell immediately after, harder than the first, catching the tender curve where my bottom met my thighs. I cried out at the devastating sting, my hips bucking involuntarily against the pillows. But Ryan’s hand pressed more firmly against my back, holding me in position for his discipline.
The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth strokes rained down in rapid succession, each one harder than the last. Ryan paddled me with ruthless efficiency, covering every inch of my bottomwith precise, punishing blows that left me sobbing and writhing against the pillows. The pain was incredible, building with each stroke until I thought I might pass out from the intensity.
Then suddenly, the paddling stopped.
