Page 72 of Leave Me Broken

I pull off, already hating not tasting us mixed together but if punishment is what she wants, then that is what I’ll give her. I slap her cunt with the hand that was just buried inside.

Payson gasps and her back arches.

I slap her again, loving how it sounds and feels. Almost as good as slapping her thick ass.

My knee locks up as I stand but I don’t let it stop me from pulling Payson up, spinning her, and pushing her face down on my desk. I flip her skirt over her perfect ass, nearly salivating at the sight of Payson in her school uniform with my cum dripping down her thighs.

I flatten my hand against the warmth of her ass. My flaccid dick twitches in my pants but doesn’t harden just yet. “You remember our safe word, Jailbird?”

“Y-yes.” Her voice shakes as if she’s really afraid but if I know Payson, excitement is the only thing she’s feeling inside her little fucked-up head.

“I’m not stopping until you say it. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Pearson.” I didn’t even have to tell her to role play the teacher kink, she just did it, and bloody hell if I don’t love it. Coach-player is my favorite because it’s not even role playing, but Payson in a short plaid skirt and blazer is so fucking hot. I didn’t have sex in secondary school like a lot of my friends. I never got to flip up girls’ skirts and fuck them, but I get to now and it’s so much better than it would have been back in the day.

I pull my hand back a good distance, knowing the first spank will sting. My hand connects with her ass. “I specifically put a no-dating rule out, and you disobeyed.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

I spank her two more times. Each time harder than the first and each time her moans are louder. “You’re only sorry because you got caught.”

Another spank. The tanned skin on her ass is a beautiful pink color now.

“Harder,” Payson mutters.

My jaw clenches with her request. “You can’t handle harder.”

She angles her head to look back at me. Lust burns bright in her pale green eyes. “Try me.”

She really shouldn’t have said that.

I keep spanking her and she keeps moaning. After fifteen, I expect to hear the word slip from her pouty lips, but it doesn’t. My hand is stinging so I know her ass must be too, but neither of us stop.

Not even when her ass has what I think will be a permanent handprint. I look down at my burning palm and back to Payson, seeing both cheeks littered with blue and purple bruises and popped blood vessels. I’m hard as a bloody rock but still my brows furrow. I’ve spanked her well over twenty times—she never once said the word. I know Payson likes pain, but this has to be excruciating. She won’t be able to sit properly for days, maybe even a week.

I lay my hand across her burning skin, feeling the warmth I didn’t feel while I was spanking her. Her thigh muscles tense, and still, she’s silent.

I pull my hand back for the last time, giving her the chance to say, “grapefruit.” When she doesn’t, I crack my hand the hardest yet and leave it there massaging the sore area.

The only noise in the room is the equally hard breathing between me and Payson. It’s not that she’s in so much pain she can’t speak. She was muttering dirty words almost after every spank, so I know she could have said the word, but she didn’t. She didn’t say it, meaning she wanted me to keep going, and I did. I spanked her flesh raw. I’m convinced my palm might even bruise and yet she stays bent over my desk like she is waiting for more.

Confliction bounces around inside me. The part that craves pain and loves seeing her perfect skin bruised and marked, knowing I did it, urges me to keep going, but the part that cares deeply for Payson and worries about her constantly is fighting an internal battle that has me wondering if Payson is as okay as she seems. Lately, things have been decent but the conversation with her granddad earlier has me wondering if she’s a ticking time bomb and using me as a temporary diffuser.

The thing about bad habits—most people don’t know how to break them before it’s too late.

“I am not pretending to date her.”

Payson scoffs. “I don’t want to pretend to date you either, but you don’t have to be so rude about it.”

“I have heard you call my Papà—daddy. You are lucky I am even sitting in the same car as you.”

I thought these two were getting along yet they continue to fight. It’s only because they are close in age. Which doesn’t help my argument since I’m the one dating a girl six months older than my son.

Even if I asked them to pretend to date—I’m not—it would never be believable because they can’t pretend to like each other let alone be in love like Paul said.

“Both of you, shut up. I am not asking you to pretend. I am just giving you a heads-up for what Paul thinks.” I don’t mention it was me who gave him the idea because that’s not important. All that is important is he doesn’t think it’s me dating Payson. I wish he did; not only think but actually knew it for sure, but that can wait until Payson is ready.

“Well, make him unthink it.”

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