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Annie got the message. She dropped her gaze, swallowed once, hard, and slid her shorts and panties down to her knees, keeping them there by spreading her legs the way she hated. In the beginning when I ordered her to keep them at her knees, she tried to do so by squeezing her legs together.
As if I'd allow that. I patted my lap and she draped herself over it. I heard the swoosh of the door between kitchen and dining room and only the smallest of pauses before Cook came all the way in to deposit a fresh pot of coffee. I looked up and caught her eye. She hadn't know exactly what she was getting into when she signed on, but she knew something of it. Her eyes were on Annie's ass, tracing the lines, looking with pleasure between her separated thighs.
I smiled. When she looked up, she didn't blush, but smiled back at me.
"That will be all, Cook. Thank you."
"Sir," she said, and disappeared back into her kitchen.
Annie let out a small moan.
I just laughed at her. "How does 50 sound this morning?" It was two days past her punishment.
"It sounds – perfect, Sir. Thank you."
"Good girl," I said. "Now stay silent." I rubbed her toned, taut ass for a minute, still feeling the bruises and welts from the caning though they were mostly gone. Annie's ass seemed to raise up on its own to fill my palm.
Then I raised my hand and slammed it down on the sweet spot, six times in the first volley before I even let her catch her breath.
Annie's soft cries filled the morning.
