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“I say tulip,” I said.
I waited for his good girl and, instead, got a hard spank across my left cheek that burned like fire. I squeaked out a “One!” and tried not to tense when Deacon spanked me another four times, pausing between each one to give me time to holler out a number.
After the fifth spank, he slipped his hand between my legs and rubbed my clit. I cried out and half-rose off the desk. His big hand landed on my lower back with a thud and pinned me to the desk as he slipped two fingers into my cunt and fucked me hard with them.
I moaned and wriggled, humping against his hand with desperate need. Before I could come, he pulled his hand free and leaned over me. He pressed his fingers against my mouth. “Suck them clean, Riley.”
I sucked on his fingers eagerly, cleaning away my taste from his skin. He pulled them free with a wet pop. “Good girl.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
Without speaking, he gave me another five hard spanks. My voice hitched when I shouted “ten,” and Deacon immediately cupped my pussy, his fingers rubbing at my clit until I forgot about the burning in my ass, and I was moaning happily.
He leaned over me and pressed his fingers against my mouth again. “Suck, good girl.”
I cleaned his fingers again, and he smoothed back a few strands of hair that rested against my sweaty cheek. “Only ten more, little Riley.”
“Yes, sir,” I moaned.
My ass was on fire, but I dutifully called out each spank. When Deacon didn’t stop at fifteen, I cried out, trying to rise from the desk. I needed the break, needed his fingers to help me forget how fucking painful my ass now was.
He’d slapped my ass again before I realized I hadn’t counted sixteen.
“One more added,” he said.
“No!” I begged. “Sir, no, I’m sorry. I forgot, but I won’t -”
He spanked me again, and I cried out, my ass on fire and tears starting to slide down my cheek. “Seventeen!”
The final four slaps were pure agony against my throbbing ass, and I sobbed the last few numbers brokenly. As soon as “twenty-one” spilled from my lips, Deacon thrust his hand between my legs and rubbed hard at my clit.
The pain in my ass turned dim and meaningless as I babbled incoherently and humped against his fingers. When they slipped inside of me, I cried his name, twisting against the pressure of his hand on my lower back as he fucked me hard with his fingers. He returned to my clit, rubbing it in firm circles, and I screamed as I came hard, the pleasure nearly overwhelming in its intensity.
I collapsed against the smooth wood, moaning and panting as I heard the faint sound of Deacon’s zipper. When the blunt head of his cock slipped up and down my slit, I automatically spread my legs and arched my back again. He groaned, and for one delicious fleeting moment, I felt the pressure of that blunt head pressing against my entrance before it retreated.
“No,” I moaned. “Sir, don’t stop!”
“Hush, good girl,” he panted. “Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful. Be my good girl and hold still for me… don’t move… stay just like that, just like… fuuuck!”
Warm liquid splashed onto my burning ass and the back of my thighs. Deacon’s groans competed with the sexy sound of him rubbing his cock, and I twitched wildly when he smoothed a hand over my lower back. “Stay there, baby.”
I stayed where I was as Deacon left the office, my body limp and sated, and my brain finally silent. When Deacon returned, he cleaned me gently with a warm, damp cloth before squeezing my hip. “Can you stand for me?”
I stood, weaving in my heels when I tried to turn to face him. He steadied me before pulling my skirt down. He ran his thumb over my tear-stained cheek. “Okay?”
“Yes,” I said before starting to cry.
He immediately pulled me into his arms, and I clung to him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a brat and a bad girl.”
“Shh.” He rubbed my back. “Don’t cry, baby. You’re not a bad girl. You’re my good girl, and I’m proud of you. You did so good tonight. I’m so happy with you and how well you took your spanking. You’re my good girl, Riley.”
I clung to him, soaking in his praise and his touch, contentment and peace driving away the last of my worry. I had no idea how long we stood there while he rubbed my back and told me I was his good girl, but when we finally eased apart, my feet ached from standing in my heels, and his shirt was noticeably damp from my tears.
“Sorry,” I said, touching his shirt.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Do you feel better?”
“Much,” I said. “I was so… so upset and overwhelmed, and my brain felt like a chipmunk on meth, and now I just feel… content. Is that weird? To feel better because of a spanking and an orgasm?”
