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Something ugly and hungry tears through me at the sight of my handprint blooming across her skin. I curl my fingers once, fighting the urge to grab a fistful of her ass instead of giving her the next strike.

“Count, Kira,” I growl.

“O-one.”

I deliver the second strike on the opposite cheek. Harder. The skin flushes darker.

“Two.” Her voice wavers.

I keep going. Three. Five. Eight. Each strike lands with enough force to color her skin, to make her gasp, to push her further into that headspace where indignation bleeds into something hotter.

By the tenth strike, her ass is a dark, flushed pink, and the sound she makes when my palm connects is nothing like protest.

“Eleven,” she cries, and there’s a tremor in it.

But that’s not all there is because my obedient little wife is rubbing her thighs together. Pausing, I rest my hand on the small of her back, feeling the heat radiating off her skin. Then I slide my fingers between her thighs from behind, and fuck—she’s soaked.

For one second, I just stand there with my fingers pressed against her slick pussy because the sight of her red ass and the feel of her soaking my fingers nearly snaps something inside me. She’s getting wet while I punish her.

My sweet little wife is bent over my bench, ass burning from my hand, and her cunt is fucking begging for me.

“Look at you.” I grind my teeth as I drag my fingers through the mess between her thighs. “Your ass is fucking red, and you’re dripping for me.”

“Please,” she moans, not even trying to hide how much she likes it.

“Please, what?”

“Please… don’t stop.”

I slide two fingers inside her, and her pussy clenches around me so tight I have to grit my teeth. I groan when she pushes her hips back against my hand.

I fuck her with my fingers, slow and deep, watching her back arch, listening to the broken sounds coming from her throat. Then I pull my hand away, and she whimpers.

“Get ready to count for me again,” I growl just before my palm cracks against her ass again.

“Twelve!” she cries.

After that, the punishment turns into something else entirely.

The pattern becomes brutally simple: my palm, her count, my fingers, her words. Every time I take my hand away, she has to ask for it back.

At first, she stumbles over the requests, embarrassed and breathless, forcing each filthy little sentence past her lips because I refuse to give her anything until she tells me exactly what she wants.

Every time my palm lands, her ass jiggles beneath the impact. Every time my fingers disappear inside her, she squeezes around them like she’s trying to keep me there. And every fucking time I pull away, she begs prettier.

By fourteen, she stopped hesitating. By sixteen, she’s pushing back toward me before I’ve even finished asking. By nineteen, every trace of indignation is gone, and I’m the one starting to lose control.

Her ass is burning beneath my palm. Her voice is wrecked. Every desperate please crawls straight under my skin and feeds something possessive and fucking ravenous inside me. I drag my palm slowly over the heat I’ve put into her skin, savoring the way she shivers beneath my touch.

“One more, baby,” I growl, adjusting myself with my free hand.

Not only am I harder than I’ve been in fucking years, maybe ever, but I’ve also leaked pre-cum all over the inside of my boxer briefs. Looking down, I see it’s soaked through and there’s a wet spot on my gray sweatpants.

She sucks in a breath, bracing herself.

“Twenty!” she screams as I spank her burning ass one last time.

“Such a good girl,” I growl as I slide three fingers inside her. “You took your punishment so well.”