He slid his hand over one lace-covered ass cheek and squeezed, the perfect size and combination of taut muscle and bouncy flesh, the very reason he loved to see her in her snug jeans. He gave it a light tap and then squeezed again harder, drawing the blood to the surface of her skin. Her soft gasp was gratifying. Delivering a light tap to the other cheek, he gave it a good squeeze, both to prepare her but also because he just loved to do it. He kneaded her flesh until the blush rose to the surface and she’d gone limp over his lap.
He grinned as he slid his fingertips beneath the lace of her panties and used the back of his hand to slide them down.
“Oh! No! No!” she cried out, her breath catching just the way it had that first time in the stairwell, an image his subconscious had tortured him with too many times to count.
“I wouldn’t want to abrade your skin by spanking you with the lace and mesh on top, now would I?”
“Fuck no, why do that when you can bare my ass to the whole damn room?”
“Fine then. Nine licks it is,” he said, keeping all trace of laughter from his voice. “Count for me, fiammetta,” he murmured.
Pop.
Her ass barely jiggled, and her only response was a snicker. “One.” She wiggled on his lap as if she was provoking him. “Seriously, come on.”
Wham!
She yelped, bucking on his lap. “Holy motherfuckin’ shit!”
He laughed out loud. “I like an even number, too, fiery one. Ten it is!”
Whatever she’d been about to shout was suddenly sucked back as she shut her mouth. “Sh—ootfire, Sir! Two!”
“Better.”
Wham! Wham! They went on, her counting, him spanking. She got a little breathless toward the end, her voice softening, and the way she twitched told him they were starting to sting about the time he got to number eight. Her apology to Samson needed to be sincere, and he didn’t want her to think his punishments wouldn’t sting that much, so he delivered the next pop at a much harder impact.
“Nine! Mother—fudgesicle!” she shouted.
“Very creative, fiammetta,” he said as he helped her find her footing on the floor. Her feet were crossed one over the other, and her little toes were curled up so cute, and he grinned. She stumbled against him as he helped her rise, and she leaned against him, sniffling as he pulled her panties back up over her hot flesh.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Bunny?”
“Um, totally not complaining, but…that was only nine.”
“I know. I’ve decided to let Samson deliver the last one.”
“Ooooooh,” intoned someone in the crowd that had gathered, and others cringed as if in sympathy.
Her mouth dropped open, and she reached back to cover her hot tush with both hands and looked around her. “Seriously?”
“Very seriously, fiammetta,” he said and pointed at the bar where Samson sat watching, a studiously grim look on his face. Samson was definitely a sadist, but he had a soft spot for new subs, even mouthy, feisty ones. “And I wouldn’t pop off to him either, or he might put you over the bar so the whole club can see you and then deliver some extra swats. Here, take this to him,” he added, handing her the paddle.
“Sh—oooot,” she groaned, rubbing her ass as she took the paddle from him and trudged to Samson.
Joseph couldn’t see the look on her face, but the evil smile on Samson’s as he observed her slow approach told him that his friend was enjoying this every bit as much as he was.
For someone who wasn’t well versed in the protocol of a club environment, she did fairly well, keeping her chin down as she held the leather paddle out to him, cradled in her hands.
“What do you say, girl?” Samson asked in a gruff voice.
“I’m very sorry, Sir. I promise I won’t try to braid your hair again, or be mouthy to you, or anything. I promise to stay clear away from you if that’s what you want, Sir.”
“No, girl! Where would the fun be in that, at least for me? Turn yourself around now and bend over the stool. Good. Now hold still and relax. This is gonna sting.”
The Dom glanced at Joseph, and he nodded with a smile. Samson shrugged and swung.
Chapter Seven
White-hot fire streaked across Bunny’s ass, and she nearly bit her tongue as she struggled to keep from verbalizing, settling for unintelligible howling as Samson allowed her to stand up from the stool he’d draped her over.
He caught her arm as she danced in place on the balls of her feet, exclaiming, “Ooooooh!” and clutching her fiery butt. He’d managed to hit both cheeks with one stroke, and her poor derriere blazed with heat.
“Careful, girl,” he said as he held her arm, supporting her until she had both feet under her.