The Institute, Daddy Issues(54)

“How dare you?” Berkley’s eyes flashed. “Mr. Saltanov,” he spluttered. “Either con­trol and dis­cip­line your Baby­girl at once or I will!”

Salt looked back at him, his eyes like pale blue slits.

“Nobody touches my miskha but me—never for­get that, Berkley. How­ever…” He turned his chilly gaze on me. “In this case you are right—such lan­guage is com­pletely un­ac­cept­able. Mishka, I did not want to do this but now I am afraid I must pun­ish you—get over my knee.”

“No!” Though we had planned all this out in ad­vance—well, not the fight with Berkley, that was just a happy ac­ci­dent—I sud­denly felt very re­luct­ant to go through with it. The idea of be­ing put over Salt’s knee with my panties pulled down and my ass in the air for every­one to see was mor­ti­fy­ing—more than I could bear. So when Salt grabbed my arm and dragged me to him, I was fight­ing him for real.

“Settle down, mishka,” he grated out, frown­ing at me. “The sooner you take your pun­ish­ment, the sooner will be over.”

“Salt,” I whispered des­per­ately. “I don’t want to do this. I changed my mind!”

I saw a flicker of re­gret in his face but he gave a short, sharp shake of his head.

“Is too late,” he mur­mured. “We must.”

And then he pulled me over his lap and raised my skirt.

“No—no!” I gasped as I felt his long fin­gers hook in the back waist­band of my in­no­cent pink panties and drag them down to my thighs. Now my ass was com­pletely bare and every­one in the din­ing room could see it! I began to struggle and squirm but Salt anchored me firmly with one big, mus­cu­lar arm so that I couldn’t get away.

“You have been very, very bad girl, mishka,” he an­nounced loudly. Then his big hand came down on my ass hard—SMACK—and the pain made me for­get all about the hu­mi­li­ation.

“Ow—ow!” I cried as Salt spanked me over and over again. Smack-smack-smack…slow, meas­ured blows that seemed de­signed to set my whole ass on fire.

“That’s good—really red­den her bot­tom. Make it glow like a sun­set!” I heard Berkley say, his voice drip­ping with sat­is­fac­tion.

Bas­tard! I writhed in Salt’s lap, cry­ing out with pain though I didn’t want to. My part­ner had ap­par­ently de­cided to make this as real as pos­sible be­cause he didn’t seem to be hold­ing back. At least, it didn’t feel like it to my poor, sting­ing ass cheeks.

But though the whip­ping really hurt—so much that tears of pain were stand­ing in my eyes—some­thing strange seemed to be hap­pen­ing. I could feel my pussy get­ting wet as I wiggled all over Salt’s lap. His heavy hand was hold­ing me down, press­ing my breasts against his legs and I could feel my sens­it­ive nipples rub­bing against his thigh through the thin ma­ter­ial of my dress.

What was hap­pen­ing to me? Was I get­ting turned on by this? Surely not! And yet, as the spank­ing went on and on, I couldn’t deny the wet­ness between my thighs. I couldn’t un­der­stand it—why was the pun­ish­ment af­fect­ing me this way?

And then, with one fi­nal smack the whip­ping fi­nally ended.

“All right, mishka?” I heard Salt mur­mur­ing in my ear as he smoothed the hair away from my tearstained cheeks.

“No,” I said thickly. “I’m most def­in­itely not all right, you bas­tard.”

“Shh…” Salt muttered. “Do not make me spank you again. Watch the lan­guage.”

“Fine.” I got off his lap rather stiffly and pulled up my panties with as much dig­nity as I could muster. Which hon­estly, wasn’t much with every­one at the table star­ing at me.

“Mishka…” A look of re­morse was in Salt’s eyes as he used his linen nap­kin to dry my cheeks.

“Leave me alone.” I jerked away from his gentle touch. I was pissed off at him—not only for whip­ping me much harder than I felt he had a right to, but also for the weird feel­ings I’d got­ten while he was do­ing it. I still couldn’t ex­plain why my pussy was so wet and swollen even as my ass was sting­ing but it made me feel angry—made me feel like a freak.

I’m not like these other ‘Baby­girls’ I told my­self. I do NOT get off on pain and hu­mi­li­ation!