Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
He held my little cheeks, and he squeezed them and fondled them, as if they belonged to him. I whimpered, a sound so embarrassing that my face blazed up like the surface of the sun as I heard it emerge from my throat.
“And not just because I’m a big, strong man, and you’re a lovely, small girl,” he continued.
“Wh-what?” I stammered. “What do you… do you…”
His hand, while I tried to force my question out of my throat, had begun to press its two middle fingers between my thighs, along the gusset of the naughty panties. To my abject horror, I felt my hips jerk and my backside push out, exactly as if I meant to welcome the hand’s attentions.
“You’re getting wet and you know it, Ingrid Vogel,” he said softly into my ear, as if telling me a terrible secret.
“Oh, God,” I sobbed. “No… no, I’m… I’m…”
The hand holding my bottom went away. My eyes went wide as I tried to understand, as I suspected… and then my suspicion came true: Mr. Alden’s palm came down hard on my rear end. The very first spank of my life. I cried out and pressed forward, trying to put my hands behind me to cover my backside and rub away the sharp sting.
“No!” he said, his voice rising. “Put your hands on the door, Ingrid. You lied just now, and you’re going to start to learn the kinds of consequences a secretary at Selecta receives when she’s naughty.”
I froze, my hands on my suddenly warm bottom cheeks. The words had far too many deeply troubling implications for me to sort out. Mr. Alden took a step back, releasing my chest. For a moment, wide-eyed, I thought he had decided to relent, to let me leave. I felt my brow crease hard at the dismaying complexity of my mind’s and my body’s response to that thought.
I shouldn’t have worried—if it represented a worry—though. An instant later I felt his enormous hands grab my wrists. He took my hands off my rear cheeks, separated them, raised them skillfully as I let out a terrified little noise. Afraid he might break my arms if I struggled, but sensing that he knew how to avoid hurting a woman he treated this way—that he had done this many times before, to many different young women—I let him put my hands in front of my face, palms up against the smooth, polished blond wood of the door.
He put my left hand atop my right, and he secured both of them there with his much bigger left hand. I sensed him turning his upper body, shifting his weight.
“Wait!” I said, somehow just becoming aware of what his right hand would do. “Wait!”
I tried to twist, to get my backside somehow out of range, but Mr. Alden brought his palm down directly on my bottom anyway. I twisted in the other direction, and got another spank, even harder. The pain started to compound, and my rear cheeks clenched and unclenched, trying to lessen it, not caring what it looked like to the man punishing me.
When his hand returned a third time, though, he didn’t deliver another spank. Instead he took hold of my bottom more forcefully than he had before, and the two fingers between my legs probed more insistently. To my horror I felt my privates melt with helpless arousal into my lacy panties.
Abruptly, he moved his left hand again, keeping his obscene hold on my rear end and my privates with his right. He gripped my shoulder, and he turned me back toward his desk.
“Put your hands on your head,” he ordered, his voice stern.
The conflict inside me raged so high that my body seemed, mortifyingly, to welcome the command. My hands, released from his grip, went automatically to the top of my head. A whimpering cry escaped my mouth as I felt how the posture raised my chest, how it seemed to make my body available to Mr. Alden.
His left hand moved to my hip, while his right propelled me forward, his fingers still rubbing lewdly at the place where the red lace covered my shamefully tingling clit. I let out another little cry, and I tried to move fast enough to get away from his possessive right hand.
Mr. Alden didn’t allow it; he slowed me with his hold on my hip and he gripped my bottom and privates more tightly. I shuddered. My hips jerked in that same humiliating way, sending a wave of fiery heat into my face. He marched me at his preferred pace, slow and steady, toward the desk. On top of it I saw the horrid thing he had indeed gotten out of the drawer: a wooden paddle with three air holes in it, lying menacingly on the leather upholstered desktop.
I gave a yelp of fear, and instead of trying to get away I found myself pushing back against him, not caring for a moment about his obscene grip on my nearly bare bottom and my scantily clad privates. Mr. Alden stopped pressing me forward, apparently satisfied with my position a few feet away from the desk. To my horror, the hand between my thighs became gentler in its fondling, and I suddenly cared very, very much about it. I let out a choked moan.