Page 83 of Wicked Little Secret

“Count along with me, Miss Oliver.”

“One, Professor.”

“Why are you lying? Homework? That’s all?”

She releases a shaky breath. “I went to dinner.”

“With who?”

“A friend.”

Strike two.

The wooden ruler collides with the round, soft cheeks of her ass, forceful and sudden. It leaves behind the faintest strip of pink against brown.

The erotic sight elicits a buzz inside of me. My pulsethrobs so hard, I wonder if she can sense it. If she’s aware my cock’s twitching in my pants.

I’m both wild with need and composed from discipline.

“A friend?” I say, palming her pinkened ass. “Care to provide any names?”

Nyssa screams as I bring the ruler down a third time. Harder than the other two times.

“J-Justin!” she calls out before I can go in for a fourth. “He asked to borrow my notes. He said he would buy me dinner.”

“Buy you dinner?” I repeat slowly. “So… a date?”

“Professor!” she cries.

But it’s too late.

I’ve swung the ruler. The wooden stick whacks straight into the underside of her thighs, and she groans in what could be pleasure or pain.

Or both.

Either way, she hasn’t uttered the agreed safe word.

She’s trembling on the spot, but she’s pushing back her hips, effectively shaking her ass in the air.

More, it says.

So I give it to her.

The ruler rains down on her gloriously round ass several more times. Each swat, she screams out the number.

“Seven!” she calls.

Then comes the eighth.

She shakes, her head angling toward the ceiling. The number warbles past her lips before the next smack collides and she’s starting all over again.

Nine.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

Twenty.

I’m feverish, achingly hard, as I beat the ruler against her ass and she cries out along with me. The slender stick slips out of my hand and I admire my handiwork. The artful way the rosy pink blends with the golden brown. I groan and pull out my cock to stroke.