He spanked over and over, so hard that even through her yelps Emily wondered if his hand had started to hurt.
“Oh, please… sir, please,” she gasped, hardly realizing that she had said sir—that she had obeyed him. When she heard her mouth say the word, though, her arousal, despite the pain of the spanking or perhaps, she suddenly wondered, because of it, seemed to explode in the whole region he had immobilized for discipline over his knee.
The spanking stopped. “Thank you, sweetheart,” Quint said.
Emily’s bottom burned in her jeans. Emotion and sensation seemed so mingled now that she couldn’t have said what she wanted, or feared. “Do you really have to spank me even more?” she said to the comforter, not even knowing what she wanted the answer to be.
“Yes, Emily. You made a serious mistake with that champagne, and with your behavior. I want you to pull your jeans and panties down to your knees.”
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