Page 82 of Making Over Maris

“N-no.”

She smacked his behind, only a small slap but he flinched as heat and exhilaration flared. He’d ached for this. Ached for it. And now it was happening. With Sara, for Christ’s sake.

She smacked him again. “Well don’t do it again.”

“Don’t—what?” Hell, he jacked off two or three times a day.

“Sorry, sweetie. No more playing with yourself. Not without express permission.” He groaned and she smacked him again. “And don’t get pissy.”

“I’m not getting—”

Another smack. It sent a sharp thrill through him. “And don’t interrupt. Now kneel. It’s time for our quiz.”

She went to the bench to riffle through her bag. Jack tried not to watch. But even as his excitement rose, so did his trepidation.

He had always fantasized about something like this but also worried that it was only a fantasy. What manly man really wanted to be bossed around by a—oh God.

She came toward him with a blindfold in her hand.

“What-what’s that for?”

She set it over his eyes. He was encased in darkness. “I don’t want you to cheat.”

“Cheat?”

“I’m going to ask you questions about the book and I don’t want you to peek.”

He lifted the corner of the blindfold. “I don’t cheat.”

She glared at him but he saw the light of humor glinting there as well. “Do I need to tie your hands?”

Oh, dear God. Yes. Please. “No.”

“Hold them behind your back.” She readjusted the blindfold. “And no peeking.”

“I’m not peeking.”

“Are you ready for your first question? And remember, you don’t want to get one wrong.” This, she said in an ominous treble that made him drool.

“Yes.”

“I think you need to call me Mistress. Don’t you, Jack? You are kneeling before me naked, after all.”

Heat scored him. His cock lurched. He nearly lost consciousness as the blood rushed into his groin. “Yes…Mistress.”

God. He’d never said those words out loud. Had no idea how it would affect him. But it did. Drove home that this was actually happening. A phenomenal warmth, a peace, a freedom cloaked him.

Also, it made his cock weepy. An impatient drop oozed from the tip.

He heard her going through the bag again. The clinking set him on edge. She found what she was hunting for and came back to his side. Something cold touched his nipple. He winced.

“Do you know what this is, Jack?”

“No.”

The smack—not her hand this time—surprised him, although it shouldn’t have. He’d forgotten to show respect. “No, Mistress.”

“It’s a paddle.” She rubbed it over his ass. “It has these metal studs.” She gave him another spank but only to test his resiliency. “I’m going to swat your behind every time you get a question wrong. Are you ready to begin?”