Page 16 of Bronson

My cock hardens. I unbuckle my belt.

The sound of the metal clanging makes the cheeks of her ass clench.

Adorable.

I pull my belt from the loops of my trousers. I double it over. I hold it in the air and… snap! I crack the leather just to watch her jump.

She tries to peek at me over her shoulder.

“I’m going to give you three licks. But be sure, next time, it will be many more. Are we clear?” I ask.

“Y-yes, sir,” she whimpers.

“And I want you to count them for me.”

“Count them? Out loud?” she whines.

“Yes. Do it clearly or we will begin again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Her legs tremble. Her naked ass sits bare, ready for my discipline.

I will go easy on her. The poor thing’s never been spanked, much less had a taste of a belt. I bring the belt down, hard enough to sting, but not so hard she cries out. Part of me wants her to know there can be pleasure with the pain.

Even though she’s not mine.

“One,” she gasps.

“Very good girl.” I can’t stop my hand from reaching out and stroking the light stripe that is rising on her skin. She shivers.

I bring the belt down again, this time lower on her bottom. She gives a whimper, then obediently replies, “Two.”

“Good girl. Last one.”

I bring the belt down over the tops of her thighs. She cries out, “Three!” and sinks down on the desk.

It takes every ounce of self-control in my body for me to not free my cock from my pants and fuck the hell out of that perfect, dripping pussy. Instead, I take one last deep inhale of her beautiful scent and pull her panties up and over her ass.

I place my hand on her trembling hips, pulling her from the desk. She turns around and faces me.

She’s crying.

My heart lunges into my throat. I hadn’t anticipated this from her. She’s been so hard, so feisty.

I’ve barely marked her.

Her tears can’t be from the pain. But here she is, her little mewing cries turning into sobs. She stands before me, her face in her hands to hide her tears. Her shoulders are shaking.

I take one step, gathering her to my chest. Wrap my arms around her. All thoughts leave my mind. Any notion of how I was to act in the moment is gone. There’s nothing left but my heart and the way she makes it tug and pull in my chest.

I rest my chin on the top of her soft hair. I rub her back, shushing and murmuring sweet nothings to her.

She presses her face against my chest. Her tears dampen my shirt. Her hands reach up, clutching at the fabric of my collar. Her cries begin to subside.

“There, there. You’re alright, little one.” Little one? Where the hell did that come from? She is tiny, helpless, strong, beautiful—I need to get a hold of myself. I remind myself of who I am and my position in this world.

Untangling myself from her, I hold her at arm’s length. “Let’s get you dressed.” I help her into her pants. Give her a tissue. While she dries her face, I put my belt back on. She watches wide-eyed as I do. I hand her the yellow bag.