I drew in a slow breath when E set the paddle against the back of my underwear, and he rubbed the flat side of the paddle in circles on my ass, each rotation growing wider and quicker. It felt nice, but also like he was winding me up. Priming me for what was would happen next.
Since I could see onscreen, I knew when the first strike was coming, but it surprised me all the same. It didn’t hurt in the slightest. For such a strong guy, I’d expected him to put more force behind it. It hadn’t been a spanking. This had been a kiss.
When a smile bowed on my lips, Clay smiled too, but I got the impression he was smiling for an entirely different reason—like he knew something I didn’t. He did, didn’t he? He’d scripted this evening.
E slapped the paddle against me again, this time on the other side of my ass, and I swallowed back a giggle. “Is that supposed to hurt?”
E’s gaze flicked to the screen, and he cocked an eyebrow in question.
Clay laughed lightly. “No,” he said. “Not yet.”
Was he answering me? Or speaking to E? Maybe both.
E’s strikes increased both in intensity and frequency, heating me inside and out. My skin warmed from the rush of blood, and I watched the screen with fascination. It was one thing to hear and feel the sharp slaps of the leather while my hands were tied and my bare breasts were pressed to the table, but that was just the first layer. I could also watch E as he swung the black paddle through the air and see how he enjoyed the reverb of each strike as it rippled across my flesh.
And at the same time, I got to see Clay’s reaction to it and the way his eyes hooded behind his glasses. He stared at us with so much hunger, it should have been frightening—but of course it wasn’t to me. It only turned me on more.
The blows alternated sides, and even though my panties were still on, the whisper-thin fabric didn’t give me any protection when E really began to spank me. He reared back and brought the paddle crashing down on me hard enough that the smile on my face dried up.
It didn’t hurt, really.
The discomfort was like sitting on too-hot leather seats in the summer, only more focused.
The man who loomed over me had his attention locked on to what he was doing, and his jaw was set. It wasn’t until a soft moan slipped out of me that it broke his focus. His gaze flew to the screen, checking in with both me and Clay, and when he determined my moan was in pleasure, he resumed his work.
He looked even more beautiful like this. All the power was supposed to be Clay’s, but E was the one wielding it, and satisfaction streaked across his face as he delivered blow after punishing blow. The loud, uneven tempo of his paddle filled the room, and my skin began to burn all over from his relentless paddling.
Clay asked it even as he already knew my answer. “Do you like it?”
“Yes.” I dropped my head forward, resting my forehead against the bindings around my wrists.
“No.” His tone was stern. “Eyes up and on me.”
I lifted my head and peered at him through the strands of hair that had fallen into my face. Behind me, the paddling had paused. It was so E could grab the back of my underwear and wedge it up between my cheeks, exposing more of me to his spankings. My skin was the prettiest shade of pink I’d ever seen.
I groaned with both pleasure and discomfort when he swung again. The blow was so hard, I lifted on my toes and my back arched, but that made E scowl. He put his hand on the small of my back and shoved, pushing me back down into position. His corrective hand stayed where it was like a warning, and I burned even hotter at his touch.
Oh, my God. Could he see how turned on this was making me? My underwear had to be soaked, and more heat flooded my face. The paddle cracked against my skin, and I pushed air out in a hiss through my tight teeth.
E’s spankings were merciless, but so was the way Clay stared at me, and weren’t these spankings really his? He’d drafted and designed this scene, probably down to how many strikes I’d receive and how hard I’d get them.
“Shit,” I groaned. Pain banded across my cheeks, and I tried to shift under the weight of E’s hand, encouraging him to find a different spot for his next blow. And yet . . . even though it hurt, I still liked it. The prickly heat left after the leather was gone felt intoxicatingly good.