Galen’s back snapped straight. He understood why she’d used that phrase. She was making a point, a declaration—she’d broken into his console out of necessity.
“This is not acceptable, Zara. You should have asked me, and I could have agreed if I thought it appropriate. You lied to me by doing this. After the lenience I have shown you in many things, I’m disappointed. I shall have to punish you.”
He expected her to wail or plead, but she didn’t. She remained on her knees, hands loose in her lap and her eyes on the floor. He stepped back, gave her space, and waited.
“Yes, sir. Please punish me.”
The tattoos, which had faded to nothing, did not reappear. She sought punishment not out of lust, but contriteness. This devotion to the ordeal’s ethos was new and pleasing.
“Stand, undress, and bend over the desk for your spanking.” He swiped away the console, deactivating it.
She remained on the floor, picking at the hem of her skirt. She’d chosen to wear it, knowing he liked to see her legs and that he could lift it high and gain access to her.
“Now!” he said firmly. “Show me your ass and spread your legs wide.”
She rose, unsteady at first, then growing in confidence, she obeyed his instructions. Her skirt slithered down. No underwear—it was unnecessary. Circling around the desk to the other side, where there was more space, she bent over the desk, stretched her arms out to the side and slowly, slid her legs apart. When he walked round to join her, he was given a fine view of her ass with the cheeks parted and the slit of her pussy.
Reaching over her, he rested his hands on her shoulders and drew them down her back, his thumbs on her spine. She rippled with shivers and behind his hand, the tattoo colored.
“Good girl. We’ll address your naughtiness with my firm hand. Then, when I’m satisfied your bottom has been thoroughly tempered, we shall go to my chambers where you shall be whipped and punished with my firm cock.”
“Oh, sir, no,” she whimpered.
“No? Do you get to say no, little human creature bent over my desk? Do you?” He gripped her waist and repositioned her bottom so that it pointed up and out. “Like that,” he reminded her.
She held the position when he let go. “I don’t, sir.”
“Do you beg for my mercy?”
“I do, sir. I beg, but I don’t demand.” She had learned so much.
* * *
If she thought he might be gentle because he’d called her naughty, instead of wicked or criminal, she was wrong. Galen paddled her bottom with the flat of his hand and the full swing of his arm. She stomped her feet and wriggled her butt from side to side. She squealed, but didn’t curse, and by some miracle, she kept bent over the desk without a firmly placed hand on her back.
He quietly dispensed the spanking. She wanted to hear him call her a naughty girl and then, after he’d told her off with his sternest voice, she wished he would tell her she’d been good and taken her punishment well. Except, he wasn’t doing any of those things. He wasn’t saying anything.
“Oh, sir,” she whimpered. “Please, don’t spank me anymore.”
He responded to her pleas by picking up the pace and toasting her cheeks with smacks until her bottom was hot and her pussy dripping. She’d lied, and was still lying. She’d not told him the full story of why she’d accessed the mailing system without permission. Was that why she was struggling to contain her protestations? She reeled them in and simply did as she was told: take her punishment and submit.
She steadied herself and pressed her hips against the table. With her face turned to one side, she laid her cheek on the cool surface, spread her arms out and parted her legs wider, allowing him to view her fully.
Galen paused, briefly. A sufficient break for him to circle each of her tender buttocks. She winced as he squeezed one with the span of his hand. “Better,” he murmured over her bent form.
The spanking continued with renewed pace and firmness. She breathed as deeply as she could and concentrated on a spot on the wall on the other side of the room.
Galen kept returning to inspect her ass. Each time he would finger her slit and cleft, then rub the heat out of her scorched flesh, dispersing it along the tops of her thighs with long sweeps down. The effect was to relax her, allowing her to capitulate with her body to such an extent, she was spread-eagled and wide open to him.
“Thank you, sir,” she mumbled.
“What do you have to say? Mm?” He rattled off a few more slaps before she could catch her breath and answer.
“I’m really sorry I broke the rules.” She wasn’t sure if she meant it. Would he be able to tell from the way she’d stuttered her answer? She wanted to mean it, to be apologetic and contrite, but she would still be lying. The truth was she needed to keep trying to save her sister. Galen wouldn’t understand. Families for him were meaningless. Vendu bonds were made at birth, then broken in adulthood. She wished she could find a way to make him see her way of doing things. The human way.
She released a low cry of frustration.
Suddenly, he drew her up and spun her around to face him.