The belt landed again, harder, a white-hot stripe across both cheeks that tore a raw scream from my throat. My knees buckled. Only his hand fisted in my hair kept me upright, bent over the desk with my t**s crushed against scattered papers.
“Count,” he growled.
“O-one,” I sobbed.
Another lash. Leather kissing skin already on fire.
“Two—”
He didn’t let me finish numbers properly after five. The belt fell in a merciless rhythm, painting my ass crimson, thighs trembling so hard the desk creaked. Every crack echoed in the empty building. Every crack made me wetter, the pain bleeding into a sick, throbbing pleasure that had me grinding my c**t against the edge of the desk just to breathe.
At ten he stopped. I was crying openly, snot and tears smearing some poor kid’s quiz on post-structur
