So there I was, laying out in front of him on my office desk, my panties at my ankles, my round white ass exposed, and my arms above my head, laying across the desk and tied at the wrists. I was his to do with as he wished.
I loved that thought. And he knew it.
Finally, I felt his warm hands caress my bottom and involuntarily I let out a little sigh. But no sooner than I had, the warm hands were suddenly gone, only to be immediately followed by a terse THWACK against my bottom. He paused for a moment after the first spank, letting me feel the sensation fully. I could feel my bottom start to heat where he had made contact. I ached it feel it again, and I wiggled backwards a little in hopes of inviting another smack.
He leaned his body over mine again, as he had moments ago, so I could again feel his raging hard-on through his khakis and the stimulation of the fabric of his pants against my bare bottom and legs. "What do you say, my little sub?" he whispered in my ear.
"Thank you, Sir?" I said, unsure of exactly what he wanted.
"Mmm, you're welcome. What else do you say?" he persisted.
"Um...please....please more, Sir," I said.
"Please more of what?" His voice teased my ear. He shifted against me so I could feel his cock pressing right against my asshole.
"Please spank me, Sir...please...please....I'll do anything, Sir...please just...." Those must have been the magic words because he stepped back and I was rewarded with a prompt smack...and then another...and another...They varied in their intensity and I awaited each one like a precious gift. He paddled my entire my bum, one cheek, then the other, then a strong smack to the middle, not just spanking the same spot over and over again, as old boyfriends had done when I would beg them to spank me during sex. I was certain my ass would be red by this point, so unused to this treatment, but I did not care. I was so wet that I could feel my inner thighs becoming slick.
I was lucky that he didn't make me count the slaps, because I'm not sure that I could of. All that existed for a time there was his hand, my bare bottom and the deliciousness of it all. There was no doubt that he was my Master.
He had paused and untied my hands but I hadn't noticed right away. They remained crossed as if bound above my head. I felt like I was floating. I guessed this was what people called subspace, this wonderful heady feeling running though my body.
"Time to stand." He commanded.
He stood behind me and gently lifted me by the hips, and I was grateful for the help since I was stiff from being in the same position and still dizzy from the pleasure of his hand. Still gripping my naked hips, he instructed me to step out of my dark red high heels and slide my jeans off. The shoes were easy enough to step out of, but the jeans had become wadded around my ankles with my red transparent panties. I noticed in passing that the panties had not become any less dry, the dark red gusset was still soaked with my juices and continued to be a billboard for how weak I was against pleasure.
I finally managed the jeans off and then he said in my right ear, "Put the shoes back on." Without a thought, I did. Then he turned me around, and I flushed when I looked up into his face. He looked me straight in the eyes and I was held by his gaze.
"I enjoyed that very much," he murmured. "You were excellent." I flushed even more red, partially with embarrassment when I remembered the pleasure of being spanked and partially with pleasure that he was so pleased with me. The best part, however, was that he had enjoyed it.
The men I had been with before had all been fairly conservative, without a BDSM bone in their bodies. If I could convince one to spank me or tie me up (which often took months of effort and convincing) I always knew that they were just doing it to please me, and that it was just a matter of putting up with the slightly-kinky girlfriend. Once, a boyfriend had even laughed when he spanked me because I moaned. His laughter had humiliated me. I felt grateful to be finally understood.
His hands released my hips and he took a step back, sitting down in my office swivel chair. I momentarily felt a little weak standing on my own.
"Now, Professor," he said with a smile, "unbutton your blouse for me...slowly."
His mention of my job title suddenly reminded me that I was at work, in my office, and standing in front of this man whom I knew but didn't know wearing only a blouse, a bra and red high heels. My heart pounded a little. Yet, I could still feel that my pussy was slick as an ocean and my thighs were sticky from all the juice that kept escaping.
