Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Dean Anderson
J ust like a bratty teenager, she rolls her eyes. “Do not goad me,” she mocks. “How bad can it be?”
“I’m assuming you’ve never had a spanking before?”
With a smirk, she tosses her hair. “Me? I’m a perfect angel. I’ve never been spanked. There’s never been a need.”
“Right. Daddy’s perfect little princess.”
“Exactly. Which is why I don’t think you have it in you to actually do this. Deep down, you know I’m right, and this is censorship.”
“You’re trying my patience, Miss Hartwell.”
“Pity. What I’m trying to do is see if you’re actually being serious or if you’re all talk. But then, if I was a dean, I certainly wouldn’t go around caning students for standing up for what’s right.”
“You know what?” I counter. “I think you’re trying to make me do something so you can make another inflammatory article. Only now, it will be about me and my heavy-handed ways, so you can try to get me fired. I think not. Nice try, Miss Hartwell, but you will not be successful. Many have tried to undermine me before, and it’s been met with a most disastrous end.
Her eyes blaze as she leans over my desk and lifts her ass high in the air. “It’s not about that,” she hisses. “It’s about integrity,” she asserts again.
“Integrity, is it? And that’s why you’re practically humping my desk, begging for me to discipline you?” The moment the words slip from my lips, I regret them.
What I regret most of all, however, is the way her pupils dilate just a touch as her breath comes in short pants. As soon as I blink, she’s back to normal. Did I merely imagine it? Wishful thinking from an insane man?
“Please,” she scoffs. “As if you can get me to feel anything sexual. I will not be swayed by you. I am here to defend my piece. And if that means I have to face your wrath, then so be it.”
“And you’re absolutely sure? Because once I start, I will not finish until my point is thoroughly made.”
She rises and tosses her hair back, a quick smile on her face. “I went to private institutions my whole life, Mr. Anderson. I’m not a stranger to corporal punishment. Granted, it was never applied to me, but I’ve seen things and heard stories. If it allows me to put the news out there in a fashion of my choosing, then I’ll undergo whatever archaic method makes you happiest.”
Fascinating. Every word that comes out of her mouth is yet one more conundrum I wish to solve. “Very well.” Leaning over to the intercom, I buzz Shelaine in so that I have a witness to her agreeing to this.
“Shelaine, you bear witness to the fact that Miss Hartwell is subjecting herself to corporal punishment based on her actions with the paper. Do you still agree to do this?”
With a haughty toss of her head, she gives Shelaine a dazzling smile. “A point of correction and contention. I am not subjecting myself out of some need to atone. I have done nothing wrong. I am submitting myself to this archaic form of punishment as a means of protest to his censoring of the free press. I want that submitted to the record.”
This time, I can’t resist the eye roll. “Such dramatics, Miss Hartwell. There is no tribunal. This is no record. This is an agreement between you and me. Shelaine merely bears witness to your agreement in case you wish to make this something it’s not.”
“Whatever,” she mutters. “Let’s just get this over with so I can get back to the news desk.”
“Very well.” Striding over to my armoire, I ease it open and allow my gaze to touch on all the implements.
I can’t just pull out a cane. That will draw far more questions than I want to have answers to. This is not the time to divulge how much of a kinky fucker I really am.
Instead, I reach for the Loftry paddle. No one can question why I have it. School spirit should be celebrated in all its various, deviant ways, after all.
“Shelaine, demonstrate to Miss Hartwell how she is to stand at my desk and accept her punishment.”
At that, the little reporter pales just a touch. “Wait. You’re serious? You’re going to fucking cane me?”
“Language, Miss Hartwell. You will refrain from profanity while awaiting punishment in my office. And of course, I’m serious. Granted, it will be a school paddle and not a cane that will kiss your backside. So sorry to disappoint.”
She turns to Shelaine. “You just let him paddle you? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Before my secretary can answer, I butt in. “No, she doesn’t. Because Shelaine is a good girl and doesn’t need any sort of reminders to keep her obedient. Shelaine, the desk.”
Just as always, she eases her body over and grips the other edge, bending her in half and stretching her out. Ashleigh simply watches, her eyes so large and round I nearly drown in them. How I wish I could watch the emotions flit through them as I paddle her.
“Thank you, Shelaine. That will be all. And please tell my five o’clock that I will be with him shortly. Just have to take care of a few things first.”
“Yes, Mister Anderson.”
Once the door clicks closed, I turn to Ashleigh. “This is your last chance to say no. Either leave and go change the article right now, or submit to my punishment for willfully disobeying me. Your choice.”
My gaze locks onto hers as I toy with the button at the base of my sleeve. Does she even realize her eyes travel up my arm as I fold the crisp cloth, rolling it up to expose my forearm? I swear, I can almost hear her swallow as I flex my arm, showing off the strength flowing through my muscles.
When I go to the other, a light blush fans her cheeks. I take my time, rolling up the fabric in a slow, methodical way. She can say what she wants, spout off any protest she wishes, but she’s entranced by this simple action.
“Well,” I growl out, pulling her attention away from the bulging muscles as I make them dance with each minute movement. “What do you wish to do?”
For a moment, she merely sputters. “You’re absolutely serious.”
“Deadly.”
“Well then, why stop there?” she cries out, her eyes clearing as if coming out of a trance. With a twist of her lips, she pulls her skirt up, exposing herself in a way I didn’t expect. “Why not go all the way and smack my bare ass? Hmmm? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Yet another pathetic attempt to gain control.
My cock lurches forward as I glimpse her pale cheeks bisected by a dark red thong. Just the idea of turning her skin that same shade has precum pearling at my tip and smearing across my underwear. Fuck Doctor Andrew and his heavy-handed, but always correct ways. One of these days, I’ll deck his pompous ass.
“I had no intention of striking your bare bottom. But if you insist, I’m more than willing to oblige. Grip the other side of the desk. I can take it from there.”
As she reaches over, her limbs lengthen, stretching her taut. God, but she’s perfection. Even if she’s not so willing, she’s a vision of submission. How much lovelier would she be if she were taking my punishment with the practiced grace I’ve come to expect from the Society submissives?
But then, part of me likes this show of defiance. I get off on it. It’s so different and unexpected. A challenge. Just as I’ve been wanting, craving even.
As I stare down at her prone form, I resist the urge to reach out and caress her, to see if her pussy is as soaked as I imagine it to be. With her looking at me like this, I can’t just look down and check. Once I’m paddling her, though, I will certainly drink her in. Every. Fucking. Inch that I can see.
She turns to look at me, her cheeks blazing with what I can only assume is anger. Soon, they will be just as red as her ass when I get through with her. Now I’m beginning to see what Grigori and James like so much about their brats. It’s exhilarating knowing that I will forcibly bend her to my will.
Tisking softly, I gather the hem of her skirt and tuck it into the band of her thong. Not that I really need to. With her bent over like this, it comes about halfway up her ass, anyway.
It takes every ounce of willpower not to make a donkey of myself right then and there. Do I want to punish her? Yes. But do I want to bury myself into her pussy even more? Fuck yeah, I do. All I can hope is that this show of defiance will somehow lead into far more devious actions. Ones I can use to bend her to my depraved will.
“Last chance, Miss Hartwell. Will you yield?”
She glances over her shoulder and glares at me. Her eyes speak of defiance and anger, but the way her jaw hangs slightly ajar speaks of lust. Pure and simple.
“The free press doesn’t yield,” she retorts as her lips twist up into a ‘make me’ sneer.
I want to laugh. Truly, I do. The whole thing is absurd. Comical even. The fact that I have little miss Ashleigh Hartwell face down and ass up on my desk over an article is just hilarious in a way I can’t even put into words.
It should exasperate me. It should make me want to throttle her and cast her into the abyss of The Society where others can and will teach her to have manners and do so in the most agonizing way. But no. All it does is make me want her even more.
A heavy sigh flits through my lips as I rest my palm against the curve of her ass cheek. It feels so wrong to touch her, but also so fucking right. Even as my thumb twitches, grazing her satiny-smooth skin, I simply want to devour her. Instead, I have to play the role of strict disciplinarian without any of the benefits of doing so.
“The Loftry Lantern isn’t the free press, Miss Hartwell. It and your employment there lie in my good graces. And you’ll be smart to remember that. Nowhere does it say a university has to have a school paper. I merely humored you, giving you something productive to put your mind to. Do not make me regret it.”
Before she can fire off with some quippy comeback, I raise my right hand and bring it soundly against her ass. Her soft yelp goes straight to my cock, making my balls clench as I watch her rise up onto her tippy toes in a pathetic attempt to get away.
“You hit me!” she screeches as she twists her body around.
“Yes,” I reply, keeping my voice calm and devoid of humor. “This type of punishment usually warrants a strike or two.”
“But you did it with your hand! You’re supposed to use the paddle! This... This... This is inhumane,” she sputters.
As I watch her, the thin veneer of bravery begins to crack, exposing the vulnerable girl underneath. Oh, how I wish to strip that mask fully from her so I can drink in every quavering inch. Soon. Oh, so achingly soon.
“Inhumane? I beg to differ. If I had started with this paddle, you would be screeching about how painful it is and how abusive I’m being. Honestly, I was only thinking of your comfort.”
This time, as her eyes and lips narrow, I do laugh. We both know I’m lying, but thankfully, she doesn’t seem to understand what it all means yet. There’s something so innocent, so questioning in her gaze.
“I’m glad you find this funny. You’re not supposed to enjoy this. I sure as hell am not. Now please finish this so I can get the paper prepared for the printer before I miss the deadline.”
“If you insist.”
Without any preamble, I smack the other cheek. My insides clench as I watch her ass quiver from the blow. To Ashleigh’s credit, however, she takes this one like a champ. Nothing about her shows any sign of distress at how hard I smack her.
Time to up the ante. Sliding my foot between hers, I kick them out a touch, forcing her to lean over even more to keep her balance. “That’s it. Spread your feet and turn in your toes until they’re at an angle.”
“But why?” Her eyes sparkle with pure curiosity.
“Because it prevents you from clenching, which in turn makes you feel the punishment all the more keenly.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
The truth lies heavy on my tongue. What would she think if she knew I initiated nearly every submissive that now is a part of The Society? Would it make her run screaming to the hills? Or would it increase this curiosity I see brimming at the surface?
“I happen to be well read.” This, at least, isn’t a lie.
“So I’m your first?”
Is that a note of hopefulness in her tone? I have no idea what to do with that or where to even begin. This is such a dangerous game already, and her naivety is only making it worse.
“Not quite. Now then, what is Loftry University’s stance on sensationalist journalism?” I growl, bringing her attention back to why I’m punishing her in the first place.
It’s as if cold water douses her, reminding her to be angry and incensed. “That Loftry prides censorship over everything else.”
“Wrong answer.”
Hefting the paddle in my hand, I smack it across her left cheek, my lips twitching as a mournful howl drips from her lips.
“That fucking hurts,” she whines as she twists back and forth, as if that will somehow alleviate the discomfort.
Wishful thinking, pure and simple.
“Language,” I bark out, tapping the offended cheek with the edge of the paddle. “I’ve already warned you about that. Unless you want me to wash your mouth out, you’ll be respectful.”
She turns her head so she can look at me. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “Well, it hurts. Okay?”
“It’s supposed to. Now then. What is Loftry University’s stance on sensationalist journalism?”
“Go to hell.”
“I can do this all day. Can you?”
With a swift flick of my wrist, I smack the other cheek. My balls ache as they draw up even tighter as I watch her dance around like an errant girl trying to squirm the pain away. There’s something so endearing, so utterly beguiling, watching her like this.
Dammit. And I have a benefit dinner this evening. There’s no way I can ask donors for money while sporting the bluest of balls. If she were mine, I’d have her end the session with her smart lips wrapped around my hard cock. But it seems as if I’ll have to take matters into my own hands this time.
Frustration gathers in my spine as I drag my gaze down to the gusset of her panties. Soaked. God, but she’s practically dripping. All I want to do is drop to my knees and yank her down on top of my face so I can taste her, devour her, and make her squirm for a completely different reason.
Pulling back, I note her gaze. Still a bit of a spitfire. She’ll learn soon enough.
“What is Loftry University’s stance on sensationalist journalism?”
“Censorship,” she spits out again.
“Truly? Is that the only word you can say?” I whack her again, putting a touch more oomph into it.
“What else is there to say?” she shrieks, going back onto her tiptoes. “It’s censorship, no matter how you spin it.”
“I’m not the one spinning anything.”
Whack .
“Your article is the very definition of slant.”
“How dare you!” she cries out. “I have-“
Whack .
“Integrity,” I supply while keeping my tone as neutral as possible under the circumstances.
Whack .
“I know.”
Whack .
“You’ve spouted that nonsense far too many times.”
Whack .
I stare down at my handiwork as my cock pulses painfully behind my pants. The skin is mottled red and slightly swollen. She’ll definitely have trouble sitting as she redoes the article. As much as I want to continue, I seem to be getting nowhere.
Even now, she still clings to this notion that she did nothing wrong. There’s no way I’ll be able to beat it out of her and still get ready for the benefit in time. Somehow, someway, she’ll be back in here. I can almost guarantee it.
Tossing the paddle to the side, I ease her up and straighten her skirt. “That will be all. Change the article or don’t run it. Your advisor will give the yea or nay.”
“This is unfair,” she mumbles as she smoothes out the errant wrinkles in her outfit.
“Your protest is noted. Pull another stunt like this again, and you’ll be back in here for round two.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“My dear, Miss Hartwell. I can guarantee you, it’s a promise.”