“What is this?” William demanded, waving the contraband in front of Buffy’s face. She flushed, too surprised to come up with a good defense, or even a respectable offense.
“I—I—nothing?” Buffy offered.
He shook his head in disbelief. God, did she think he was an idiot? “I told you you wouldn’t like it if you made me mad again. Didn’t you listen to me? Or are you just trying to see how far you can push me?”
“I—I—I can explain—”
“The time for that was the first three times I asked,” William said curtly. “You’re way past the point of explanations, Miss Summers.”
“Are—are you going to smack my hand again?” squeaked Buffy.
“No, I am not going to smack you hand.”
Buffy tried to repress her sigh of relief. She hadn’t really let on before, but that ruler hurt. And she really didn’t want to feel that thing slapping against her flesh again, or even—
“Bend over.”
“What?” Buffy blurted out in astonishment. She must have heard him wrong. It sounded like he said—
“I said,
Buffy stared at him, her jaw dropping. He had to be kidding! There was no way he could think that—
“Every second you hesitate will make this worse for you, Miss Summers.”
Finally Buffy bent over, pulling her skirt up to pool around her waist and bracing her hands on her knees. Her cheeks burned with humiliation.
After a moment she felt a hand caressing her soft bottom, stroking into the curve of her buttocks and then tracing up the mounding flesh to the small of her back.
“A thong, Miss Summers? As it
happens, those are also again
“Now, then,” he said, returning his warm hand to rest on her ass. “I want you to keep count for me, Miss Summers.”
A moment later his hand came down upon her bottom cheeks, surprisingly hard, and she gasped in response. “What did you say, Miss Summers?”
“One,” she said hastily.
Again. Flat against the apple of her ass. “Two.”
Smack. “Three.”
Crack. Harder, this time. “Oww!”
“What was that?”
“I mean, four!”
Swack! This time just the right cheek. “Five!” Smack! This time the left. “Six!”
Slap! Right across the bottom this time, where her thighs met her ass, and to her horror she felt electricity ripple through her pussy and go straight to her clit.
Unbidden, she moaned.
“I don’t believe I heard you, Miss Summers,” he reminded her.
“Six,” she mumbled. Suddenly he smacked her ass with a flurry of small slaps, and she wriggled helplessly, hissing with a confused mixture of desire and pain. “What?” she protested.
“That was number SEVEN,” he corrected her, resting his hand on her ass. “Not six.”
“Seven,” she panted, shifting under his touch, squeezing her hands around her knees, trying not to touch herself. If he just moved his hand a little….
“Have you learned your lesson, Miss Summers?” he asked, absently moving his hand in small circles over her. She moaned, squirming under his touch and widening her legs. As if in response, his hand slipped between her thighs and tangled itself into her nest of curls, tugging demandingly.
“I’m not sure,” she gasped, thrusting her hips back at him.
“Then we’ll just have to worker harder, won’t we?” he said pragmatically, unbuckling his belt and sliding down his fly.
SNORE! Buffy jerked awake, disturbed by the surprisingly loud snoring of her roommate, Cordelia Chase. Buffy’s panties were soaked, evidence of how much she’d been enjoying her dream. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to fall back asleep, reluctant to let the dream go, but it was gone.
Forget running away. Maybe she’d better concentrate on getting a boyfriend instead—the sooner, the better.
