"You're going to kill me with this thing,” she mumbles, curling closer, her thighs moving to straddle my legs, her soft, hot little cunt resting jus... close enough for me to feel her heat against my length, making it harden quicker."You sure it's not you who might kill me?" I murmur, shuffling beneath her in order to rest it right against her, the heat of her almost making me moan."I'm very out of practice as you have discovered,” she murmurs, pushing herself magnificently up against my chest,. “You will get 12 strokes with this riding crop. You will count the strokes out loud. After each one, you will thank me and ask for the next. If you lose count, we will start again. If you keep count, and sound appropriately grateful right to the end, you will get a reward. Do you understand?” My brain raced – twelve, and I had to be grateful and ask for each one. What else could he possible ask of me to make this more demeaning? Still, strapped down straddling this stool, with my already red. More

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