“I know that. This is just for fun,” I snap before groping a buttock.

“This is assault.”

I almost tell her I’ve been guilty of worse. I smack my hand to an ass cheek. The sound is amazing. She yelps and starts to struggle harder. I spank her a few more times before sliding my hand between her thighs.

She stills.

My blood pumps faster. This is the test. I might have crossed a line with Bridget, but I haven’t had a woman not give in before, sexually or otherwise.

“That’s not going to get me to change my mind, either,” she mutters as I fondle her clit.

Right now, I don’t give a fuck about the clothes. I give her ass a hard wallop.

“Geez!” she cries out.

I spank her until her ass is a nice shade of red, then go back to playing with her clit. She goes from grunting to groaning. Now that she’s not struggling as much, I fist my other hand in her hair and pull her head up, forcing her to crane her neck and arch her back. I agitate my digits faster against her flesh.

“Oh my God,” she murmurs.

After I get her wetness flowing, I go back to spanking her. I haven’t given her a safety word, but she hasn’t asked me to stop, either. I rub a buttock and sink my fingers into it. This is a nice piece of ass. I can’t wait to see how cane marks look on it.

“Your ass was made for spanking,” I remark, grabbing an orb, then slapping it. “You know that, Bridge?”

When she doesn’t answer, I yank on her hair. “I asked a question.”

“I thought it was rhetorical,” she grunts. “I did not know.”

I admire the hue. “It’s looking so pretty for me right now. You ever been fucked in the ass?”

“No.”

Something to work towards. I plunge my middle finger into her wet, hot pussy and imagine what it would feel like being in her virginal asshole. Withdrawing, I add my forefinger before pushing back in. She moans.

Last time, I said I wasn’t going to remind her to ask to come. Let’s see how well she remembers.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers as I alternate my hand right-side up, then upside down.

Curling my fingers inside her, I find her preferred spot and angle. After slowly stroking her, I increase the speed of my thrusting.

“I’m going to…” she starts. “Can I come?”

I don’t answer but tighten my grip on her hair.

“Can I come, sir?”

She’s even more trainable than the German Shepherd I had growing up.

“Yeah, come,” I reward her.

She comes undone over my lap with long groans and sustained quaking and the occasional shudder when I jab my fingers back inside her. She lets out a haggard breath.

I flip her onto the oversized ottoman and push her knees to her chest. Holding her ankles in one hand, I undo my pants with the other.