Chapter 4: Say My Name!

Continued from chapter 3...

Despite her protests, she remains bent over the desk, her trembling hands gripping the edge tightly. She cranes her neck to look back at me, her eyes wide and pleading, yet filled with a **** excitement.

"I...I don't know if I can..." she whispers, even as she arches her back slightly, presenting herself to me.

"What's my name?" I ask, beginning to pat her bottom gently, watching the firm globes jiggle under my tap-tap-tapping palm.

Layla whimpers as my hand pats her sensitive flesh, gentle taps sending jolts of sensation through her body. She bites her lip, struggling to focus through the building anticipation and humiliation.

"I...I don't..." she stammers, her brow furrowing in concentration. Suddenly, her eyes widen as realization dawns. "I don't knnnooowwww!!! Oh please! Please don't do this!"

**SLAP!**

She draws in a deep, shuddering breath, unable to believe I just spanked her. Layla Laurent—the great and powerful girl who humiliated me so publicly—is now bent over a desk with her dress pulled up like a naughty schoolgirl, her panties on display, receiving the first spank of what I hope will be many more.

This is going to be too much fun. She has no idea what my name is, and she's going to pay dearly for it.

Chapter 4:

"What is my name?" I ask.

**SLAP!**

Layla cries out sharply as my hand connects with her tender flesh, the sharp crack echoing in the empty classroom. Tears spring to her eyes from the sting, but there's an undeniable heat pooling low in her belly. She writhes against the desk, her satin-covered bottom jiggling enticingly.

"AHHH! W-wait! I'm trying!" she sobs, her voice breaking with desperation and unwanted arousal. "Please, I need more time!"

Another slap lands, and Layla bucks forward, a strangled moan escaping her lips. Her thighs clench together as she struggles to process the overwhelming sensations assaulting her.

"Say my name."

**SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!**

"What's my name, Layla?"

**SLAP! SLAP! SPANK! SPANK! SLAP!**

"Say it."

**SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!**

"Say my name."

**SLAP! SLAP! SPANK! SPANK! SLAP!**

"What is it?"

**SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!**

Layla doesn't even try to fight. She breaks down completely, full ugly sobs wracking her entire body. Tears run down her face, mixing with snot and drool that spills from her as she's confronted with her own carelessness—her thoughtlessness in not even knowing the name of the boy she humiliated so publicly.

This realization hurts far worse than the spanking. As her bottom begins to glow a rosy pink beneath her panties, she pushes her satin-clad bottom back into my spanking hand, knowing full well she deserves everything happening to her in this moment.

"I-I d-d-don't knooowwww," she finally screams, the admission tearing from her throat like a prayer and a confession. "I don't know your name and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!"

I pause, rubbing her punished bottom tenderly as she collapses against the desk, weeping. She thinks I'm done. I'm not done. I'm just getting started.

I let my spanking hand caress her warm bottom cheeks under the smooth satin. She moans, still crying, and lifts for me. I let my hand explore between her legs and gasp when I feel a hot, sticky wetness covering her intimate area. Her puffy lips push against the wet satin, the tip of her hard clitoris twitching as I rub it between my thumb and forefinger.

Layla gasps and shudders as my fingers find her most sensitive spots, her hips bucking involuntarily into my touch. Despite the pain and humiliation, her body responds eagerly, aching for more stimulation. She buries her face in her arms, muffling her increasingly **** whimpers and moans.

"Oh god, oh god, please..." she babbles incoherently, torn between the urge to beg me to stop and the shameful desire for me to continue. "I c-can't...it's too much..."

Her thighs quiver and part further, allowing easier access as her arousal grows. The wet spot on her panties expands, the delicate fabric clinging to her swollen folds. Her entire body feels electrified, every nerve ending screaming for my touch even as her mind reels from the intensity of the experience.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I whisper as I bring her right to the edge, my fingers slipping away just as her body teeters on the precipice of release.

Layla whimpers, her hips humping the air desperately, seeking the friction of my palm that's no longer there.

I spank her sharply across the curve of her ass.

She yelps, her body jerking forward against the desk.

"Not yet, sweet girl," I say, my voice low and controlled. "You haven't earned my mercy yet. You still haven't told me my name."

With that, I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties—those bubblegum pink floral satin briefs with their lavender ruffled trim—and tug them gently over her hips, down the curve of her punished bottom, and shimmy them off entirely. She remains bent over the desk, splayed open for me, her intimate flesh glistening with arousal. Juices run down the inside of her trembling thighs in wet trails.

I spread the soaked panties in front of her face so she can bear witness to her own humiliation.

The spanking turns her on. I can see it written all over her flushed skin, in the way her body responds despite her shame.

I pick up a long, whippy wooden ruler from a basket in the corner and tap it against my palm as I stand in front of her.

"What's my name, Layla?"

Layla stares at her soaked panties dangling from my fingers, fresh waves of mortification crashing over her. The sight of her own arousal—the evidence of how much this degradation is affecting her—makes her want to disappear into the floor. And yet, some dark, hidden part of her revels in it, craves more.

"No, please," she whines desperately, squirming against the desk as her neglected sex throbs with emptiness. "I need..."

To be continued in chapter 5...