Trent started right in with this new leather paddle—its strike not so initially mean as what I felt from the spoon. That, in itself, was a relief, though he was hardly easy on me. As usual, he took up a brisk pace, laying the three inch wide leather boldly over every inch of my ass, and when he wanted to really raise my ire, he drifted to my thighs. I tried to keep my cries to a minimum, gritting my teeth more firmly than I ever did with Trent alone. This for my self-respect. But when he leveled a dozen on my thighs—like he was deliberately going for my nasty wail—I couldn’t hold back the throaty exclamation. I twisted miserably under his iron tight grasp, jerking and whining like crazy. Though he returned to my ass, there was little relief when he drove the paddle home faster than e
