Free Typist #2 - Spanking the Billionaire Novelist by Mimi Strong Page B

author, I wanted to get his clothes off. Flirting with the delivery boy had made me feel alive, sexy. I wanted to be touched.
    “Tell you what,” I said. “Let's get a thousand words typed. That'll buy you … one minute of dick-sucking. Two thousand, and you start getting bonus items.”
    His gold-brown eyes brightened and he stood up straighter.
    “Two thousand words buys a spanking!”
    “Deal,” I said, and we shook on it.
    What followed was the fastest typing I'd done yet. The chapter wasn't bad, either, except the part where a delivery boy showed up at Sheri's mansion and whipped out his micro-penis.
    I stopped typing and commented, “Subtle.”
    We checked the words and found we'd surpassed the two-thousand-word goal.
    “Go get the hairbrush,” he said.
    I ran down to my room and got the flat-paddled brush, then came into the room, whacking it against my palm.
    “Trousers off,” I said.
    He gave me a sidelong look. “Let's do the spanking first.”
    I smacked the brush into my palm again. “Exactly. Get your trousers off, you naughty boy.”
    His eyes went wide, and he stammered unintelligibly.
    I took a seat on the edge of the king-sized bed that was inside the office bedroom. Patting my knees, I said, “Come and lie across here.”
    “But I thought ...”
    “We never specified who would be the spankee. I'm in a spanking mood. Why don't you indulge me, for once?”
    “Will it hurt?”
    He looked genuinely frightened, and I fought the urge to giggle.
    “Haven't you ever been spanked before?”
    He shook his head, no.
    “Not even as a child, by your parents or a babysitter?”
    He shook his head again.
    I patted my knees. “I'll be gentle. And if you take it like a big boy, you'll be rewarded. Pants off. Now.”
    He slowly undid his trousers and slipped them off. Inside his boxer shorts, he had a semi-erection.
    “Shorts off too,” I said.
    He slipped them off and used his hands to cover himself, then he came over to me. His body movements were jerky and unsure, but he obediently rested his torso on my thighs.
    “Other way,” I said sternly. “I'm right-handed.”
    He whimpered and made his way around to the other side.
    I brought the hairbrush down on his buttock with a resounding smack.
    He tensed, but didn't cry out.
    I massaged his butt with my hand, soothing the red mark, and then I smacked him again with the back of the brush.
    “Two,” I said.
    He peered up at me, “Exactly how many are we counting up to?”
    “How many would you like?” I massaged his butt lovingly. “Or should I say, how many do you deserve? You destroyed my cell phone and my favorite sleeping shirt.”
    He gulped. “Ten?”
    I brought down the wooden brush for a nice, juicy smack. “Three!”
    He groaned and rubbed his stubbly chin against my leg.
    Simultaneous with the smack, I said, “Four!”
    He bit my leg.
    By the time we reached ten, he was squirming around on my lap, seemingly torn between loving the spanking and hating it.
    Scratch that, he was loving it.
    I could tell by the wood he was sporting, the erection pressing into my leg.
    “Dirty boy,” I said, shoving him off my lap.
    He stood up, saying, “I'll show you who's dirty.” His face was flushed, as pink as his freshly-spanked bottom, the ruddiness brought out by the white dress shirt he still wore.
    I pointed my finger at him. “You're dirty. I'm a good girl. I'm innocent, or at least I was, before I showed up here, to get corrupted and … antagonized by you.”
    He moved toward me, but I rolled onto my back and put my bare feet on his chest to keep him at bay. He ran his hands up and down my legs, his fingers sneaking in under the hem of my shorts.
    His voice husky, he said, “You like being antagonized by me. You squirm in your chair when I look at you. Your pussy gets all hot and juicy. Every time you call me a bad name, I'll bet that's when you're the most turned on.”
    “You twisted freak.”
    He shoved his fingers up the leg of my