"Number eleven, please." I ran my fingertips over and around her sensitive, red cheeks. They ran down the back of her thigh, then up the inside, near ...er cunt--oh, so close--then skipped over to the other inner thigh. Deftly, without her noticing, I picked up the hairbrush. Whack, whack. One right in the middle of each of her red spots. Her body went tense as a gasp escaped her lips. "Forgot about the hairbrush, did we?" She took a moment--I'm sure it was starting to really smart--then lifted. A great idea but, unfortunately, you cannot grip tightly enough to apply sufficient pressure. If anything you have made it worse. You press your thighs together as if trying to prevent yourself from peeing. But this does no good either. Just as you think you can take no more, you hear the door open. At last, your master. At least you assume it is he. He told you before he left the room that you should not look at him and that you should close your eyes.But now it didn't matter as you felt the. More

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