"Tap your left heel three times if you need me to slow down," he says, looking into her eyes to see that she understands.

She nods, and parts her lips around the gag he is pressing on her lips, meeting his amused stare unblinkingly. "And remember what happens if your hands come off the table?" he growls into the nape of her neck, reaching under her arms and squeezes her nipples.

She digs her nails into the desk and grits her teeth against the gag before making her best effort to answer in garbled sounds.

"Exactly," he says, slides his foot forwards, between hers. Slides it side to side, pressing his knee against each inner thigh, left then right, spreading her legs further apart. He runs his hands over her breasts, shoulders, up her neck and into her hair. He uses fistfuls of hair like handles, lowers her cheek down against the desk.

"You look so pretty, bent over like this, just for me." He mumbles and she floats into a light trance, drooling from her gag, and wet in her pants. He relaxes the grip on her hair, running his hand down her neck, between her shoulder blades, then slowly along the curve of her spine, slowing down to kiss each dimple on her lower back. He marvels at the mound of her cotton thong peeking out from her skirt, lazily rubs a thumb over the damp fabric.

She sinks into the desperation of chasing those light, unpredictable touches through the fabric, so much that the first swat on her ass takes her by surprise, forcing her to draw a sharp breath. She braces for the next hit, which comes hard and sharp - the moment after she relaxes - followed swiftly by another, and then more than she can count, at a pace she cannot brace for. With each hit she floats one step further into the trance, the sting building quickly to a raging soreness, urging her to tap out.

Her cries are muffled by the gag, so he pauses, checking the urgency in her squirming. He knew she wouldn't be ready to keep count - this time - so he'd targeted 30, and got pretty close. He firmly stroked the spot he'd just slapped, as he contemplated how far to push her. She shuddered hard and shuffled away reflexively, then corrected her position. He gave another, less abused spot a rub and she flinched and made a sound that made him decide 30 would be for next time... He chuckles softly, "Ready to behave, princess?"

She sighs, nodding her head against the now warm and damp wood desk, dragging the straps of the gag against her cheek in the process. "I thought so. Press your hands against the desk and straighten your elbows to stand up," he instructs softly. She does, and he gently unclasps the gag, sets it on the desk, wipes the her drool, makeup and tear stained cheeks with his thumbs. Takes her shoulders and turns her to face him. "Good girl, you did so well," he tells her, looking her in the eye.

She smiles involuntarily, proudly, savouring the glowy tingling spreading from her throat and chest, ignited by the way he is looking at her, like she is both a savage fighter and a priceless, fragile thing.

"Daddy will take care of you now," he says, and scoops one arm around her shoulders, the other behind her knees, and starts walking towards the bedroom.