What She Needs by Lacey Alexander

thought qualified as a fantasy for her . . . and yet, wasn’t she aching for more? Wasn’t she excited?
    So she lay there, nervous, pulsing, anxious, torn.
    That’s when he eased one finger inside the narrow band of lace stretching downward over the center of her bottom. She bit her lip at the touch—and sharply pulled in her breath as his fingertips moved slowly over her anus. They felt damp, as if maybe he’d moistened them first. She tensed, waiting for the pleasure of his fingers stroking lower, through her wetness—so it shocked the hell out of her when his touch didn’t stray from the small fissure and he instead slid one finger smoothly, firmly inside it.
    A startled cry lurched from her throat at the strange, uncomfortable sensation. “Wh-what are you . . . ?”
    “Punishing you, naughty girl.”
    “B-but . . .”
    “Quiet,” he told her, and began to move his finger in and out.
    Jenna had never felt anything like it. She wanted to think it hurt—the initial entry had been distressing—but . . . it didn’t. In fact, she began to squirm, almost involuntarily, and she heard her own breath growing ragged. With pleasure? She couldn’t figure that part out, but something was definitely making her hotter inside. She suffered the sense of being invaded, never having expected anything to enter her there, yet she never said the safeword or anything else that equated to asking him to stop.
    Then he used his free hand to spank her again—harder now, in a faster rhythm. Jesus God. She yelped at each strike of his palm, overcome by the combination of odd feelings vibrating through her. Did it hurt? Or did it feel good? She couldn’t even tell. But each unyielding slap echoed through her body, seeming to heighten every other sensation: the finger moving in and out of her anus, the hardness of the desk beneath her hips and breasts, the pulsation between her legs.
    “Have you had enough?” he finally asked.
    “Yes,” she burst out. Because her bottom was sore, and inexplicable feelings wracked her from head to toe.
    Yet even as he withdrew his finger, making her yelp yet again, he said darkly, “I don’t think you have. I think you need to be punished much, much more, Jenna.” And with that, he grabbed her hip and rolled her to her back on the desk.
    It shook her to see him again, face-to-face, after what he’d just done to her, yet his expression held nothing but intense desire mingled with power. Stepping between her legs, he leaned over, brusquely curled the fingertips of both hands into the cups of her bra, and yanked them down, causing her breasts to tumble free.
    “Damn,” he murmured then, for a brief second sounding more like the Brent of last night than Father Powers, and his reaction reminded her it was the first time he’d actually seen them. His response warmed her cheeks and made her glance down to where the two mounds emerged from a frame of white knotted blouse and askew lace, large and round, nipples pointed.
    His eyes remained locked there, too, as he closed his hands over them, massaging roughly. A moan escaped her throat when, below, his hardened length connected with her crotch through his pants and her thin undies. Her body felt supercharged now, as if everything up to this moment, from the shaving to the spanking to the anal play, had all been priming her . . . for whatever happened next.
    Brent aggressively twirled her nipples between his fingertips, then pulled on them, gentle but firm, the move seeming to elongate them further. Soft cries and mewls left her and she suddenly felt out of her head with pleasure—and the need for more.
    Next, he bent over her, taking one turgid peak in his mouth, sucking it in hard. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh God!” It hurt—and yet it didn’t. Because it made her throb still more wildly below. He rubbed against her there now, and her head dropped back in abandon. She felt her back arching, urging him to take as much of her breast into his mouth as