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He gave a sigh. I wasn't sure whether it was in resignation that I was wrong or disappointment that I was right. I held my breath, gnawing on my lips.
As he said incredulously, "You're right." He struck me on my right cheek.
"Ten," I called out loud and clear. The count continued, "Eleven, - eleven... .... Twelve, - twelve... ...." They weren't coming in as fast a succession, but the severity was as great or greater on my tender tush. He continued the practice of varying the speed, the rhythm and throwing in back-to-backs. Fortunately I had a friend.
It took every trick in the book to keep from just sobbing uncontrollably, thereby losing the count. The Doms still taunted me with random numbers, but my friend helped out.
I managed to control myself by biting my lip and self-talk until, "Fifteen - fifteen... ..., - sixteen, - sixteen... ...." I sobbed.
From then on, I was beside myself. I howled, sniffling with each blow, "Seventeen, - seventeen... ..., - eighteen, - eighteen... ...." I kept track on my fingers of each corresponding hand with the real count-mistress being my friend, Camille. Master kept up his tattoo on my ass until, " - twenty-one."
To Be Continued...
