I was looking down at her skin, rounded and blotched with the confused red bloom left by my hand, with the occasional finger or thumb-print showing on the outer areas. And at her pale, currently trembling cleft, the sweet perineal folds, and the hint, the merest centimetre or two, of her vulva. Swollen, she was, and wet. I smacked her again, still holding the panties clear, so my hand landed directly on her skin. That was better. I knew that Juniper felt so, too. “I said lift, girl.”
I’m going to have to cut here, though. This has been published and my publishers don’t want free competition from me. You can read it here.