My fingers trembled when I gripped the hem.

I pulled it up—slow—bunching the fabric at my waist.

Exposed—bare cunt glistening in the lamplight, lips puffy, clit peeking out.

He looked—long, deliberate—then nodded once.

“Good girl. Turn around.”

I turned—back to him—ass presented.

He stood—chair scraping back—walked around the desk.

His hand rested on my lower back—warm, steady—then slid down to cup one cheek.

He squeezed—gentle at first—then harder—testing the tenderness from last night.

“Still sore?” he asked.

“A little,” I whispered.

He hummed—pleased.

Reached across the desk—picked up the wooden ruler from his pen holder.

Twelve inches.

Smooth.

Heavy.

“Bend over.”

I leaned forward—elbows on the desk, ass up, dress...