In the woodshed, he sat down on a bale of straw, and looked up at Casey’s impudent face, her wild, disheveled hair, her pouting full lips.
“Take down your jeans,” he ordered.
She was used to the scene after her two previous sessions, and she knew not to argue. Unbuttoning the fly of her jeans, she pushed the tight denim over her hips. She was wearing just a pair of pale pink bikini panties.
“Over my knee,” he said.
“Your knee?” she questioned.
“My knee,” he said, patting his lap.
“You’ve changed, I mean . . . .”
“This time no belt, no bench. Just your ass, and this hand.” He held up his right hand for her to see.
She almost had to kneel to put herself over Jack’s lap, he was sitting so low. As she bent over, he pulled her down, and Casey braced her feet and hands on the dusty
