“I am ….How you say it—Fittsaft” #WIPITUP #BDSM #M/s #SwedishNanny 4


My book is in the final stages–Mastering Inga!  At this point we’re shooting for 4/1–I’ll reveal the cover when we’ve finalized the release date!!

In this scene, Inga has broken a rule that she didn’t like and her punishment is to write lines and it becomes…..interesting.

Inga’s back hurt and she wanted to bend over to relieve some of the stress to it, but with him sitting right behind her, bending her body would put on too much of a show with her ass and pussy on full display. She refused to let him see her bottom open and exposed like that. She grew angrier and angrier as time went on. She didn’t like writing lines. They’d used that as punishment in school and as a talker, she’d been left writing lines many days. It brought back awful, humiliating memories. She knew she was due to her direct disobedience, but she didn’t understand his rule about dresses to begin with.
I will obey all the rules whether I like them or not because it pleases my Master.
I will obey all the rules whether I like them or not because it pleases my Master.
She had only written thirty lines and the cramping in her hand made her stop. She put the pen down massaging the tired, knotted muscles in her hand.
Smack!Aj Gud! That hurts. What was that for?” She felt the tears rise in her eyes unbidden and definitely unwelcome. She didn’t want him to see weakness and crying over a couple swats made no sense. But damn that man’s hand was hard. She spun pressing her bottom up against the counter.
He closed in on her personal space, and she held her breath. Garrett stroked his forefinger down her neck to her cleavage. “Breathe, Inga.” He paused waiting for her to calm and breathe. “There. I gave you that hard swat because you stopped writing.”
“But my hand hurt. The cramping made it so I couldn’t hold my pen.” She held her hand up like he would be able to see the cramping.
“Yes. I assumed it’d been cramping. But you didn’t tell me. I need to know when something hurts or isn’t right. I’m your Master, your caretaker. And, you don’t decide when you start or stop a punishment. I do. I’m in charge of what you do or don’t do while you’re in this house or out of it. Again, I’m not a cruel Master. I would’ve massaged your hand and gotten you something to drink while we took a break. But you took away my ability to coddle and care for you. You don’t get that right, ever.”
“B-but…I didn’t…I just—. Okay. Yes, Master. May I please have a break, Master. My hand hurts really bad.” She stood waiting for his response.
Garrett grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it and then flipping it over to kiss the palm lightly. “Poor baby. Absolutely you can have a break. You sit down, and I’ll get you a drink of water.”
She turned looking for her panties.
“Uh-uh. No panties. You’re sitting on that sore bottom. Now, sit.”
 Still standing next to her chair, Inga said. “Uhm, Master.”
Garrett stopped at the cupboard getting a glass. “Yes.”
“I am ….how you say it—fittsaft.” Her neck became very hot and she had an obvious blush.
Garrett raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if to say ‘and that means what?’
Inga continued. “The  translation is ‘pussy juice’—fittsaft.”
Garrett initially tried to keep his face straight—unsuccessfully. He then just caved and started with a low quiet chuckle that warmed her insides, then he progressed into a full blown laugh, which did nothing but anger her. She hated being humiliated and laughed at.
Thankfully before she spoke rashly or stormed off, he stood next to her pulling her into his arms still chuckling quietly. ”Hey. Hey. It’s okay. I can see you’re getting angry. It’s okay. It’s just funny to hear the words in Swedish. That’s all. I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It’s okay that you have fittsaft. I kinda like fittsaft—on second thought, I love fittsaft. And I really like the idea of you sitting on a spanked bottom with fittsaft oozing out of your sweet pussy onto my kitchen chairs. How do you say sweet pussy?”
”Seriously?” When he nodded, she took a deep breath saying. ”Söta fitta means ‘sweet pussy.’”
He smiled lazily at her. ”Then, Miss Inga, I would be very pleased to have your Sota fitta seeping fittsaft. Please have a seat.”


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