Each carefully timed spank feeds the growing ache, heat creeping across the curve of Pearl's cheeks, licking at the insides of her thighs. Maybe she'll feel it tomorrow. A deep sweet soreness, every time she sits down or shifts in her jeans. She'll have to hide her little winces when she sits down in class or in the cafeteria, swallow her whimpers at every unexpected twinge of sensation. Reminder of Rose's hand on her, her nails marking skin. God, Pearl hopes she'll feel it.

Stretched out like this, the position is easier on her upper body; there's just enough play in the arrangement of her limbs that she can begin to move her hips again, an uneven rhythm that echoes Rose's spanking. Rutting into the bed. Shameless, just as Rose calls her: her breath hitches into a half sob, and she buries it in the bedding. She twists her head (cheeks pink, hair hopelessly tousled from struggle) as if to meet Rose's eyes, but can't quite manage to crane her neck enough.

"Please--" She doesn't know what to ask for. Knows it probably doesn't matter anyway: it's up to Rose, all of it. Still, she shapes the words, soft and quavering: "Please t-touch me."