Somehow she knew before she did it that she shouldn’t. But it had ever been a battle between them. He would say ‘you can’t,’ ‘you mustn’t,’ and ‘don’t.’ And she would say, “I know” while thinking ‘only if you catch me.’ Well he had caught her red handed and it had happened again.
Now her world was all pins and needles and nervous nausea churning in her tummy. Almost worse was the zing of the bee-sting fire he had lit in her now exposed bottom. It was so hard not to rub and dance around the room while bawling like a kid. Well she had done enough of that today already with worse to come once the visitors had gone home.
Visitors, the worst word in any language, they would be here at any minute and why today?
“Please Sir, please, please, please, I’ll be good,” she had pleaded once she had got her breath back. “Spank me again, anything but that.”
“Oh I will,” he said in his stern baritone, “Later. But right now you get that cherry red behind of yours in that corner and stay there.”
“But… Kathy, Mark… don’t let them see me like this… please,” she begged.
This was another contest for them; ding-ding round three. She had lost the first two rounds already. Sometimes if she cried, if she promised, then he would relent, but only if she conceived of a very imaginative alternative and begged him for it. It was a funny sort of victory, but right now she would have taken it.
“Cane me, cane me hard. Make me do a thousand lines and cane me for every mistake, give me two thousand,” she wheedled, “Make me do it every week for a month and, and… ground me. Ground me with… with two hours corner time every night.”
This last promise could rebound too. What if they had visitors again? It was hard to imagine that they wouldn’t, not for a whole month. But that was her all over, she never thought ahead.
“Get your bottom in that corner where I can see it and don’t move until I tell you to,” he barked at her, “Or I will accept your suggestions and more on top.”
So round three had been dud too, she miserably thought – three falls and a submission. Now she was out for the count; red hair, red bottom and in the red corner.
A car pulled up outside and she jerked back to the present. Oh God, please, please, please let it not be them, please let them cancel. It was a long two minutes, but no doorbell rang.
Perhaps if they were late he would relent.
She thought about round two. The spanking had been bad, that is to say good. Well he would say so. “A good sound spanking,” he would say, but what was so good about it, she thought ruefully.
The evidence from round one had been irrefutable. There on the table had been exhibits one, two and three. The coat, the hat and the credit card statement: busted.
Ding-ding round two; “you wouldn’t dare.”
What a dumb thing to say, she could almost admit she deserved the spanking that followed.
He had given her that ‘look,’ the one that said, “Really?”
In return, and this was good, like she wasn’t in enough trouble, she rolled her eyes at him.
“Would you be so kind as to fetch your hairbrush?” Only it wasn’t a question.
“Oh come on,” she wailed, “Kathy and Mark will be here soon.”
“Better hurry then.” He had folded his arms.
She had refused. She had stamped her foot and refused. Well after she was out of earshot, she did.
“I won’t do it,” she said and repeated it all the way back before handing him the hairbrush.
“What was that?” he said sharply.
“Nothing,” she muttered, her eyes downcast, but then she quickly added, “Nothing Sir.”
Then it was over his knee and with her trousers and little cotton pants down. “Look I’m sorry,” she had said.
He let the hairbrush make his reply, loudly and fast so that the spanks sang back at her in an echo even as he spanked her again.
The gritting of the teeth stage was quickly overtaken by the ankle crossing and panting like a Labrador on a beach stage. Dogs didn’t sweat, was the idle thought that crossed her mind as she realised that she was. Then it was on to the barking stage. This was accompanied by the bucking and clawing at the crosspiece of the seat stage as the barking became more of a howl.
“I’ll be good, so good, please Sir, please,” the begging stage already, he must be pissed off with her.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she honked, her tears had real moisture in them, a veritable cascade of great rolling rivulets of water that ran with make-up down her face.
The prospect of the corner had seemed like a good thing then. Corner time and a good old rub and I’ll never be a naughty girl again. And so it went on, the same old same old.
But the corner wasn’t a good thing, especially when he hadn’t let her rub. She sniffed and risked a tiny probe around her backside with her fingers. But if he were to see… her hands were quickly snapped away.
The car outside seemed louder than the one before and she felt a fresh wave of tummy tingles. Maybe it wasn’t them, maybe… long minutes passed and she tried to let go of the apprehension, there was still time. Then the doorbell rang.
Ding-ding, round four was going to be hellish.
End
