Give and Take
“I’m am so sorry,” Jeanette whispered as she slipped her pants off. She was, too. She’d disappointed Tyler, and the knowledge sat like a stone in her belly. But he was smiling at her, that grim, bright-eyed smile that said he knew exactly how to make it better. How she could make it up to him. “I won’t speed again.”
“Of course you won’t,” he said, pulling her over, into his lap. “I trust you. But I want you to remember this, Darling.”
She closed her eyes and winced. Last time it had been the phone bill – she’d gone eighty dollars over, and every dollar of it had come out of her hide one swat at a time. That had been tough enough – Tyler’s hands were large and hard, and rough from his years of working with his hands at his carpentry studio.
Each smack to her bottom had made her wince, and by the end, she was crying. It had been months and she swore she could still feel the burn. Her ass had been raspberry-colored for days.
This would be worse – one hundred and twenty smacks.
He bent her over his knee, and she blushed at the indignity as her tender bottom was turned up to his view. Her baby doll shirt slipped up over her bra. The ticket lay where it had fallen, on the floor not two feet from her nose. She stared at the little pink slip, the hateful numbers carbon-copied onto it. She’d been so stupid, but she’d wanted to hurry home to Tyler!
She squirmed in his grip and he tightened his hold on her, tugged her panties down. A fresh surge of humiliation ran through her as he touched her pussy lips, ran his fingers up the crack of her ass. She was totally open, vulnerable.
The first slap landed almost lightly, right on the sweet spot below the swell of her cheek. It barely hurt, but she still jumped, her skin crinkling into goose bumps even as an electric cold current jolted through her, tightening her nipples. She gasped as more blows fell, light at first, just warming the skin, the slaps muted as he kept his hand on her flesh after each stroke.
She kicked her heels a little, around twenty. Was he just fooling around with her or what? He’d been so angry . . . why was he going easy on her? It made her worry, and worry made her sweat.
When he had warmed her up, he set to with a passion, suddenly switching from light strokes to hard smacks, the sound whipping through the room. The first three fell before the pain peaked, and before Jeanette could even cry out. She was grateful he wasn’t making her count, even as she swallowed bitter tears.
She could not have kept count, not with these hard spanks raining down on her upturned, helpless ass. She squirmed, wriggled, and once, in desperation, hoping to make him slow down or give her a respite, she thrust her hand back to try to shield her naked ass – a terrible no-no, but she couldn’t help herself. He grasped the offending wrist and paddled harder, allowing time between strokes for the pain to swell and burn to its peak.
She gasped and wailed, past the point now where it was pure pain, and now only sensation, warmth, pressure, sharp flashes like heat lightning playing over her skin. He took her to the edge and beyond it, pushed her over . . . it wasn’t pleasure, tears still fell, but she felt her body open up and accept the punishment. She went limp across his legs, and the last twenty strokes fell hard on her unresisting bottom.
After, he gently picked up the ticket, put it away, lay her on the couch. Her ass burned, her whole body coursed with endorphins. She felt drowsy and pleasantly heavy.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again.
“Of course you are. I still love you, you know.” His smile made him the handsomest man in the world. The lust that had simmered in her at the touch of his commanding hands now boiled over.
“Come here,” she said, spreading her thighs, her body needing to feel him again. “Come here and prove it to me.”
– Alexandra Rose