She’s still giggling, and she is adorable when she laughs. She covers her mouth with her hands, and screws her eyes and nose up and emits a series of high-pitches little snorts and gasps that only get more intense as she tries to stop them.
“Came to laugh at me, did you?”
“I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t been acting so clownish,” she smirks disrespectfully.
She’s practically begging for a spanking, and who I am I to deny her?
I growl under my breath, close the distance between us, and grip her by the wrist. I enjoy the way her eyes widen right before I lift her out of the tree, prop my knee up on some lumber and toss her over it, throwing her little skirt up over her hips and landing a muddy handprint right on the seat of her generous rear.
“You come all the way out here alone to a single man’s homestead and you act the brat and think you won’t end up with your hide being tanned?” I lecture her, spanking her just hardenough to make it feel stingy and good. So much has changed about the world, but the way she responds to having her ass smacked has not. She starts to gasp and squeal and moan.
I forget all about propriety, and what is expected of me, and what will happen to me and my fingers if certain old men are to find out what I have done.
I grip her panties and tear them down, revealing her pretty pink cheeks to my gaze. Her gasp is scandalized, but the second my palm lands on her ass again, she is dropped back into the memory of how it is to be treated like the naughty little pet she is.
“Ow!” she complains. “That hurts!”
“It’s supposed to. I’m trying to teach you some manners, young lady,” I say, dropping into the local drawl.
* * *
Mara
I haven’t been able to stay away from him. I’ve tried to hide my interest, because it’s embarrassing to have a crush on a man after years of being mostly disinterested in all the colony guys.
There is something different about this one. Something I can’t explain to anyone because it sounds like madness. I swear to god he’s not like the other men. I see flashes of something else inside him from time to time. Skin that seems more blue than tan. Texture that rises into hexagonal bumps like scales. But then I blink and they’re gone again and I realize there’s no way I can tell anybody about what I think I’ve seen.
Now he’s spanking my ass hard, and in the immediacy of being pressed over his leg, feeling all my pride and decorum eking away with each and every new slap, I start to forget about all the pretending I’ve been doing.
“Ow! Let me go, you asshole! My father is going to kill you for this!”
He grips my hip and my hair at the same time and lowers his lips to my ear, speaking to me in a soft, but dominant growl. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”
“No,” I agree weakly.
Pathetic. I am so pathetic.
“That’s right,” he says. He picks me up and carries me toward the river. I don’t register what is happening until I am plunged into the water with him.
“What the fuck!” I let out a scandalized squeal that ends in an excited laugh.
He laughs along with me. “You looked like you needed a dip,” he explains, holding me close. “I got you messy with my muddy hands, and we can’t have that, can we.”
“I guess not,” I say, clinging to him as the water rushes past the both of us, threatening to take me away. He plants his feet in the riverbed and keeps us steady against the current.
This is the first time I have ever been this close to a man. I have never been held against a chest like this, or felt arms so powerful in quite this way. I am still stuck between wanting to fight and tell him off, and wanting him to show me all the terrible things that I can see dancing deep in his eyes.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say weakly.
“But you came all the way out here, alone,” he says. “You followed me, pet. You watched me from the trees. And then you let me know of your presence. What did you think would happen? Better question, what did you want to happen?”
One arm is wrapped around my waist as he asks these questions. The other is smoothing over my ass and hips and thighs, making rivulets of water run in fresh configurations around my sore butt.
“I don’t know,” I say, because I don’t want to say what I wanted.
I thought a lot about the way he touched me on the day we first met. He was so bold. He touched me like he owned me. I wondered if he was like that with all women, but as far as I can tell he hasn’t shown any interest in the others. He’s also respected my father’s wishes and kept himself clean around me.
That has given me days of watching him, listening to him when he doesn’t know I’m listening. Making conversation with my father over dinner and dropping in the occasional question while trying not to seem too interested. My dad pretends along with me and answers the questions as if they’re just about anyone.
