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The night brings Analise to my room again. As before, she arrives like a phantom, fluttering in on the ocean breeze, reaching out to me from the shadowy darkness. As her soft body slides in next to mine, I take her in my arms, and we press our nakedness against each other.
“I didn’t want you to sleep alone,” she says, kissing my mouth. I hadn’t thought that was such a problem, being alone. But she has easy access to me these days because I’m in such a perpetual state of arousal that the relief of sexual climax is welcome, and likely necessary. It’s as easy a lovemaking as it’s been before. I’m becoming used to her body. She knows where to touch, I know where to touch her. Our mouths seem to melt into each other, almost as if we’re one person. It’s not the same with Peach. Peach and I are always different in some obvious way. Making love to Analise is like making love to my reflection in the mirror.
The only thing to mar the episode occurs when I note that Analise is not wearing the dildo as I told her to. I pass over the omission, saying nothing to her now. But I will later.
Chapter Eleven
Throwing open the attic door, I see Analise shrink back on her bed, afraid.
At lunch I told her to meet me upstairs at four o’clock. She knows why, but doesn’t balk at my stern command. In fact, I see the submissiveness on her face, as if she were waiting for my wrath.
As she trembles, she’s naked and compliant. A patch of sun streaks across her bed, making her white skin glow like alabaster. Ah yes! It will soon be glowing, wildly red!
I’ve never punished anyone before, but I will today.
I think back to Elizabeth. She would have slapped my face a dozen times before she even began to talk. She would have me backed into a corner with her nasty cane in hand, had I so negligently ignored a direct command as Analise has done. I can’t be so ruthless with Analise. She’s convinced me of her frailty, which may be a fine act. But she’s also convinced me that she needs a thorough reprimand. If I can’t avoid the darkness that lingers inside me, neither will she avoid what she begs for through her fears.
“You thought I wasn’t serious about your ass?” I inquire.
Her childlike eyes attempt to melt my anger. I don’t know if it’s simple fury that rises in me, or a role I’m playing for both our benefit: something that occurs to me as I recall Elizabeth and her rash attacks. I know I’m not Elizabeth, I’ll not be as arbitrary as that woman, but the firmness and intent of my designs come clear to me.
“I’ve never tolerated things in my ass,” she tells me soulfully.
“But you will now,” I tell her.
“Please, I can’t do it,” she whines more.
“Yesterday, you adjusted to the penetration; there’s no reason you can’t now.”
She hangs her head, knowing how displeased I am.
“Though, what I’m most concerned about now is your disobedience. You deserve a decent thrashing, and you’ll get it,” I vow.
She bites her lip sheepishly. The anticipation of punishment appears to arouse her. As she sits on her haunches on the bed, she grinds her cunt and bottom against her legs. The soft sultry look in her eye may suggest fear, but it also tells me so much more.
“You can’t wait to have your bottom whipped,” I comment.
She doesn’t answer.
I remember the trunk and the things inside. There was something in the bottom that will do nicely to punish her ass. Analise stares at me as I stride toward the old steamer trunk. Opening the creaky lid, its contents fly hither thither about the floor, as I search for what I saw there the day before. Spotting the instrument, I pull it from its hiding place and allow the handle to become comfortable in my hand.
The leather paddle will sting like the belt Peach used on my ass. It’s at least eighteen inches long, with a firm flexible paddle end that’s three inches wide. The girl has lessons to learn and this will teach her well.
She sees me coming, and I’m surprised to see that she doesn’t cringe. Though perhaps she’s used to be being spanked by Tasia, for whatever has offended that woman. I imagine Tasia would punish her even harder than I will, then again, maybe not? Nonetheless, I know exactly how much a woman can bear before it’s too much, having been through this so many times.
Analise stares at me expressionless. Her chest heaves, her enormous eyes become moist, but she still doesn’t flinch.
“Turn over,” I instruct.
She wavers only for an instant, then moves around the bed, so that her ass is once again waving at me. She knows to keep her head and chest pressed against the sheets in a way that makes her rear cheeks spread out wide and her white skin tautly stretched.
I stand to one side and aim the paddle as if I’ve done this a hundred times before. It feels so very natural, so complimentary to all the sexual acts I do. How many times I’ve written this scene on paper, varying details, altering names and faces and places. It’s still just one scenario, just one simple feeling of righteous justice being meted out on a naughty brat. My pictures have always made me the star, the receiver, the punished. Becoming the administrator, however, is just a simple alteration of a well rehearsed plan.
The paddle falls effortlessly against the woman’s bottom. I hear her groan, crying into the comforting softness of the bed, but she fails to revolt in any way, taking her admonishment like the act it is: a well deserved moment of justice.
By the time I smack her a half dozen times, I see the color pink rise gloriously on her once fair cheeks. It’s so appealing, the change of color, seeing it for myself for the first time. Another half dozen smacks and the pink blush turns red. I see lines laced across her skin where the paddle hits again and again. I hear little whimpering shrieks with each fierce blow. Her cries suggest that she’s reaching her limit, but I don’t trust her to be honest. I’ve never been when I’ve been spanked by Elizabeth or Peach. It becomes a contest of wills between submissive and dominant. No matter how much pain I can take, I attempt to ward it off at the same time—whether it’s what I want or not. There is so much mixed emotion in the volatile act. I assume Analise is no different than me, so I spank her harshly, until her bottom looks raw and the lines on her skin stand out as rude welts.
She shrieks, moans, and cries her muffled cries. Her ass jiggles every which way as if she could escape the paddle. She falls to one side and I force her to rise again, and deliver more punishment until I can’t stand her agony anymore, and neither can she.
