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“No, I’m not avoiding it, but I don’t have to honor it with an answer. Now, why don’t you come with me?”
“Where?”
“Back to the village.” (We were eating at the main faire, in our own back corner of the massive tent. Dozens of faire patrons filled the tent so it was difficult to hear with all the commotion.)
“Why there?” I asked.
“Unless you want to get spanked in front of all these people, I’d suggest that we take this war behind the privacy of our tent. Your choice.”
Hell, I wasn’t going to tempt him in the midst of the crowd, so I took off behind him as he strode the quarter mile to the cast village.
“Ouch!”
He was smacking me hard with the palm of his hand.
Not wasting one fucking word, KC had dragged me inside our tent while I was trying to avoid this inevitable result. He had my skirt raised and my ass over his lap in seconds giving me a blistering hot spanking on a bottom all too anxious for the treatment. It had been some days—days before we arrived at the Sword & Tankard—since my last good punishment. The way I walked into this one so easily, I must have been baiting him to appease an obstreperousness that became more distressing every day.
Smack!
“Ouch!” My fanny was hot, my skirts swishing around me, and his determination seeming to gather steam the more he worked my ass.
He let loose with a good dozen swats against the back of my thighs and I started to howl like a banshee. “Come on, KC,” I roared when I was sane, “it was a fair question!”
“It was a stupid question,” he roared right back as his hand came down to flame my skin.
“Yeeeeeeouch!” He was hitting in the middle of my ass, right on tender skin, not one, two, even three smacks in a row before changing targets, but a couple of dozen. It hurt as much—maybe more than being spanked with a belt.
I could feel the anger coming through his hand—maybe he was a little pent-up, too. Of course then, he’d had his jollies with the ladies a few nights before. That should have worked some of his sadistic dominance out of his system, though this spanking belied that theory.
His anger was an intimacy we shared in times like these. When he was spanking me for the fun, or playing Mr. Cool Cold Correctional Officer punishing me for being lazy with my job, the anger was absent. But when the motivation was personal, when it was about the two us, when it was about my stupidity regarding our relationship, his emotion swelled right on the surface.
KC called it righteous indignation. I called it anger. Regardless, the feel of his emotions was sexy and it turned me on. I swear I could feel his erection growing underneath me the more he rained his strikes. Unfortunately, however, we didn’t often screw afterwards because he had some message to impart to me; and he didn’t want the sex to keep me from absorbing his meaning thoroughly. At that moment, however, all I could feel was the amazing lust coming from him, as though he were pouring on love. A strange sort of way to care about someone, but that was exactly what I was feeling.
My ass was ten degrees hotter that the steamy air—sweltering like the worst of summer days.
When he finally stopped, he pushed me off his lap to the floor, where I landed between his thighs, KC looking down at me with his black, narrow eyes staring into my wet green ones. Then, he started his lecture. “You demean our relationship again with insinuations like that, I’ll bruise that heinie of yours raw till you get my message. You understand? That was schoolgirl shit. If you don’t know how serious our relationship is then you’ve been living in another world from mine.”
I tried to raise some objection but he cut me off.
“No suspicions, Gail. None.”
“What about Andrea?”
“You know that’s nothing. It didn’t bother you then, or did it?”
“No.”
“Hell, if you don’t want me to screw around, I won’t. I don’t care. I can go either way. Sex is sex to me—except with you, and then it’s special. You know that, and you’re just being immature to say otherwise.”
He shut me up more with every word. No way I could argue his points.
“Sure, I’ve brought women to this event with me for years, but that was other years. You’re the only one I’ve loved. Don’t forget that.”
“Okay.” That was all I could manage in my creaky, guilty, sad little voice.
I was still horny, and my ass was hot, and the desire and emotion bursting through me had to have some physical end, though I wasn’t betting that I’d have one. The more we were eye to eye the more my sexual need intensified.
“KC, I want to be collared,” I finally said. It seemed as though that statement came from nowhere; but to be honest, I’d been thinking of it since he explained the collaring and the game between these bawdy brutes and their wenches. In fact, I could hardly not think of it since it was all around me every day. The collar had become a matter of pride with me. I was a submissive woman. I’d accepted that. I loved being spanked—I even secretly liked the thought of an audience. What better place could there be for me to take this lust to another level?
