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Chapter Thirty-Three
Unsurprisingly, Plum kicked and squirmed and pelted him with insults the entire way back to the rectory. That was fine. There were more than a few times Gideon was glad she was turned over his shoulder so she wouldn’t be able to see him bite back a laugh.
Once he wrangled her back inside, he hauled her upstairs and wrestled her onto his lap and yanked down her pants and her panties until her too-pale bottom was exposed. She should always have his marks on her backside. Always.
He made quick work of trapping her legs between his thighs and gathering her hands behind her back so she couldn’t flail enough to hurt either of them. He knew she wouldn’t mean to give him a black eye or afflict him with a limp from kicking his shin with her cast, but he’d rather avoid having to come up with a story to tell his parishioners altogether.
Once she was firmly in his grasp, he began to spank her, hard, his hand coming down on her buttocks over and over and over. He wasn’t going to make her count this time because she was too far gone for that but he wasn’t going to take it easy on her either. She didn’t want or need gentleness right now. She wanted a fight and he’d give it to her. And once she had settled, he’d give her something else.
He covered her cheeks with slaps, raining fire upon her bottom until it was red from the swell of her buttocks all the way to the tops of her thighs, and once he’d reached the bottom he started from the top again. And again. And again, until her skin was bright red and hot to the touch as he rubbed it and then made her shiver by drawing his blunt nails over the taut and swollen flesh.
Some days that would’ve been all she needed but not today. Today his little plum blossom needed far more than a hand spanking, no matter how thorough. And he was going to clear her head to the best of his abilities.
“I’m going to let you go and set you on your feet. If you do anything other than stand between my thighs with your hands clasped behind your back, I won’t hesitate to take you over my knee for another twenty minutes. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
She did actually keep her word after he helped her up, though there was still defiance and fury in her burning gaze. As expected. That’s why he’d concocted a scene to help drive it out.
“Go into the bathroom, fill a cup with water, and put a fresh bar of Ivory in it to soak.”
Plum’s fair skin went even paler, leaving rosy circles of mortification on her cheeks. “You can’t be serious.”
“Actually, I’ve been told I have the same sense of humor as a decomposing gourd a week before Thanksgiving. By you, if I’m remembering correctly.” He was. “So, yes, I am quite serious.”
“But—”
“No. No buts unless you want to be turned back over my knee and then you’ll be getting the soap ready anyhow. It’s up to you how sore your bottom is while you do it.”
Plum scowled and he could almost hear the gears turning in her head: How much did she want to fight? How sore did she want to be in the morning? How much did she need to resist this demoralizing punishment so she could feel as though it had been forced upon her and not as though she could sayredat any time and make it all stop?
But she wouldn’t. Not right now because she wasn’t finished raging yet. He’d gotten to know her fairly well over the past several months and this wasn’t an instance of a brief, focusing spanking. Her mood right now required a nuclear meltdown.
“If it matters in your figuring, your backside will be enduring the attention of several of my favorite implements afterward.”
He watched the sturdy column of her neck work as she swallowed. And while she gave him a dark look, she also turned on her heel and headed toward the bathroom.
* * *
Plum hated the way her fingers trembled while she took a glass from the shelf and filled it halfway with tepid water. Hated the way her heart sped up and she fumbled as she unwrapped the pristine bar of white soap. It was so…institutional somehow. So basic and old-fashioned and gut-clenchingly deviant. Her breath was shallow and her pulse raced as she dropped the bar of fresh-scented soap into the glass.
She’d seen people have their mouths soaped before. Had always had a sick fascination with it.
What would it be like to have the slick bar rubbed on your tongue to form a lather? How bad would it taste when it smelled so good in a deeply-ingrained, sense memory kind of way? Would she be able not to gag when the bar was pressed between her lips and she had to sink her teeth into the outer layer of softened tallow?
And why the fuck was she getting positively soaked between her legs thinking about it? Would Gideon slip his fingers through her folds and stuff them into her sopping pussy when he found her so ridiculously wet? Or would the reality of having this oft-threatened childhood punishment actually administered be enough to kill her arousal? And did she hope it would or not? There was really only one way to find out and it appeared she would be shortly.
“Are you finished?”
Gideon’s voice rang through the upstairs hall like a church bell. A foreboding, sadistic church bell.
Plum shook herself awake from her sudsy daydreams and went back to the bedroom.
Gideon had the toy chest open and she wanted to peer at its contents but she stopped just inside the threshold.
She didn’t cross her arms or put her hands on her hips, but without those defensive poses she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. Awkwardness twisted her stomach. She didn’t like being bad.
It was one thing to tease Gideon, provoke him, be purposefully bratty to get his attention and make him raise his brows in that way that made her knees weak. Force his voice into a lower, more threatening register that made a frisson of anticipation run down her spine. That was a game they both liked to play. This was different.
