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Lucy’s confusion vanished as she thought of how he had prepared her in the study the first time he had taken a paddle to her bottom. “I tore my pinafore,” she admitted. “You can’t tuck my clothing up because… because I ripped it off and threw it at you.”
“That’s correct,” he said and then released her chin and stepped back. “Turn around and face the bench.”
Though her heart was galloping in her chest, Lucy obediently did as she was told. She shut her eyes, praying that no one would come along and witness her humiliation. As she heard his next words, she no longer worried about her shame, she worried if she would survive it.
“Bend over, spread your legs wide, put your elbows down and lift your bottom,” Lucas ordered, stepping to her side.
Lucy sobbed as she did as she was told, her legs spreading, her bottom lifting as if asking to be thrashed. She flinched as she felt him tap a switch against her bottom.
“Tell me, Lucille, why you are almost totally naked in your guardian’s garden, your legs open, your bottom lifted,” Lucas said softly as he continued to gently tap her upturned bottom.
“I was naughty and threw a… a tantrum. I screamed and threw my pinafore at you. I'm so sorry, Papa. Please… please don’t swi… switch me hard,” she begged, turning to look over her shoulder, her words broken by her tears and her earnest plea for mercy.
“I’m pleased to see you understand that your being sorry doesn’t negate the need for punishment,” Lucas said. “I also understand your request as I too remember how the fire from a switch burns. However, it is my sincere hope that you are to let that burn teach you a lesson.” The first switch is for that naughtiness,” he informed her and pulling one branch away from the other, he offered it to her lips.
Lucy dutifully kissed it and was prepared to kiss the other when he surprised her by shaking his head. Her head turned to watch him move to lay the second switch down on the bench, directly under her face so that she could not miss it.
“The second will thrash your legs for running from me. You are never, ever to run from me, Lucille. If you do, you’ll find your legs whipped each and every time.”
Lucy swallowed hard, her eyes glued to the switch beneath her. “Yes, Papa,” she whispered softly, her voice rising exponentially as the switching began.
Line after line of white hot fire landed on her proffered bottom, each stroke leaving its mark upon her pale skin. Lucas whipped the switch expertly, landing it exactly where he aimed, each stroke only a hairsbreadth beneath the previous. Lucy was soon dancing in place, her legs kicking, her bottom wagging up and down and twisting from side to side as he switched her hard and fast. She had no idea of how many strokes she had taken or how many he would place upon her bottom.
“Please!” she screeched, her wails causing birds to take flight as the shrill cries rent the air. “No… no more, please, Papa. It-it burns!”
“Yes, it does,” Lucas acknowledged, the evidence appearing in perfect marks down the crest of her bottom. He covered the entire surface of her buttocks before pausing. “Lift your bottom, Lucy,” he ordered tapping the switch against the curve of her cheeks. “I want your sit spots offered to me properly. Keep your head and shoulders down, bottom well up to prove your submission to your punishment.”
Lucy was beyond caring who either heard or saw her punishment. All she cared about was for the awful fire to be quenched, but instead, she felt the devil’s implement tap against her bottom again.
“Lucy, do as you are told or I shall repeat the switching of your bottom before I switch your sit spot.”
Sobbing, Lucy dropped her shoulders to the bench, her cheek now lying on the switch that was yet to be used. She pushed her bottom up, sticking it out as far as she could, her legs spread wide.
“Good girl,” Lucas said before a flick of his wrist sent the switch into the crease of the tender spot beneath her left buttock. She wailed as he gave her a half dozen strokes with the switch, alternating left and right, overlaying the strokes until both of her sit spots were welted with red lines she’d feel for many days. When he finished, he stepped to her and helped her to rise.
Lucy was sobbing, her tears streaming down her cheeks as her hands reached back to rub frantically at her aching bottom. She saw the switch being lifted to her lips and dutifully kissed it.
“Thank you, Pa-Papa,” she gasped, her bottom burning as it had never before.
Lucas nodded and laid the switch on the pile of her clothing. “Hand me your other,” he said.
Lucy froze a moment as she realized her punishment was only half-done.
“Oh, no, please… please, Papa. I-I can’t bear it,” she begged, feeling she would surely faint away from the pain he had already placed onto her bottom.
Lucas simply shook his head and held out his hand. “I can’t bear the thought of the woman I love running from me.”
Lucy burst into fresh tears as she picked up the horrible switch, obediently pressed her lips to the tip and held it out to him.
“Do you feel you can stay in place, or shall I bind you while I switch your legs?” Lucas asked.
Lucy shook all over, her legs already threatening to collapse under her. She couldn’t imagine being bound. “I-I will… will stay…” she managed.
He nodded again, taking her arm and leading her to the back of the bench. “Bend over and grip the slats of the bench,” he said, guiding her over the bench’s backrest. The edge of the bench pressed against her stomach as she reached for the slats, wrapping her fingers around them.
“You may keep your legs together, Lucille,” he said, and she immediately pressed her thighs together. “This will sting a great deal,” he warned as he tapped the spot he intended to strike first. “Your bottom is well-padded for a switching, but your legs are not. Let this teach you not to run.”
Lucy learned the horrid truth of his words as the switch began its journey down the backs of her legs. She was writhing over the bench, her head thrown back as she screeched out her pain. Lucas continued striping her legs until a ladder of red weals marched down her legs from the tops of her thighs to her slender ankles. Lucy’s dance didn’t stop the switch, only proved to her how determined her husband was to teach her the folly of running away. She knew her legs would burn and itch for days beneath clothing and wished she’d never taken the leap off his lap. When he was satisfied that she had learned a most painful lesson, he helped her to stand.
