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Mabel shook her head. There it was again. The loss of words.
“No, I’ll bet you haven’t.” Rip chuckled. “Well, you have a lot to learn, Mabel Waters. And today’s your first step on a very long journey. I see you, Mabel. I know what you want. What you need.”
Mabel swallowed nervously, looking up at Rip expectantly. She’d never experienced anything like this before, but she sensed that Rip wasn’t about to go easy on her. She’d set herself up to be this tough nut, capable of dealing with anything thrown her way, when in actual fact, she felt fear just like anyone else. She was just better at hiding it than other people.
“Lean over that dresser like a good girl,” said Rip. “And stick your ass up in the air for me.”
Mabel did as she was told for maybe the first time in her life.
And it felt good.
Freeing.
No decisions to make. No pressure to get things done right. No need to go into survival mode.
Rip was ordering her around, which meant he was making the decisions, which meant — in a way — that he was looking after her.
She stuck her butt up as high as she could, feeling it wobble a little.
“Good,” said Rip. “Now stay nice and quiet for me, babygirl. We don’t want any of the remaining crew members or actors to hear us. That would be a disaster.”
Mabel bit her lip, thinking about how it might feel if someone else were to walk in right now. How humiliating. She watched Rip in the mirror as he shifted the gun to his left hand then raised his right palm. Then…
Smack!
Mabel breathed out, and the whole world seemed to spin.
The pain spread across her right ass cheek like a blooming flower. It felt like something was coming alive inside of her, something that had been dormant for a long, long time. Beautiful as a rose, hot as a volcano, as old as time itself.
Smack!
Another smack, and this time, it was harder. Mabel moaned at the sensation of it. A slap on its own was painful enough. But a slap on top of a place she’d just been slapped — it was fire upon fire.
Smack!
His hand rained down with precision. She imagined each red hand-print lining up so perfectly with the other two that he was hitting the exact same spot each time, ensuring that he made the punishment as painful as possible.
And yet, it felt like…
Smack!
She was floating… Drifting along in a sea of smacks. Pink and stern, and yet, somehow, there was safety in it. A hand on her butt. Skin upon skin. What could be more intimate?
Smack!
Every time he spanked her, it was like he was holding her in the palm of his hand. Taking the weight of her, letting her relax into him. Which meant that there was a strange paradox. While he was giving her pain, he was also taking it away. The pain inside of her was traveling into his hand, up his wrist, and into his heart. He was bearing it for her, making her feel lighter, freer.
And then there was athunk.
On the left butt cheek this time. It was a stinging, searing pain, so deep she felt it in her muscles. It was the flat handle of the wooden gun. She looked up at Rip’s face while he spanked her with it, expecting to see malice or anger. Instead, she was surprised by how solemn he looked, as though he was focusing on getting the spanking just right.
Thunk.
It stung so bad she wondered if it might be breaking her skin. Should she yell “cut”? Should she try to put an end to it? She’d be annoyed with herself if she couldn’t take it. She wanted everyone to think she was strong. This was her double-dare. She had to go through with it. And yet, it was so painful…
Thunk.
She moaned so loud that Rip paused a moment, checking the open trailer door.
