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“You can’t be serious,” she said.
I didn’t answer but kept my expression firm and unrelenting.
“Look, I just wanted to go outside. I won’t do it again,” she said, her tone far less sarcastic. “I’m still learning. And I’m trying to adapt.”
It was amazing how quickly the snark was gone, but it was far too late. “I’ll count down from ten, and, Goldie, if your ass isn’t bare and that strap in my hand before I get to zero, you won’t be sitting tomorrow.”
I made it to five with our gazes locked on each other before she even dared breathe. But at the count of four, she gave a cry, took the two steps necessary to reach the strap, pulled it off the hook and stood, seemingly unable to decide whether to look at it or at me. Finally, she turned to me, her eyes huge.
“Seriously? You are expecting to…strapme? Come on, this is a joke, right?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“I hate you,” she said, throwing the strap at me. “I fucking hate you all.”
I caught it, letting it hang from my hand as I pointed behind her. “Pants and panties to your ankles, over the table. Do it now,” I said and then recommenced my count. She barely made it, but by the time I hit zero, her pants and underwear were down, and she’d thrown herself over the sturdy wooden table.
God, what a vision she made. The black of her pants and the dimness of the room only seemed to contribute to making her ass shine in the lamplight, her muscles clenched tightly. Her hair had come loose from its bun, strands falling down her back. Stepping up to her, I wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her back from where she’d been attempting to become one with the table.
“Spread your feet apart and lift your ass up. Tits to the table, arms in front of you, hands gripping the edge.”
“You don’t need to do this,” she said, her voice trembling. “This is just… I can’t believe you are doing this. I think you are taking the whole old-fashioned thing and teaching me a lesson a bit too far.”
“You’re wrong. This is exactly what I need to do. You haven’t been free from this woodshed for a single day and yet you are already disobeying the rules. We told you what we expect. You can’t say we didn’t warn you about what we expected.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she tried, and when I huffed, she shook her head. “Fine, yes I did break the rules, but you can’t blame me. I just wanted to go outside.”
“So instead of coming to us, suggesting we take a walk, you do what? Give a few big fake yawns, tell us how tired you are and that you’re going to bed. Instead of simply informing one of us you wanted some fresh air, you decided to lie and then almost break your neck climbing out your window?”
She stared at me in disbelief. Finally, with a sigh, she turned her head away, pressing her forehead against her hands, accepting the fact she and she alone had brought us out here.
“Hands gripping the far edge,” I reminded. “And keep them there. Believe me, you don’t want to discover what a strap across a palm feels like.”
At least she was smart. Once my mind was set on something, there was no changing it. Whether she could see it in my expression or chiseled into my jawline, she stopped pleading and trying to talk her way out of the inevitable. She reached her arms out, curling her fingers around the table’s edge. The distance required her to stretch, the position causing her bottom to lift.
“Keep your ass cheeks loose. I’m going to give you six strokes for your disobedience and then an extra. Can you tell me why you’ve earned another?”
When she didn’t immediately answer, I snapped the strap against my thigh. She startled but answered. “Hell if I know!”
“You threw the strap at me. Say it. Repeat why you are getting an extra one.”
“I threw the strap at you.”
“Exactly. Respect comes in many forms, Goldie, and throwing a tantrum will get you punished and throwing an implement—any implement—that I’ve instructed you to bring me will only have it used against your ass to reinforce the lesson. I’m not alone in this. My brothers and I have always demanded respect. And when we don’t get it, someone pays. And since we can’t kill you… or rather wewon’tkill you—right now—we have to come up with creative ways to make sure you pay. Understand?”
She’d stiffened at the mention of killing, finally managing a nod, but I wasn’t having that.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Goldie…”
“What do you want me to say?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at me with daggers in her eyes.
“I expect to hear ‘sir’.”
“What? Are you kidding me?”
