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Not that anyone would do anything about it.
The ruthlessness of my inner voice never managed to disappoint me. I closed my fingers into tight fists, digging my nails into my palms hard enough to hurt. When the line of stinging fire finally reared its ugly head, I realized how truly fucked I really was. The leather strap shaped to both cheeks, causing a single line of scorching flame to flare across my bottom and that was only from the first strike.
The second was even worse.
The third stung even more brutally than the first two. I told myself that I could bear it, that it was nothing more than a spanking that a million people like me survived every day. When the fourth hit just below the first though, I knew that I was lying to myself, and I bit the inside of my cheek even harder. I wouldn’t give him the benefit of hearing me cry out. He could use that belt as hard as he wanted, and I would stay silent throughout the whole thing. He may be able to overpower me, but he wouldn’t take my dignity.
Why did his belt have to sting so much though?
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to pepper my toes against the floor as the belt fell again. There was no room to edge my hips back and forth in any attempt to avoid its stinging strike. I sucked in a breath as the belt dipped even lower, caught off guard by how much more it hurt than the rest.
“Let me go,” I demanded one more time and just as the last syllable fell off my lips, he used the belt to punish the tops of my thighs.
A strangled cry escaped me before I could stop it and I rushed to slam my lips shut once more, but it was too late. There was no way he wouldn’t have heard that. It had certainly been loud enough. The belt cut into my vulnerable flesh that much harder, and I realized that the heavy lashes that had come before that one had been gentle in comparison. The belt was heavy and the infernal sting it was painting into my defiant bottom was only just beginning.
I had hoped that he would only use it to strike me a few times.
I had been so very wrong.
His accuracy with the belt was merciless. He whipped from the tops of my cheeks all the way down to the middle of my thighs. My vow to remain silent quickly fled and soon enough, I was whimpering and crying out with every terrible strike. His leather belt became my entire focus. It painted one welt after the next on my trembling backside. The burn built long after each lash, stinging in a fiery crescendo across my cheeks.
“I’ll go with you!” I tried.
“That part was never up to you,” he answered, using the belt ferociously hard after that.
The certainty in his voice was terrifying in that moment, and my clit throbbed in response. I cried out, thrashing against the desk, but the belting never slowed. He whipped me with that thick strap over and over again.
This was a very real punishment.
And it hurt.
I blinked, my eyes watering at the building sting and a horrifying realization came over me. Was his intention to make me cry, to feel like a punished little girl that had gotten spanked by her daddy when she got home too late?
Because that was exactly what I was feeling like right now.
I had gotten in trouble and instead of getting put behind bars, I was getting my ass thrashed with a belt. When the first tear escaped me and slid down my cheek, I wailed in defeat, but still the belt didn’t stop falling. Somewhere deep inside, I had hoped it would, but that soon faded away and the belt continued to fall.
“I’m sorry,” I finally hollered and one last final lash bit into the lower curves of my bottom, in exactly the place where my ass turned into my upper thigh.
My entire backside was aflame as I sobbed, trying to reconcile with the contrast from the powerful feeling I had this morning before I came to court to what I was feeling now.
“I know you are, Caitlin. I think things will be much clearer between you and me now, won’t they?” he asked softly.
I hated how the gentleness and surety of his voice cut through me, making my core clench tight with uncontrollable desire even though my backside was burning from his belt. For several long minutes, I sobbed over that desk. My tears pooled beneath me on the wood, and he held me there, but somehow that was comforting too. I turned my head to face him as he laid his belt down beside me.
“Won’t they?” he repeated, his voice hardening with unsaid threat.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, desperately wanting to avoid another session with his belt.
The stinging burn didn’t fade completely and a part of me knew it wouldn’t for a long while. I shifted over the desk, my pussy throbbing, and I came to a startling conclusion.
I was wet.
Not just a little bit, but absolutely soaked.
The only comfort in my head at that moment was that my panties were still up, and that thin, gauzy fabric still at least covered my weeping slit, but I feared that would only do so much. Was there a wet spot? Could he see it?
I drew in a shaky breath.
