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“I do,” I countered, fully standing my ground now.
He strode purposefully towards me, closing the distance between us in two large steps as he reached for me, probably intending to lift me out of the tub himself, and I drew my hand back on total impulse. I swung, fully intending to slap him, but he caught my wrist instead.
I saw the moment his tenuous restraint broke and something inside me came alive. His entire demeanor darkened precipitously, causing my heart to start pounding frantically in my chest. My core swelled with fearful arousal, but I held my ground.
“I can see that I didn’t spank you hard enough the first time you raised your hand to me, Ella,” he scolded.
“Let me go,” I demanded, pulling my arm away from him. His hold was too strong, though, and my wrist remained captive in his fist.
“I let you get away with the second time because of your injury, but you’ve healed especially nicely, haven’t you?”
“I’m fine,” I scowled.
Forcefully, he grabbed my chin and turned my head to the side. Carefully, he assessed me, looking for any lingering signs of a wound, but I knew there was nothing left for him to find. I was fully healed and had been for days now. I didn’t even have any lasting side effects.
He still hadn’t let go of my hand.
For the briefest of seconds, we glared at each other in a standoff of sorts, two equal forces caught at an impasse, but that didn’t last long. A moment later, he took control. A part of me had expected it, but it still caught me by surprise.
Without a single word of warning, his other arm circled around me, and he boldly lifted me out of the bathtub. I kicked and struggled once my feet left the ground, but I was no match for his strength. He carried me over to the bed like I weighed nothing at all and tossed me on top of it. I landed facedown, all the air rushing out of my lungs upon impact. His hand planted right in the middle of my back, pinning me down before I could think of any avenue of escape.
I turned my head just in time to see him pick up the same belt that I’d been wearing around my waist earlier that afternoon. I stiffened immediately. He’d threatened it once, but I’d only thought it a warning meant to scare me. I hadn’t thought he’d actually use it.
I should have known better than that.
“How many times have you tried to slap me, naughty girl?”
My pussy clenched hard at his question, and I had difficulty forming a response. My mouth opened and closed. Instead of answering him, I tried to use my hands to push off the bed. When that proved fruitless, I tried to bring my knees up so that I could use all the strength in my legs to escape him, but it was as if his hand on my back was a dead weight.
“I asked you a question, Ella,” he continued.
Somehow the use of my name made it worse. I turned my head, watching as the belt swung back and forth in his hand.
I’d watched the first season of Outlander. I knew what was about to happen next.
“At least three times,” I finally managed to whisper, feeling smaller and more vulnerable by the second. It was only now that I thought about how much that first trip over his knee had hurt. It wasn’t a big leap to imagine that the belt would be that much worse.
This hadn’t been how I wanted the night to go. I’d wanted to be lying on my back beneath him, or at least sharing our first kiss, and this was definitely not that.
“Atleast,” he echoed, and the pit of nerves rolling inside my belly boiled to the surface.
“Please let me up!” I screeched, but he continued holding me in place. He waited as my struggles renewed, and soon enough, I tired myself out. I wasn’t going anywhere. My body was forcing my mind to accept that.
I was fully naked with my bottom entirely bare, about to get the belt. My fear rose unabated, but my clit still pulsed like a tiny little goddamn traitor. Wanting to hide the arousal between my thighs, I clenched my legs together in hopes that he wouldn’t see, that I could at least keep that my own little secret.
“Nykor, please,” I tried, switching strategies and trying to sound more apologetic and pitiful. His hold didn’t relent, and I hummed nervously.
“Last time, I used my hand to spank you, naughty girl.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered. Instinctually, I was showing him respect in the hopes that my ass wouldn’t soon be stinging from the strap in his hand, but in the tenuous silence that followed, I knew my fate was already sealed.
The muscles of my bottom tightened reflexively.
“I think it is time you and I have a very frank discussion about what happens to naughty girls who slap the men who take care of them, Ella.”
“Please, you don’t have to use your belt,” I tried.
“I really think I do, naughty girl,” he answered.
