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“If you can’t be still, you may need to plant your feet wider.” His filthy suggestion caused another small sob. He wanted to spread her legs wider, as wide as they would go, and take down his trousers and—
No. Not yet. He lifted the paddle instead, placing it against her bottom and rubbing it to and fro to prepare her for her imminent correction.
“Please do not spank me too hard,” she whispered. “I will not be able to bear it.”
Oh, but she would bear it. He knew that from the way she braced herself, trying to be good. His good, cooperative girl, his runaway, bent over at his command. “You will count each one,” he told her. “From one to ten.”
“Ten? Oh no.”
“Indeed. There will be more if you need them.”
He started with a middling-light whack, letting her accustom herself to the paddle’s weight. He could hear her faint sigh of relief that she’d been able to bear it, although she gave a soft “oof” at the contact. “One,” she said.
He could hardly stay calm watching the lightest sheen of pink bloom on her arse cheeks. This is a punishment, not a peep show, he scolded himself.
The second spank was a bit firmer. Rosalind cried the word “two” with more trepidation, but didn’t move or resist. In fact, she made it to spank number five before she lifted her hands from the bed to cover her bottom.
“No, sweeting,” he said, taking her hands away and waiting for her to place them back where they belonged. “I will add more swats if I must, if you feel you are unable to follow my directions and keep the proper stance.”
“No, I’ll do it. But it’s hard. It hurts.”
It was hurting her more now, he knew. He made each spank one degree more intense than the previous. Number six was quite crisp. Number seven had her up on her toes. “Please, may I have a moment?” she begged. “My bottom stings from that paddle. It is so hot.”
“It’s meant to be.” He allowed himself to touch her, finally, placing a hand at the small of her back. He wanted to run his palm across her heated cheeks then part her with his fingers, thrusting deep into her virginal pussy. Would she be wet from the ordeal of being spanked? From the pain, from the exposure? It excited some women. Would it come to excite her?
God, he couldn’t think of that now. He delivered the next blow. She said “eight” in the loudest voice yet, as if to steel herself for the next one. “Nine” was a solid paddle stroke, since they were so near the end. By now her bottom would be throbbing. It was a uniform, deep pink, evenly colored as he’d tried to distribute the blows to the whole of her heart-shaped cheeks. For an experienced spankee it would not have been considered a very severe paddling, but he suspected Rosalind was struggling.
“One more,” he said. Oh, how he wanted to fondle her. He felt her tense as he drew back his arm. Someday he would teach her that tensing only made things worse, and perhaps put a ginger plug in her bottom to let the burning sensation drive his point home. But not yet. He gave her one last solid crack and waited for her to whimper “ten” in relief.
“You took that well,” he said. “No, don’t straighten yet. Stay just as you are.”
“May I replace my skirts, please?”
“Please, sir. And no, you may not.”
He put the paddle back amongst his other implements and replaced the box in his trunk, giving her a meaningful look. Even if you threw it overboard, my love, I would only buy more to keep you in proper discipline…
He returned to her side and let her stand, but kept her skirts gathered above her reddened cheeks. “Take them and hold them aloft, just as they are,” he said. “You will have some corner time with the air on your bottom to think about what you’ve done.”
“Must I?”
“Yes, I think it best. Cheating at cards is a very serious offense.”
“How long must I stand in the corner, sir?”
“As long as I think you need to.”
She accepted this curt answer with a frown, near again to dissolving in tears. His wayward girl could take a stiff paddling, but the shame of corner time apparently undid her.
It undid him too.
“There now,” he said briskly, positioning her in the corner farthest from the bed. Less chance of him throwing her down and ravishing her that way. “Hold your skirts all the way up and keep them that way. Look at the wall in front of you and think about why you were punished. You must feel the ache and throb and remember why you’re suffering. You’re not allowed to rub the smartness away.”
“No, sir,” she said, and he knew she was crying though she hid her face in chagrin. He moved away from her and pretended to occupy himself elsewhere, though he was attuned to every quiet sob, every halting breath. He rolled his sleeves back down and put his coat on, forcing himself to let her be for three full minutes.
Then he asked, “Are you thinking about what you did, as I told you to?”
“Yes, sir.” Sniff, sniff. “I know for certain I shall never cheat at cards again. It was very bad of me.”
