“Master, I’ve learned my lesson. I’m very sorry for bratting and making you feel like I wasn’t taking you seriously.”
“You won’t make the same mistake again.”
Oh shit. “Of course I have nothing but the utmost respect for you as a Dominant.” She was babbling, but she was relatively certain he wasn’t listening anyway. His gaze was hard and cold and focused on her backside.
Calmly, he angled himself sideways as though he were a batter at Fenway. Instead of a bat, though, he had an evil-looking, whippy stick.
“If you would have apologized appropriately that would have been the end of it. Do you understand that?”
She whimpered miserably, desperately afraid she was going to hate this and he was going to like it far too much.
“Between each stroke I expect an apology. If you don’t make me believe you’re actually sorry this may go on for a while.”
Her mouth hung open in silent objection, but she shut it when a bug almost flew in. The buzzing thing bounced off her forehead and she blinked just as the first blow landed. A lash of fire bisected her ass, and partially wrapped around her hip. For a long moment her breath stuck in her throat and she wasn’t able to make a sound, then the air escaped in a long, earsplitting scream.
“Mother! Fucker!”
Two more blows landed in rapid succession and she screamed again, digging her fingertips into her legs to counterbalance the streaks of flame he was raining down on her ass.
Belatedly, she remembered the apology he was expecting. Hopefully he’d cut her some slack for forgetting, considering it felt like he was beating her with a flaming stick.
“I’m sorry, Master Grant!”
Thwap.
Sharp. Hot. Agony.
“You know damned well when you’re stepping over the line.”
“I’m sorry, Master Grant!”
Thwap.
Wet skin. Exposed. Vulnerable.
“You need to make better choices if you’re ever going to sit down again.”
“I’m sorry, Master Grant!”
Thwap.
She
screamed, sobbed. Her body was hot, burning.
Thwap.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m a bad girl, Master.”
She brought up her knees, trying to curl into a ball around the thick branch he’d leaned her over, but it hurt her hips and belly too much to stay that way for long.
Thwap.
The pain throbbed outward, spiralling down her legs, down her back. She whispered to herself about being sorry, but maybe he couldn’t hear her over the pounding in her ears. The sobbing hurt her chest and throat, and tears dripped up into her hair. Her head throbbed.
Safeword. She needed her safeword.
Thwap.