I perked up, and yet at the same time, my heart sank. Was he letting me off? Did I want him to?
“So I’m not going to punish you for hiding the washing up.”
“Oh. Are you not?”
He chuckled at the note of disapproval in my voice.
“Don’t worry, I’m taking everything just as seriously as you need me to. I might not spank you for hiding dirty plates. But concealing them and lying to me about it…that’s quite a different matter.”
It had taken a mere millisecond for him to snap back into that terrifying mode and my lips parted, suddenly dry, like the back of my throat.
“If you lie to me, Lara, what are you achieving? Can you tell me?”
I looked at my hands. “I get to…look good. I get…to win.”
“Are appearances so important to you? I’m so very disappointed. I thought you were genuine in your desire to change and improve your organisational skills. But it seems that you’ve been fooling both yourself and me. You aren’t serious, are you? It’s all a game to you.”
I opened and closed my mouth. I wanted to protest, but I felt so terribly guilty—really guilty! Not the fake, fun kind of guilty. I was even close to tears.
“Please don’t…I do want to be better,” I blurted. “I really do. I’m just…it’s hard. It’s scary.”
“I understand that it’s hard, Lara. That’s why it’s so important that you’re one hundred percent honest with me. If you lie to me…well, for one thing, I will know. And for another, I will have to withdraw from our arrangement. With the greatest regret. But I would always, always prefer for you to fall short and confess your shortcoming, than to believe you’re sailing through without a struggle when you still need my help. You need my help, don’t you? Still?”
“Yes, I do, I really do, I’m really sorry.” A tear trickled out. The sight of it seemed to affect him, because he wound up the lecture and handed me a handkerchief.
“Good. Now dry those tears and come here.”
He patted his thigh and I stopped crying straight away, my thighs clenching with dread. Oh no, that’s not dread, is it, when you feel wet between them? That’s something else.
I really had no alternative, and the feeling thrilled me. I had to obey him.
I felt that same childish embarrassment in the act of placing myself to be spanked as I did on the first occasion—I felt so meek and submissive, letting him straighten the hem of my skirt so that it was tighter over my bottom. I had dressed especially for him, though I hoped he didn’t realise it—short, tight skirt, stockings, light cotton chemise that almost showed my bra. In my bent over position, the skirt hem edged just high enough up my thigh to reveal the bottom of the stocking lace, with its plastic suspender snap holding it up. His thumb stroked along the line. He liked it. I could tell by the uncomfortable lump digging into my stomach.
“You’re incorrigible, Lara,” he said, his voice soft, almost caressing, so unlike the voice of somebody who was about to…
“Oy!”
“Yes, it’s going to hurt more than the first time. It’s a punishment, not an experiment. I take honesty seriously, and I intend to demonstrate that to you.”
And he did. He demonstrated it with a thoroughness and efficiency that took my breath away and brought stinging tears—matching my stinging behind—to my eyes.
“You do need this, Lara, don’t you?”
“Ohhhh.” There was hardly any time for pauses between ouches and ooohs now, so they poured forth in an unbroken stream as the blows fell, hard, fast and relentless, burning my bottom ten times hotter than last time.
“Well? Don’t you? You know you do.”
“Yesssssssss.” It hissed out of me like steam. I did need this. I needed it and wanted it, and I needed Dexter and I wanted him, and it was all mixed up in a jam of needing and wanting, loving and desiring, fearing and hurting.
“You’re taking it well, if not very quietly,” he told me, stopping for a moment to rub his self-satisfied hands over the seat of my skirt. “I think I need to check the damage though. I don’t want to go too far. I’ll need to look under this. Do you mind?”
He wanted to raise my skirt. He wanted to look at my bare arse! Did I mind?
“Be…my guest…” I shuddered out.
He took his time, pulling the skirt gently upward, inch by inch, until my bottom in its thong was revealed, and oh, the touch of his fingers against that warm, tightening skin, oh. It was almost unbearable, an erotic tickle that made me jolt over his lap and muffle a giggle.
“You’re very warm,” he said, his voice thick with admiration. The pads of his fingertips stroked firmly downwards, then upwards. I wanted them to travel. I wanted them down, up, in, a long way in, and I did a wriggly movement with my hips in the hope that he would understand this.