‘I mean it.’ She wriggled in a way that rubbed tantalisingly against his erection. ‘I really do.’
Minx, he thought. Is this really an elaborate seduction? Is she playing me for a mug? Not that I wouldn’t like that.
‘I need to see what I’ve done,’ he said, the words coming out almost from nowhere, because his head felt as light as a bubble. ‘I need to pull down your pyjamas.’
She made no protest, but lifted her bum higher as if in invitation.
Oh, you dirty little angel, I can do what I want with you, can I?
‘I see,’ he said, and he drew the light fabric over her luscious bottom. It was an all-over pale rose shade, nothing like the fiercely stained backsides he sometimes looked at on the internet. Call this a spanking? And she was doing this subtle hip-writhing thing that made his cock throb. She was doing it on purpose. She parted her thighs just a tiny, tiny bit, but it was enough to give her away.
‘You’re not very red,’ he managed to say.
‘But it’s so sore,’ she purred, rolling her hips more blatantly now. ‘You’re so hard on me.’ She giggled.
‘Ruth, are you trying to get me to fuck you?’ he asked. ‘Because, because, I’d like to, actually, if you want to know the truth, but this is meant to be a punishment. It’s meant to make you think about your responsibilities.’
She stopped writhing and flopped back over his thighs, burying her head in the cushion.
He took one long, deep breath, tried to ignore his insistently stiffening cock, and smacked her bare bottom. She made a muffled squeal into the cushion but there was no attempt at resistance. He watched her bottom turn a glowing bright scarlet under the incessant fall of his hand, never letting up until it burned and her expression of cushion-stifled woe had become a continuous wail.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Nearly done now. Hold tight because this is really going to sting.’
He reached down for one of her slippers, which she had kicked right off her foot in the course of her labours. The sole was of a knobbly material, a kind of rubbery plastic that Rob couldn’t identify. But it looked as if it might hurt, and that was the main thing.
‘Ten strokes with the slipper,’ he said. ‘And then it’s over. For today.’
The first stroke made her scream and arch her back and kick like fury.
Aha, this was worth remembering.
He laid six and then she begged for mercy, which he thought he ought to give, remembering too late something he had read on the internet about safewords. They should really have sorted that out beforehand. But then, perhaps she would have assumed that this was a sexual thing.
But it was a sexual thing, wasn’t it?
But it wasn’t meant to be?
Oh God, he was past trying to analyse it.
He put the slipper down and rubbed her beautifully hot bottom.
‘Oh, is that it?’ she panted, pushing against his palm.
‘Um, well, you did say …’
‘And you said ten.’
‘I know I did, but …’
‘You’re going to let me off? Let me get away with it?’
The mildly goading tone of her voice had him snatching up the slipper again.
‘You aren’t getting away with anything while I’m in charge,’ he vowed.
She seemed to regret her self-sabotaging backchat when he smacked the slipper back down on her helpless behind.
‘Oh no!’ she shrieked.