I stepped closer, still wary.
‘If I let you get away with things just because there are visitors in the house, what kind of master does that make me?’ he whispered. ‘Bear it in mind, Sarah. The rules stay the same, no matter if the whole bloody royal family comes to stay. Now turn and face the worktop.’
I put my hands on the gleaming surface, my nose almost in the bowl of salad leaves, watching Jasper rummage in a drawer. He brought out a wooden spoon and I made a horrified face at him.
‘You can’t,’ I mouthed.
‘Don’t talk yourself into more trouble,’ he said, completely unruffled. ‘Over that skirt, this won’t make too much noise at all. It’s you they might hear. So make sure you keep it down, eh?’
He patted the seat of my skirt with the rounded side of the spoon and ordered me to stick my bottom out as far as I could.
I consoled myself with the thought that I would be able to hear the dining-room door open if anybody left. Their muffled laughter could be heard quite clearly from where we were.
‘Do you have anything to say to me?’ he asked softly, rubbing the flat part of the spoon around my buttocks.
‘I’m sorry I called you a snob, sir. I’m sure you aren’t one really.’
‘Right. So why did you say it?’
‘Just … it just came out.’
‘So you spoke without thinking?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And is that a good idea?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Quite right. What if I speak without thinking at lunch? What if I’m casually reaching for the mayonnaise and I happen to mention that you might not be sitting too comfortably because you got a good spanking in the kitchen with a wooden spoon just now. How would that make you feel?’
‘Pretty embarrassed, sir.’
‘So I’d better think first, hadn’t I? And you’d better do the same. Yes?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Right.’
The first stroke fell. It wasn’t loud, though I’d been dreading a sound that would carry through the echoing, high-ceilinged rooms to the dining table. In fact, it was a muffled thud that wouldn’t be heard beyond the kitchen. That was a relief. The pain wasn’t.
He laid a dozen hard strokes on me and I had to try every trick in the book not to cry out. I bit my tongue, squeezed my toes together, tried breathing in instead of breathing out. In the end, I resorted to picking one of the salad leaves out of the bowl and chewing on it. I wondered if I was the first person to eat salad during a spanking. Perhaps this could be a topic for post-prandial conversation? But no.
Jasper put down the spoon and kissed me.
‘I thought you were going to bury your face in that salad and howl,’ he said. ‘We’d have had to make a fresh one. Your face, though …’ He laughed into my hair and kissed me again. ‘Come on then. What kind of hosts are we, leaving our guests hungry while we kink up the kitchen units? I’ll do the hot plates – you go and take in the bread and salad.’
I wanted to wait for my flush to die down – on my bottom as well as my face – but he was right: it would be rude to keep them waiting.
I would have to enter the room looking exactly like what I was – a girl who had just been spanked. Would they recognise the signs? After all, they were experts. Maybe not Rosie so much, but certainly the other two.
‘Ah, she comes,’ cried Dimitri with a theatrical rattle of his bangles.
The wine bottle, I noted, was already empty. I would ask Jasper to bring another.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ I said, putting down the bread board and salad bowl.
‘Don’t apologise,’ said Trix. ‘We’re having a lovely time. Do you need a hand out there?’