“But I haven’t finished yet.” He starts to caress my other cheek.
Alarm slams through me. “Wait, please, Mr. Kingsolver—”
He grabs a fistful of my hair and pushes me down again, and then yanks my underwear up higher. I’m gasping with excitement, as well as pain, and I can feel how slippery the fabric has become.
“Keep still,” he raps out. “Just for that you’re going to get twice as much. Now, are you going to keep still?”
He’s treating me like a naughty child and I feel myself sinking into an uncomplicated place where I don’t have to think about having to be capable or grown-up. I want to show him that I understand what he’s doing for me, and I want him to be pleased with me, so I don’t move. “Yes.”
He shifts me more securely onto his lap. “Yes what?”
“Yes, Mr. Kingsolver.”
His hand leaves my behind and I whimper. I will accept it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. I can’t predict when it’s going to happen and the waiting is almost as excruciating as the slap of his hard palm. And then it does come down and I cry out, loudly. He doesn’t try to hush me and I scream out loudly with every smack, my nails digging into his ankle. Tears drip onto the carpet.
Finally he stops, and his hand caresses my hot skin. He’s breathing hard, as well, and in the stillness that follows there’s only the sound of our panting.
“Good,” he says, and he does sound like he’s pleased with me. “Have you learned your lesson?”
My lesson? What was the lesson? It’s difficult to think as his fingers are pressed into the cleft of my behind, and they’re slick. He knows that I’ve enjoyed being disciplined by him.
He’s waiting, and I don’t want him to think I haven’t taken his punishment seriously so I say, “Yes, Mr. Kingsolver.”
“What was your lesson?”
I scramble to remember. “That there are consequences when I break the rules.”
He squeezes the flesh of my behind hard. “Whose rules?”
“Your rules,” I gasp.
“Good girl.” He lets go of my underwear and pulls them out from between my cheeks, settling the fabric back in place. He eases my skirt back down, and his hands are gentle, almost tender.
“You can get up now.”
I get up slowly, my arms and legs sha
king, looking everywhere but at his face. He knows I enjoyed it, he must know. But he doesn’t seem angry or shocked. He takes my hand and tugs me onto his lap, the right way up this time, and tucks me under his chin. His strong arms are holding me once more, but embracing rather than restraining. I’m too tired and surprised to resist. My cheek is pillowed against his chest.
He looks down at me. “Have you been crying, kitten?” He wipes the tears away with his thumb and smooths my hair back from my forehead. I feel like a kitten, curled into him like I am. I take a deep breath to ease the tightness in my throat.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You just relax.” His hand strokes my hair, and my breath deepens as my body relaxes into his. I know I shouldn’t be sitting with him like this. I should be angry, shouting at him, asking him why he just did what he did. But I don’t want to. It’s like the feeling I had when I knew he was watching me dance, and I was dancing only for him. I’m calm. Centered. Nothing can disturb the tranquility that has stolen over me.
“Why did you make those mistakes the other day?” he asks softly.
My breath catches. “I’m sorry I—”
“No, no. I’m not mad. I just want to know if there was a reason that you wanted to tell me about.”
I frown into his shirt. “I don’t know. I...just did.”
“But there was a reason, wasn’t there? Were you upset about something?”
I like the low, gentle rumble of his voice against my cheek, and relief washes through me. He’s not mad at me for breaking the rules anymore, and he doesn’t mind that I got turned on while he was disciplining me. I melt into him. “I was,” I confess.
“What about, kitten?”
There’s something about the way he says kitten that makes me feel small and cosseted. “My parents don’t approve of anything I’m doing with my life.”