A proper young lady shall never...

“A proper young lady–” he scoffs and withdraws with a growl.

“Shut up,” she cries out at a sudden loss, sensing some further scolding, and then blushes at her own outburst, and he lets it slide for a quick moment.

“– shall never call the gentleman’s cock a dick”, he finishes in his lilted accent, as he puts his cock securely away, behind the buttoned fly of his low-rise jeans. Deliberately slow, inch by inch, he pulls the belt out through the loops, with the holy sound that makes her squirm and rejoice all at once into a full body shudder. A triumphant grin that stretches her lips morphs into a hesitant frown, when she sees him folding the belt in half. With his eyebrow raised in a silent question and an outstretched hand, he waits for her to rise on her feet and put her hand in his, and that’s the only confirmation he needs. 

Taken in hand, the hand that puts her on the right side of the slash, she follows. He leads.

The swift shift in the mood is so palpable; his eyes, kind and playful a few minutes ago, now are flooded with hurt and disappointment. 

"I'm so sorry," she lets out in a whisper.

"I'm sure we'll get there, but for what, pray tell?" He squeezes her hand to still his own shakes.

"For saying 'shut up'," she stares at the floor. 

"Huh, that. Let's deal with the profanity first." He leads her towards the wide tufted bench by the window. "Why so grim now?"

"It's the punishment."

"No, darling, it's a preview of a punishment, if you will keep using such language." Calm and somber, he nudges her shoulder. "On your back and legs up."

That's why he lead her to that bench! It has no couch arms that get in the way, all flat and open, like a low table. No, not the diaper position, she bites her lower lip. Anything not to mention the specifically forbidden d-word to him and falls on her back, pulling her knees up with her hands to give him full access to her already spanked butt. Suddenly the throbbing pain in her swollen bottom comes back to life to remind her of what yet to come. And if the first spanking, no matter how hard and painful, was a welcomed prelude to the rest of their play, generously sprinkled with a multitude of orgasms. This spanking, a punishment spanking, she brought upon herself, while having sex, no less. Who can earn a punishment while having sex? It's ridiculous, pathetic, wrong. She tilts her head up to stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks, before he even touches her, before he starts lacing her again with the belt.

The wrong shade of pink hides the tan lines he was so fascinated with before. He drags her to the edge and places his left hand just under her knees, on top of her hands to keep them from flying off to cover her bum. She always does, even when she tries not to. Her bum can take a lot of heat, he learned that the hard way, but not her fingers. It's his job not to let her, to keep her hands safe. 

"Just six," he rubs his forehead with the back of his hand that holds the belt. "Look at me, I want to see your face."

"Six of the best?" she offers with a meek smile.

"Just six." He lets out a deep breath. It seems like all her jitters and anxiousness passed on to him. No matter how much they discussed and agreed that she needs it, when it all has come to this single moment, when he needs to step up, preview or not, not in a playful way as many times before that, but this time for real, all his certainty evaporates, and he's on the verge of bailing out. 

He doesn't look down, he doesn't aim, he doesn't hold back. Six strokes rain down on her dreadfully fast, too fast for her to apprehend or absorb the pain, tanning the tan lines all over again into the sacred scarlet. She squirms, she wiggles, she tries to pull her hands from under his hand that is holding them in place right under her knees. She screams and cries out his name. 

The unwanted chore that fell upon him, the whole ordeal takes merely seconds, and then it's suddenly over. Her hiccups and rapid thank-yous fill the silence. The belt buckle brushes against the metal leg of the bench before hitting the floor. They both jerk from the loud clank. Her fingers left white marks where she held her legs. She still holds them uncomfortably up, acutely aware that there is nowhere to put them down. In his close to throwing up state, he drops on his knees to bury his face between her legs and lowers her legs to rest on his shoulders.

"No, you can't do that," she sits up with a cry. "I'm supposed to thank you. Please!"

"Don't tell me what to do," he quips. Her smell and wetness cannot lie but he stops regardless.

"I'm not, I'm sorry."

He picks her up with ease and carries over to lay on the bed. He falls next to her, and she pulls him closer, murmuring her thanks again and how much she loves him. Him, the monster. How much she wants him, now and always. 

He is drained like he ran a marathon, forehead pressed against her shoulder, her gentle fingers threading through his hair, cooing the words of comfort into his ear. "It's over, it's all good, it's over."

When his free hand wonders along her curves again, he rises on his elbow and latches to the other set of tan lines, surrounding her small nipples. She grabs his hand and drags it down, on her terms, on her time. His fingers travel the familiar route to sharply sink inside her, followed by her welcoming moans, taking her closer, closer, closer, and over the edge. 

Whatever happened, whatever it is between the two of them, whatever you would call it, doesn't matter now. They have their whole lives to figure it out.

Hello, my lovelies, all my spanking stories are now on one page, link on the right under Spanking Stories, obviously. Posting this story to the Saturday Spankings Blog, link to the blog hop below.