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Saturday, 19 November 2016


“You’re certainly making it easier to remember why I’m here.”
“And why are you here again?” I scratch my head, feigning memory loss.
“To teach you respect, Daniela. You know what you need.”
“And why do I need to respect you?”
He smiles then. It’s not an amused one, but something darker. I’m suddenly so nervous I think I might faint. My hand fidgets in the folds of the pale yellow quilt on the bed.
“You don’t need to answer that,” I say with a gulp. I know I was wrong when I snapped at him, especially in front of the kids. And I’m wrong now too. Fighting what I deserve is childish, but I can’t stop myself.
“I don’t. You’re right. You know why? It’s part of who you are and what you need.”
“What do I need then?” I ask defiantly, knowing I’m pushing. I want him to push back. God, I want him in control. He answers with a raised brow and it makes my stomach flutter. He is.
“Fine!” I stand. “I was wrong when I bit your head off in front of the kids. I was rude, and it was wrong.” I look away. “And I’m sorry I’m being snarky now.” I cross my arms, but it isn’t in defiance this time. I do it to keep myself in one piece. “I’m nervous.”
He closes the gap between us and takes my wrists. He handcuffs them with his large hands. My wrists feel tiny and fragile in his light grip. He puts them in one hand then and raises them above my head. His eyes are hard as he looks me in the eye. I feel locked into place by them. He leans me against one of the bedposts and holds my hands tightly there.

“You won’t move, Daniela. Not. One. Inch.” His brows raise as I’ve discovered they do when he wants a response from me. I lick my lips and nod. Air sticks in my lungs. He cups my chin with his free hand, not gently, but not too roughly.

“Yes, sir. Not one inch.” I respond, instinctively.

“You’re going to be punished for your attitude and it won’t be like last night. I won’t put up with the kind of behaviour you showed me. Understand?”

Another ‘yes, sir” pops out of my mouth. One brow arcs and he releases my hands. I keep them in place and swallow hard as he moves about the room. He’s testing me.
“Today you were better behaved. I liked that. I don’t expect you to cook dinner for us, but I do expect a pleasant exchange before you leave for the day. If there is no time to report the day's events, then leave me a note.” His narrowed gaze lands on me, and he acknowledges my obedience with a slight nod.
“Yes, sir,” I respond.
“Good girl.” He reaches toward my belly, and my insides come alive. When he flicks the button open, I gasp audibly. I even bend my elbows a little, until he gives me a sharp look. He keeps his stern eyes on mine and lowers the zipper. My mouth fills with excess saliva, and I swallow.
“Turn around.”
I waver. I can’t breathe. He repeats himself, more tersely this time, and when I still don’t move, he turns me himself.
“If you don’t do as your told Daniela, I’ll spank you before we even start your punishment.” He guides my hands to hold the post again. I feel his stare on my back. I whimper when he tugs my jeans down. All the way down.
“Step out,” he demands. I do. I tremble facing the bedpost in just my panties and tee. He cups my bottom with his palm. It’s warm against my flesh.
“It’s a shame I have to punish this beautiful ass, Daniela.” His palm cracks off my bum, and I lurch onto my toes.
He swats me many times, making my breath stick and my bottom squirm with the searing sting of it. I squeeze the bedpost to keep steady. When he stops, I choke a little for air.
“Now, we get on with it.”
“On with it?” I blurt.
“Yes, Daniela.” He sighs and smooths his warm palm over my fiery backside. “That was just to prevent bruising.”
“Oh,” I garble. I want to let go of the post and face him. I hear him leave the room. I debate moving, but before I can consider the consequences, he returns. He lowers my panties and has me step out of them, too.
“Don’t let go, but lower your hands on the post and stick your bottom farther out.”
I swallow hard and obey. He touches my back and leans close to me, pulling my hips out farther adjusting me to his liking. I feel exposed and vulnerable.

“You will lose the snark, Daniela.” His words are hot against my ear. I whisper my reply, and he moves back. I hear his belt buckle jingle and feel my limbs weaken. It slithers sickeningly through the loops of his jeans, but it also causes heat and moisture to flow. It feels like forever passes while he fiddles with it. He reminds me to stay in position, and the buckle goes silent.

I hear the hiss of it coming and then the loud strike lands with a thwack so sharp across the swell of my bottom that I gasp. It takes several seconds before I feel the searing stripe blossom painfully across both of my cheeks. The end flick is the worst though--it’s as if the leather wants one final bite of the delicate skin on the outer edge of my rear before it’s completed it’s duty. I squeal and tuck in when the burn fully sinks in. Before I can get back into position and work through the pain another whisper hisses through the air and warns. God, the second is worse--the burn more intense and the sharp bite harder as it flicks the same spot. The third I hold my breath and brace for it, but nothing can stop the strangled cry that flies from my mouth. I squeeze the post tightly, until my fingers are white knowing the next one is coming even though the pain on my bottom hasn’t even fully eased. I pull up against the post after it lands harshly and attempt to stamp away the hurt. I choke out a sob, as I mentally claw for strength. He stops and patiently puts his hands on my hips to move me back.
“Adam? It’s horrible.” My voice is small. “How many?”
“As many as you need.” He answers and pets my hair. I whimper, feeling the needles of pain still very much alive on my skin, but am comforted by his touch regardless.
“I—I can’t,” I stutter, with tears pooling in my lids.
“Lessons are often painful, Daniela. And you’re one of the strongest women I know. Of course you can.”
“I—I don’t want this,” I say in a watery voice.
“And I don’t want to give it, but we both know you deserve it and more importantly, need it.” He’s right.
The belt lands again and this time he doesn’t even pause a little. I gasp with the first and hold both my breathe and the post as if it is life or death. When he gets to five my knees buckle and I feel my hot ass against my heels.
He doesn’t scold me for the moment I take and that gives me the strength to stand again. I get back into position, shoving my bottom out again for his discipline.  He switches sides and as he does runs a cool palm across my fiery backside. I sigh long and low feeling the tension in me blow out with it.
“Good girl.” His praise makes me choke back tears again.
The next ten are doled out with speed and efficiency of the last five but without the break in between. I can’t even bend my knees and take in the pain for more than a second before the belt strikes again.  It’s so awful I think I hate him. I know I hate him. I call out in an angry growl and stamp my foot. I can’t keep up. I can’t control my breathing. It stings. It burns. It hurts so much. Why won’t he let me catch my damn breath! I clench my jaw and squeeze my eyes tightly to keep from screaming angrily at him. Then I break. I lose it. Not bawling or anything loud or messy, just a steady flow of tears and emotion that amazes me. Each tear carries a hundred times its weight in emotion. They pour from me in a euphoric release.  
“I’m sorry, Adam.” I gulp air. “For yelling at you.” Another gasping breath. “For being difficult.” A long sob trails from me. He helps me see my shortcomings and that’s my focus. I know there are reasons for my anger towards him in theory, but I shove them aside. I see him as the man he’s been with me for the last few days, not what I know him to be in the bigger picture. “I’m sorry for exposing the children to that ugly behavior.”
The strapping stops and he leans over me, placing his hands over mine on the post and linking our fingers. He removes our hands, stepping away from the post and wraps our arms around me. He shushes me as I quietly weep. His kisses on my head and neck and shoulder further undo me. He doesn’t hate me because I can be a bitch. Turning me to face him, I lower my head. I’m embarrassed by my weakness and the mess my face must be. He asks me to look at him softly. I only shake my head and sniffle. He asks again. Besides the embarrassment, I’m afraid. He’s two people to me, and the one I’m with now has peeled away my protective layers and accepted me as I am—for what I need. It’s this side of Adam that I’m falling ever so slightly for.

Gently, he tips my chin. I don’t fight him but stubbornly look at his chin instead of his eyes. He wipes my tears.

“Look at me. You have nothing to feel ashamed about.” He pushes my hair behind my ears. “You’re not perfect. None of us are, and now the slate is wiped clean, sweetheart. I forgive you, and it’s over.” I launch myself at him and bury my face into his strong chest. I’m small and sweet in his arms. I’ve never felt so helpless, yet strong and cared for before. And none of it makes sense. At this moment, if I look no further, I am his.

                                                       Copyright: <a href=''>feedough / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

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