“Do I have to spank you in front of all these people?”
The words are a sharp, sudden hiss in my ear, and I gasp as the blood rushes to my cheeks. I glance around, wide-eyed, certain that everyone in the crowded grocery store has overheard.
His lips brush my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine.
I shake my head vigorously and squeak out a barely audible “no.”
He nods and moves away, and I resolve to be good for the rest of the day. But I can tell by his brisk manner as we meander down the pasta aisle that it’s too late.
I say very little as we finish the grocery shopping, and even less on the long walk to the car. When he opens the back door for me instead of the front, my heart sinks. But I slide in without protest. Fear and anticipation make my heart race as I wait.
He takes his time loading the groceries into the trunk, but at last he’s done. I watch him as he opens the car door and climbs into the back seat beside me, searching for some sign of what’s to come. He’s angry, and I’m in for a lecture. But whether there’s more to come, I can’t tell.
He pats his thigh and says, “Come here.”
I hesitate, instinctively scanning my surroundings. The parking lot is relatively deserted, but that doesn’t mean it will stay that way for long.
“Amy, this isn’t a game,” he warns. “Over my lap. Now.”
The sharpness in his voice makes me cringe, and I whimper quietly. I know that I have no choice but to do as he says, so I take a deep breath and very slowly inch toward him. I lift my eyes, and my pleading gaze meets his. I can tell from the hard set of his jaw that words will only make my punishment worse, so I press my lips together and keep quiet. Reluctantly, I lean forward and stretch my body over his lap.
He waits until I’m in place, then flips my skirt up unceremoniously. I gasp at the sudden exposure, and have to struggle not to cover myself with my hands. I curl them into fists beneath my chest and take a deep, slow breath.
Why had I behaved like such a spoiled brat, anyway? I had been pushing him all day, delighting in every little victory. I knew, I knew I was going too far. But as always, once I start getting away with things, I’m incorrigible.
Well, that’s not true, I think with a rueful sigh. I’m actually quite corrigible, as we’re about to find out.
“Do you know why I’m about to spank you, Amy?” he asks.
I nod my head, and he gives my bottom a swift, hard swat. I cry out in surprise, and then immediately bite my lip as I remember we’re in public.
“I want to hear you answer me,” he says angrily. “Do you know why I’m spanking you?”
“Because,” I answer in a trembling voice, “I was being a brat.”
“That’s right,” he says, “You were being a brat.”
I feel his fingers fumble at the waistband of my panties, and I sigh in resignation as I wait for them to come down. But instead, he gives them a sharp, brisk tug upward. My cheeks become exposed as the thin fabric slips between them. I close my eyes, thoroughly embarrassed at what I must look like.
But before I can dwell on the sight I must make – over his knee and bottom bared – his hand comes down hard, landing firm across both cheeks. Once. Twice. Three times. Good, hard spanks that leave me gasping. He pauses, and I feel his hands wrap around my waist as he rearranges me to his liking. He adjusts my position so my back is arched and my cheeks are raised even higher in the air, and then the spanking continues.
I start to whimper, but this only increases the intensity of the spanks, and the speed with which he’s delivering them.
He pauses suddenly, his hand resting on my very warm bottom.
“Are you going to behave?” he asks.
“Yes,” I sob, “Yes, I promise.”
“Let’s make sure you can keep that promise. I want you to think about what a good girl you’re going to be, and how if you’re not, you’ll find yourself right back in this position. Do you understand?”
“What are you going to think about?”
I swallow with difficulty before saying, “I’m going to think about what a good girl I’m going to be.”
“And…and how if I’m not you’ll spank me.”
He lifts his hand and brings it down hard across my stinging bottom. And then again. And again.
I catch voices outside and panic wells up in my chest as they draw near. I feel so sorry. So sorry that I misbehaved. So sorry that I upset him. So sorry that I’m here, over his knee like a little girl.
I want to say ‘please.’ I want to ask him to stop and wait for whoever is outside to leave. I want to tell him I’ve learned my lesson, and I don’t need this very public spanking. But I don’t want to add my voice to the sounds of my punishment. I don’t want to be heard, pleading and begging like a child. So instead I close my eyes and try to keep quiet as the spanks land again and again, rocking my body forward in a quick, unceasing rhythm.
I hear the voices linger maybe four or five cars away, and then the sound of packages being loaded into a car. But to me, the sound of my spanking is infinitely louder. It’s getting harder and harder to keep quiet. I squirm and wriggle as I realize that it won’t be long before the sting overwhelms me and I forget my dignity.
As always, he can tell what’s on my mind.
“If you didn’t want to be spanked in public,” he says, “you should have thought about your behavior.” I can hear the smile in his voice as he caresses my sore cheeks. “Now you have to deal with the consequences of being naughty. Do you think you’ll misbehave in public again?”
I shake my head vehemently, and this earns me five very hard and swift spanks that finally break my silence.
“No,” I cry, “No I won’t misbehave in public again.”
He gives me one last smack and then he rests his hand across my stinging cheeks. Outside, I hear the sound of car doors closing and then an engine fires up. I close my eyes as relief floods my body.
James pats my bottom softly and says, “I trust we won’t have to do this again for a while.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat, and I shake my head.
He gives my cheeks a few more patronizing little pats and I feel myself flush with humiliation, but also with something else.
“Spread your legs,” he orders.
I do as I’m told, and his fingers slip between them. I moan softly as he begins to explore.
“Do you like that?” he whispers huskily.
“Yes,” I sigh as his fingers continue to work me.
“You were a very bad girl, Amy.”
I say nothing because I’m incapable of speech. His fingers are everywhere, stroking and sliding and teasing. I gasp and arch my back involuntarily, providing him with better access, and he chuckles softly. I spread my legs wide, taking his fingers inside me as I draw closer and closer to that glorious edge.
And suddenly his fingers are gone and I receive two very hard spanks that make me jump in surprise.
“When we get home,” he says, “I’m going to strip your clothes off and give you the spanking you deserve.”
His fingers find their way between my legs again, light and teasing.
“Maybe I’ll have to paddle you as well. Just to make sure I drive the lesson home.”
His words are sending me into a flurry of fear, but his fingers have me writhing in happy ecstasy.
“Then I’ll teach you to be good, Amy,” he promises softly. “Then I’ll teach you how to be a very good girl.”
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