Bubbles

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Part of me wanted to take it easy on her that night, but in my heart, I knew I couldn’t.

She’d come so far with being on time in some ways. The light-clock I’d bought her helped her immensely, and the two times she was late to school were because she’d gone back to assuming traffic would work in her favor, and it hadn’t. She’d learned from her mistakes and aimed to get there ten minutes early now, without me having to enforce it.

And she was doing so much better at getting to work on time.

But the unscheduled stuff still threw her for a loop. She didn’t seem capable of subtracting the time to drive somewhere and the time to get ready from when she needed to arrive, and figuring out when she needed to begin preparing to leave.

Part of why I love her is her ability to live in the moment, but part of moving from childhood to adulthood means figuring out how to get yourself places on time.

Still, I needed to figure out how to make tonight’s belting a way to bring us together instead of pushing us apart.

I considered all my options, and started to move our session out to the garage so I’d be able to bind her, but my instincts told me I should keep it in the living room.

I ended up installing two eyebolts near the ceiling on opposite sides of the room, tying rope off tight between them, and then running a rope down to the center of the room. I moved the coffee table to the side so the center would be clear. Next, I brought a kitchen chair in, along with lube, a large butt plug, her wrist and ankle cuffs, a spreader bar, and a one-hundred-pound weight from my workout machine.

I didn’t fuck around with talking when she came home. She put her bags on the sofa and stripped when I told her to, obviously off balance at walking in the door to this, but that was okay.

I gave no explanations while I put her wrist cuffs on, connected them behind her back, placed her in the middle of the room, bent her over, and tied her hands high enough to the rope dangling down, she’d have to stay bent over.

Next, I squatted, put her ankle cuffs on, and the spreader bar between. I connected the spreader bar to the one-hundred-pound weight, through the notch in the center of the bar. She wouldn’t be lifting her legs, nor could she put them together or spread them farther.

The butt plug came next, and I put it in as quickly as I dared. She screamed and yelped, but never begged for mercy.

Finally, I sat in the chair in front of her, close enough so I could hug her and hold her while we talked.

“A few times, I’ve only given you three strikes of the belt because I hit you so hard, I knew that was all you could take.”

She didn’t respond, but I smelled her fear.

“I may not do all seventeen quite so hard, but the first and last will be, and the others are going to be way more intense than you’d normally get for so many. I’ll stop and hold you in between, and we’ll talk, and I’ll make sure you’re okay before I give you the next. You don’t have to count or stay still. I need you to kiss the belt for the first and last, but you won’t have to for the other strikes if you don’t want to — you’ll have an opportunity, but I won’t strike harder or softer based on whether or not you do.”

I’m always clothed when I do this, but I’d decided on another tactic today, so I disrobed while she watched, and my naughty girl was clearly nervous about the change in protocol.

“What do you notice about my cock?”

“You aren’t hard, Sir.”

“That’s right, because I don’t want to do this. I’m about to hurt you worse than you can handle, and I don’t fucking want to do it. Please don’t make me have to do it again.”

Truthfully, getting hard while I did this wouldn’t have been a problem, and staying soft would take effort, but my instincts told me this was important, so I went with it.

I held my belt in front of her lips, and a tear spilled from one of her eyes when she kissed it.

I’m pretty sure every shapeshifter in the neighborhood heard her first scream, and possibly the humans in the closest houses. I rubbed her back and talked to her, and then sat in the chair and hugged her.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart. I know it hurts, and I know you’re sorry, but we have to do this.” I held her and talked to her for seven minutes before her tears stopped and she was breathing semi-normal. I stood and held the belt to her mouth, and she once again kissed it.

“I love you, Sir.”

“I love you, too.”

I’m a decent aim with my belt, and the next red stripe immediately formed just below the first. I gave her the first six lashes without hitting a spot I’d already belted, and her scream on the seventh told just how much worse it hurt for me to hit a spot twice.

It was only going to get worse.

An hour in, and she’d had nine strikes. I had water in a cup with a straw, but was only allowing her sips. She’d get as much as she wanted after the last, but too much on her stomach during her punishment wouldn’t be a good thing.

She’d had homework for one of her early classes, but had completed it during lunch at school. No one after lunch had assigned any, so at least we didn’t have to contend with that, tonight. Still, I didn’t want this to take another hour, but it was taking longer and longer between strikes.

“You’re about to get ten, eleven, and twelve with thirty seconds in between, and then I’ll sit and help you deal with them.”

Terror flooded her already overloaded system, but this was kinder in the long run. I needed to help her through it, but I also needed to take care of her and pet her to sleep when we finished.

I held the belt to her lips, and she gave it three quick kisses. My heart damn near melted in my chest. I was about to hurt her, but she was letting me know we were in this together. She’d brought us to this, and I was making sure we stayed okay. I’ve never understood the couples who claim to love each other but seem to hate each other, but I could understand being permanently angry with her if she was always late and never fixed her behavior — and that wasn’t a healthy relationship.

I looked at the clock on the wall, waited until the second hand was at the top, and struck. When the second hand hit the bottom, I struck again, and when it returned to the top, I let the belt fly again.

And then I was in the chair, holding her, soothing her.

Fifteen minutes later, she got a double, and then eleven minutes later, she got the hardest strike she’d had all evening.

I gave her plenty of time to prepare for the last, which would be even harder.

She kissed the belt before the last, her eyes on me. She knew the final strike was always hardest, and she hadn’t been able to handle the one she’d just had, but she never asked for mercy.

And I didn’t give it to her.

She was crazy from the pain, and her screams beyond frantic, but she kissed the belt when I put it to her lips after the final lash.

I released her cuffs from the rope and spreader bar, carried her to our bedroom, and stretched her out on her stomach. I’ve never used a cooling soothing cream on her after a spanking before, but on this day, I did — along with a cream to help keep the bruising to a minimum, though they were already forming. The poor thing was exhausted from the pain and adrenaline, and was asleep within twenty minutes — and I rubbed, soothed, and kissed her the whole time.

When she was finally asleep, I removed the cuffs and set her clock for thirty minutes early so I could rub more anti-bruising cream on her, and we could talk.