But he had warned her throughout the weekend that she was going to be getting a “proper” spanking the next time they were together. That idea kept her on the edge until she saw him again—having been told in no uncertain terms that she was not allowed to touch herself without his permission. And throughout those three days alone, she was at least as horny as she had been those four days she was with him—if not more so. She’d never wanted to masturbate more in her life—her spank bank overflowed, but she couldn’t do anything about it!
Having been told that she wasn’t allowed to touch herself was beyond maddening, but it also ratcheted up her desire to a fever pitch, frankly, to the point that she was having trouble sleeping at night.
She was due at the big house at eight, but because she hadn’t fallen asleep until almost three, Hope didn’t wake up until she heard her doorbell go off so many times, she thought that someone must’ve been sitting on it. Then that graduated to banging on her door.
“Hope? I know you’re in there; your car’s out front. You are in big trouble, my girl.”
Oh, crap! She sat up immediately, glancing at her ancient clock radio—the alarm had gone off—and still was. She was just so tired that she’d slept through it—and the four phone calls, three text messages and four voicemails someone had left for her, too.
She was still berating herself and futzing with her phone as she opened the door to him.
“I’m sorry—I slept through my—oh!”
He’d walked in without saying one word to her, and seconds later, she found his broad shoulder pressed against her stomach as he very carefully, very expertly lifted her onto it, holding her legs together with one arm as he took her phone from her and put it on the small dining room table before he began swatting her bottom hard while he walked into her miniscule living room to place her—with surprising gentleness—over the back of her own couch.
She was wearing what she usually wore to bed—an old t-shirt that had shrunk in the wash the very first time she put it in there, and since then had seen better days. It really didn’t even cover her behind and clung all too lovingly to her bust, too. Beneath the hem, she was sure that he could see a pair of comfortable, if thoroughly unbecoming, plain white panties.
Cal didn’t take the time to notice much about what she was wearing—he was too busy rucking her shirt up and taking her undies to her knees, until he was staring down at the clean, bare lines of her backside.
He began to spank her without preamble. “When I say eight o’clock, baby girl, I mean eight o’clock.”
He wasn’t yelling, and he didn’t sound angry, but he certainly was getting his point across to her. Every single smack that landed on her generous cheeks left behind a horrendous sting and had her yelping and begging him to stop before she’d gotten just five swats.
Kicking her feet and pounding her fists into the cushions didn’t achieve the desired effect of getting him to stop, either, so she tried to stand up instead. That was when Cal took a step closer to her, so that he could wrap his arm around her waist and hold her in place while essentially facing away from her, which quickly and efficiently prevented her from getting down, but left her bottom very much still in play—a situation of which he took full advantage, emphasizing each word with a hearty smack.
“Lateness is not acceptable, Hope. I think you already knew that about me. I’m surprised at you. I thought you felt the same way. Hopefully, this will help you remember.”
She yelped and cried and wept and reared up as much as she could—which wasn’t much—but the swats kept coming long after he’d stopped lecturing her, until he felt her body go limp as she sobbed. Then he gave her another ten very hard ones before letting go of her.
Although she seemed to have completely relaxed, Hope was up like a shot, hands rubbing her poor blistered backside and giving him the occasional accusatory glare, until she heard him scold, “Hands. You know you’re not allowed to rub.”