“Well, since you clearly have not paid any attention to a word I’ve been saying the whole time we’ve been here, perhaps you need a little reminder. What do you think?”
Your voice is so calm, the way it always is when you are about to punish me, the way that always sends shivers down my spine, even when I know it means you are going to hurt me. I cannot possibly imagine what it is I’ve forgotten, but that seems irrelevant now, as you wait for me to move into position, wait for me to give myself to you to discipline. Awkwardly, I get to my feet, allow you to sit yourself more comfortably on the lounger, squirm with discomfort as you gently pat your lap to motion me across it. There is something about over-the-knee spankings that simultaneously horrifies and excites me—the childish humiliation, the ungainly positioning, the exposure of my bottom making it so easy for you to smack. No matter how naughty I have been or how cross you are with me, it always manages to make me wet.
I reluctantly bend myself across your knee, wriggling just slightly in the way I know looks enticing, a tiny spark of excitement coursing through me as I think of how much enjoyment you gain from humiliating me. Even when you’re disciplining me for bad behavior, it always turns me on to think of you gaining pleasure from punishing me—and I know, no matter what you say, or how angry you look, you’re always just as wet as me.
The first smack still makes me jump, even though I’m expecting it. The moment your hand meets my waiting flesh, the sound as surfaces collide, is always the best part for me, the promise of what is to come contained in that one strike. Slowly you continue, sharp swats of your hand meticulously applied across my cheerful polka dots, not even hurting yet but hard enough to let me know it will. You pause, your hand resting softly on the damp fabric, as if thinking.
“Take them off.”
“Are you kidding me? Oh, please don’t! We’re outside! Somebody might see!” I whine, the thought of my bare bottom exposed to any pool boy that happens to come strolling by just too unbearable to even think of.
“Do you not think it will be embarrassing enough for them to see you bent over my knee like a naughty girl?” you respond dryly, clearly not caring a jot whether anyone sees me exposed or not. “I doubt they’ll be noticing whether you have your swimsuit on or not! Now don’t make me tell you again, otherwise a spanking will be the least of your worries.”
Resentfully, I get to my feet and clumsily push the bikini bottom to my midthigh before positioning myself back across your lap, my skin prickling as it is exposed to the warm afternoon air. You’re right, I suppose, that just being caught being spanked would be embarrassing enough, never mind it being on my bare bottom. You’re always right, much to my misfortune at times. Satisfied with my reluctantly presented backside, you continue with an air of determination, each strike becoming decidedly more ferocious until I find myself gasping, just a little, at the strength of it, my toes twisting together as I try to distract myself, my eyes squeezed tight shut until—
“Please!”
You pause, your hand midair, poised to launch.
“Excuse me?”
“Please, ma’am, you’re hurting me!”
You laugh, that laugh of utter ridicule I have come to expect when I say something as ludicrously obvious as that. I still always find myself saying it though, like a ritual, a well-played game, where we know our lines and our cues but still are surprised when the plot twists come in.
“I know,” you sigh, and I know you will be smiling. “I know I’m hurting you, Kirsten, but sometimes I just need to do what’s necessary to remind you. You don’t want to be a bad girl for me, do you?”
“No, ma’am, not at all!”
“So perhaps you should quiet down and stop making such a fuss; otherwise I may have to go indoors and fetch that nice wooden paddle you like so much, and you don’t want that, I’m sure.”
“No, ma’am, no, I don’t! I’ll try harder, I promise.”
“Good.”
I bite my lip to crush my squeals as you smack me harder, your girl who tries to be good but still needs taking in hand sometimes, who needs a sound spanking to set her back on the right path once more. But I know I could never live without it, without this, without you. That feeling of complete calm that comes over me when I surrender to you, when you take from me what is yours, is incomparable to anything I’ve felt in any other relationship, to anything I’ve felt in life, I guess. It just makes everything seem so simple; all of the worries of mundane, everyday existence fading away to be replaced with such clear, definable goals of completing the tasks you set me and submitting to your wishes with complete devotion. You are the yin to my yang, the other half of all the sides of me. How I love you, my wicked queen.