“How is Rath? Did he recover?”
“I’m going to see him in a little bit,” she says. “He’s alive, and that’s all that matters. Everything else can be fixed. Remember that when Tusk gets after you.”
“I think that’s enough, Lyric. You can go.”
Tusk’s rough growl interrupts our conversation. He’s come for me. He’s going to do… whatever it is he’s going to do.
Tusk
I had Margaret wait for me in the dining room because I intended on having a nice dinner. She has forced my hand to a certain extent, but my plans allow for extraneous contingencies. Dinner will have a few more guests than I previously intended, and much more in the way of entertainment.
“A wooden spoon?”
“Traditional, I think, Margaret?”
She sets her jaw in that determined way she has. She thinks I intend to spank her with the spoon. I suppose I do. But that is not the limit of my intentions with this implement.
“Bend over the table and present your hindquarters,” I order her. “It is time you took your punishment.”
She obeys, just as I knew she would. Margaret is always obedient, except when she isn’t. I know she thought she was doing the right thing with the baby, but she was wrong, nevertheless.
She bends over the table, her skirts raised, her creamy hindquarters presented in an alluring manner. It would be easy to lose focus now, but I have a plan, and that plan will be carried out.
I give her a few swats with the business end of the spoon, as she expects, then I spin the wooden spoon around and use the butter sitting on the table to lubricate the narrow, rounded end.
“Hold your cheeks open for me, Margaret.”
I can hear the outrage and embarrassment in her voice as she gasps wordlessly, but again she does as she is told, her fingers clasping at her cheeks to open them up for me. She is presented to me in an adorably alluring way, wordlessly asking me to take advantage.
I slide the buttery smooth end of the spoon into that other tight little hole. She makes a pleasant grunting sound as it slides in, just an inch or two.
“This is so embarrassing!”
“It is, isn’t it,” I agree. “Here, in a potentially public place, punished with a spoon because you are a naughty girl who does not listen to her korabi master.”
“Please, Tusk.”
I slide the spoon in a little deeper and give it a little tweak. I really must be very careful with her. She is a delicate creature, but that makes her fun to play with. I am not as angry with her as I seemed to be initially. I did not approve of her doing what she did, but she followed her instinct and expecting her to do anything else was foolish.
“Please what, Margaret? I recall asking you for something once. I asked you to take care of something. And you gave it away, first chance you got.”
“Tusk…”
I slap her pretty rump with my open palm. She squirms and the spoon wriggles.
“You have a great many orifices, Margaret. All of them are useable. And punishable.”
She moans. I see that tell-tale trace of arousal along the seam of her lower lips. It makes the brown curling down of her sex glisten like a fresh morning.
I slide the spoon out a little, and then back in. I mate her slowly with the implement, making her feel the couple of inches of wooden intrusion with a regularity that makes her grind her hips the way she does when my cock is inside her.
“You’ll fuck anything, won’t you, Margaret,” I purr, knowing I am embarrassing her, and knowing that embarrassment makes her hotter than ever. I did not intend to make this a sexual punishment, but everything between Margaret and me is sexual. Always has been. Always will be.
“Please,” she moans. I no longer think she is asking for mercy. I think she is begging for pleasure. Because she knows, in some instinctual way, that she will always have my mercy.
I pull the spoon from her hot, tight little ass, and I use the proper business end of it to belabor her deserving cheeks with twenty hot swats. Her flesh turns pink, and then red in pretty splotches.
This is not the punishment I would give anybody else who disobeyed me this way. This is the punishment I give the woman I love, the woman I cannot hurt, even when her behavior demands it.
“Get up,” I say, secreting the spoon inside my robe. We may play with that later, but I can hear the tell-tale sounds of impatient guests who want to eat.
“Come in, my fine diners!”
She barely has her skirts down as the guests start to file in, one after the other. Rath has been discharged from the hospital with a fresh batch of augmentations. Lyric is, of course, glued to him. Krush is our guest of honor, reluctantly compelled to attend.