I nod again, my heart hammering so hard and fast I can’t speak.
“Good,” he says shortly. “Then we will put this behind us after I’ve punished you.”
Panic sweeps through me. I don’t know what to think or do around this man, and that terrifies me.
How will he punish me? I’ve been punished in so many ways my imagination runs ragged trying to understand what he’s doing, when I realize he’s pulling out one of the kitchen chairs.
What will he do?
My answer comes the next second when he gives me a sharp tug and places me belly-down over his knees.
I screw my eyes tight and can’t help but throw an arm up in protest, but without flinching he merely takes my wrist and pins it to my lower back. I freeze when he pats my ass with his huge palm.
I begin to panic. Even though I’m over his lap for clearly what will be my punishment, this feels intimate and borderline sexual. For a girl like me, that’s terrifying.
“This will be brief and serve as a reminder only,” he says, seemingly oblivious to my distress. “Because I know now why you acted as you did, and I don’t wish to mar our wedding night with the memory of a harsh punishment.” With that, he yanks down my leggings, and I want to die. The only reason I’m over his knees like this is so he can spank me, and I’m utterly humiliated. I whimper but don’t move out of his grasp.
“Let me go!” I protest. “Please! I won’t do it again.”
“You’re damn right you won’t. Repeat after me. ‘I will not raise my hand to my husband.’”
My voice is strangled and tight when I repeat, “I will not raise my hand to my husband.”
Whack.
His massive palm cracks against my ass. It hurts worse than I expect, and I gasp in shock, frozen in pain before he speaks again.
“Repeat. I will do as I’m told.”
I take in a deep breath then repeat, “I will do as I’m told.”
Whack.
Another harsh slap has me whimpering and squirming. I’m shocked at how much this spanking hurts, but grit my teeth, determined to take the punishment I’ve earned. I have no choice, and I don’t want to incur further punishment.
His voice lowers, even more serious than before. “Say, ‘I will never call myself ugly again.’”
I blink in surprise, but I’m too afraid not to obey. My vision blurs and my throat tightens, but I manage to get the words out. “I will never call myself ugly again.” With one massive hand wrapped around my waist, he brings down his palm and gives me the hardest spank he’s given me yet. I gasp out loud and dry sob, caught up in so many emotions I don’t even know where to begin to sort them.
Then it’s over. My punishment was three hard slaps, humiliating but not cruel. He’s chosen degradation over pain with this reminder, and it’s worked. I want to crawl under a blanket and pull it over my head. I want to lock myself in a closet and huddle in the corner and cry myself to sleep. But I can’t. I have to face the man I’ll spend the rest of my life with, knowing I belong to him and knowing he has the power to do whatever he wants with me. So when he rights me, I can’t look at him. Instead, I instinctively bury my face on his chest, so I don’t need to make eye contact with him. Too late I realize that my self-preservation brings me intimately closer to him.
He doesn’t respond at first, as if surprised by my reaction, his arms hanging by his sides. I feel him draw in a breath, but then he doesn’t speak. I bring my hands to my face and curl up on his lap, miserable and chastened and hurt. I don’t want his comfort or consolation, I just have nowhere else to hide. To my chagrin, tears splash on my lap.
After a moment, he loosely brings his arms around me to hold me. I tense. “Look at me,” he says, his voice sharp.
Right now, sitting on his knee, my body still aching from the swift but firm punishment, I couldn’t disobey him if I wanted to. I’m too raw, too vulnerable, and the tone of his voice sends my pulse spiking. That quickly, he removed my defenses and reduced me to tears. I don’t like that he has that power over me, but I can’t control my reaction. I don’t want to look at him, but the tone of his voice leaves no choice.
With great reluctance, I remove my hands from my face and look at him. I’m shaking from head to foot, my whole body taken with tremors. I’m consumed with so many emotions, I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know how to process what’s happened or how to sort through everything I’ve felt.