Page 68 of Tanner
By the time he finished the tenth swat, Junie’s bottom glowed a bright, rosy pink, and she was breathing hard, little whimpers escaping with every shift of her hips.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice softening just a fraction. “You took that warm-up well.”
“Wait! Warm-up? Those deathblows were just my warm-up?”
“Babygirl, those didn’t even count as swats. Now, let’s talk about why you thought putting up that display was a good idea,” he said between firm swats.
“I was just so mad, Daddy!”
“Mad is fine. Destroying your own hard work is not.” Tanner gave her bottom one last firm pat, then tapped her hip. “Stand up, babygirl.”
Junie pushed herself up on shaky legs, her panties still tangled around her thighs. She kept her eyes down, cheeks flushed and streaked with the first hint of tears. Tanner rose slowly, towering over her for a moment before reaching for the heavy leather belt at his waist. The sound of the buckle clinking and the leather sliding free from the loops made her visibly swallow.
He folded the belt in half, letting the doubled leather rest against his palm as he looked at her. “Hands on the seat of the chair. Bend over. Bottom up.”
Junie hesitated only a second before obeying, placing her palms flat on the cushioned seat and bending forward until her torso was parallel to the floor. Her rosy bare bottom was already quivering slightly and that was just from his hand. Tanner knew her ass was about to tremble a lot more. He stepped to her side and rested his left hand firmly on the small of her back, anchoring her in place.
“Stay right there,” he said, voice low and steady. “Keep your hands on the seat. If you reach back, I could hit your fingers with the belt. That would hurt a lot more, and I don’t want to hurt your hands. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered, voice already wobbly.
“Good girl. You’ll count these.”
He drew the belt back and brought it down with a sharp crack across the fullest part of her bottom. Junie gasped loudly, her hips jerking forward as a vivid red stripe bloomed across her skin.
“One!” she cried out.
Crack!
“Two! Ow!”
He worked methodically, laying each new stroke just below the previous one, letting the belt paint a clear line of fire from the top of her bottom down toward her sit spots. Each impact drew a fresh gasp or sharp wince from her. By the fourth stroke, her hips were already wiggling side to side in a desperate attempt to ease the sting.
“Be still,” Tanner warned, pressing his hand more firmly against the small of her back. “You move around too much, and you’ll earn extra.”
Crack!
“Five! Ahh—Daddy, it stings!”
Crack!
“Six!” Her voice cracked. She rose up on her toes, trying to shift the burn, then stomped one foot against the floor.
Tanner didn’t pause. The belt landed again, lower this time, catching the sensitive undercurve of her right cheek.
“Seven! Ow, ow, ow!”
By the time he was ready to give her the eighth stroke, her breathing had turned ragged, and the first real tears slipped down her cheeks. The red stripes were clearly visible now, layered one beneath the other, her bottom growing darker with every measured swing of the leather.
Crack!
“Eight!” She stomped both feet this time, her hips twisting as she fought to stay in position.
“Settle down, little girl,” he said, calmly rubbing the fresh stripe with his thumb before drawing the belt back again. “You’re going to take every one of these.”
Crack!
“Nine!” The sound that left her was half sob, half cry. Her fingers curled tightly against the seat of the chair as more tears fell.
