Page 6 of Carter

I’ve never been spanked before.

The pain is shocking. The spot on my ass cheek where his hand spanked me is stinging, burning. I try to wiggle my hips. To get away. His arm locks tighter. “Carter!”

“And I am not punishing you for a dress.” His hand comes down again. “I’m furious because you made me believe you were upstairs safe while you climbed out a fire escape and disappeared into the city without a phone, purse, or ID.”

He’s so fucking mad.

And I’m more embarrassed than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m a grown woman. Lying over my man’s lap. Getting my bottom spanked. At my favorite club. In front of everyone.

And it hurts!

I feel my bottom lip tremble. I want to cry.

Then the punishment begins in earnest, making the first few spanks seem like a light pat. Each time he speaks, he brings his hand down, right, then left. Punctuating his words. “You. Are. Engaged. To. Me. This ass is mine.”

Tears pop up in my eyes. I’m humiliated. And my bottom is hurting so badly. Despite his ever-tightening grip, I twist my hips, trying to free myself. The spanking stops for a moment. His hand brushes against the hem of my barely there skirt, pushing it up over my hot, stinging ass. He sucks in air between his teeth—the noise he makes tells me he’s beyond pissed. “No panties?”

Oh, shit.

“They leave a line. Like I said—I’ll wear what I want⁠—”

Another spank falls, this time on my bare skin. The material of the dress is thin but it was giving me a slight buffer from his stinging palm. I can’t believe how much pain I’m in. Or how loud the echo of his hand smacking my bare ass is.

He spanks me again. I’m on fire.

“What the hell! That hurts, Carter!”

“We haven’t even started.”

I gulp.

Fury wells in his voice. I’d never before pushed Carter this far. He’s not the jealous type. And he’s certainly not one to slut shame a woman. My actions tonight have sent him into another realm. I’m torn between my independence and the pain in my ass. I want to fight but I’m confused by my burning flesh and the shame I’m feeling.

His hand slaps five times in fast succession. “You wanted freedom tonight. Fine. But freedom is not lying to the man who loves you and making him search New York because he has no idea where you are. You want me to trust your judgment? Then give me judgment worth trusting.”

The words hit harder than his palm. I wanted to dance. I wanted to prove I could still make my own choices. Somewhere between the balcony and the club, I turned that into deception and called it independence.

Another hard swat lands. My dress has ridden high enough that my punished bottom is exposed to him, and the humiliation of being caught—not displayed—burns nearly as hot as my skin.

“Carter, I⁠—”

His open palm comes down with a loud crack. The pain is blinding. Tears fall from my eyes.

It hurts.

It really hurts.

I never even imagined him spanking me before—I never thought it would come to this, much less what it would feel like. Now I want to scream, cry, beg him to stop. My ass is throbbing as his hand comes down again. Loud and punishing. The new sting turns to burning turns to throbbing.

The pain is everywhere. Then I notice another sensation.

My pussy is beginning to pulse.

I feel slick juices forming between my thighs. The walls of my pussy do that clenching thing they do whenever I get horny. Beneath my dress, my braless breasts hang heavy, my nipples tight against the rough fabric.

I’m so fucking turned on.

It’s humiliating.