Page 59 of Bronson

He says, “I thought I told you to keep those hips still. Or you’d get a taste of my belt. You’re a bad, bad girl. Aren’t you? Not listening. Doing as you please. You need a lesson in true submission, kitten.”

Tears form in my eyes. I just want to come. I feel as if I’ll die if I don’t. I protest, “But you were… doing that thing with your hand. I can’t control⁠—”

My words catch in my throat. His hands are on my hips. He’s moving me from the straddled position over one leg to be completely laid over his lap in a straight line. Now, my legs rest on the mattress behind him. My bottom is directly over his thighs. My upper body rests on the bed. I bury my face in my arms.

I sense his hands going to his waist. He’s taking off his belt. My ass cheeks clench. Which further agitates my poor, neglected pussy.

“Bad girls get the belt.” A shiver runs through me as he cracks the leather in the air. Same as he did when he gave me three licks in his office.

I hold my breath.

He lowers the belt so the leather touches my skin. He trails the leather over my bottom. Chill bumps are rising on my skin. He says, “Tell me. What should the punishment be for direct disobedience? Ten? Twenty?”

“Two?” I squeak out.

“Wrong.” The belt comes crashing down across the center of my ass. I scream in shock and pain. The leather whips me and it stings so bad.

And makes my pussy gush.

“Try again,” he says. “We’ll keep going until you pick an appropriate number.”

I gasp. What should I say? This is a nasty game. “Five?”

Again the belt comes crashing down, whipping me. I cry out in pain. He says, “Wrong again.”

My mind goes blank, but I need to think. He said ten or twenty. I’ll pick the lesser of the two evils and take my chances. “Ten, sir.”

My eyes shut tightly, waiting for the sting. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he says, “Correct. Now ask politely for them.”

What? My face burns hotter. My tummy flutters. My tongue feels tied. I take a breath and manage to whisper, “May I please have ten, sir?”

His cock rises and presses against his pants, into my belly.

“Good, good girl.” The leather trails across my ass, then comes down with a snap. I wince but it’s not nearly as hard as the first two.

He doesn’t have to tell me for me to know what to do. I say, “One.”

I’m rewarded by his hand gently smoothing over my fiery ass. “Such a good girl. You’re going to make a beautiful Bachman.”

I’m so focused on the pain, the punishment, the shame, the pulsing in my sex, I don’t have the head space to pick apart his words, wondering if he meant Bachman, as in marry me one day?

The belt comes down again. The pain is real. He’s punishing me. For humping his hand when he told me not to. I count the numbers and the belt comes down. Each time making me realize what I so naively hadn’t—he will demand my submission in and out of the bedroom. It turns me on and the painful whipping is almost pleasurable as I lose myself in the outrageousness of it all.

The belt comes down. “Eight!”

Where has this man been all my life?

And again. “Nine!”

I will accept the danger. The dominance.

Once more. “Ten.”

I lay limp over his lap. My ass is on fire, every inch of it burning and raw. My pussy is dying to be touched. Weeping and aching.

A smile spreads over my face.

Now, I feel his fingers, walking up my thigh. He’s pushing apart my legs. My right leg falls from the bed. My foot presses into the floor. Giving him full access to where I need it most.