Page 79 of Bronson

A sick feeling grows in the pit of my stomach.

The Bachmans will know exactly what is happening. They will know I am being turned over my fiancé’s knee, having my bottom bared, and being given a good old-fashioned spanking.

We’ve reached the back of the building.

I gulp. Tears prick at my eyes. I grab his arm with my hand. “Bronson. Please, don’t. I’ll stop. I’ll be good. I promise.”

His dark eyes focus on mine. There’s a wavering there.

I jump on my opportunity. Batting my eyes, I croon, “I’ll be as sweet as pie. Pleasant as punch. Please, let’s just go back out there⁠—”

“You aren’t sorry at all. You’re just embarrassed that your guests know you are back here, having your naughty bottom spanked like a bad little girl. Aren’t you? Had to be taken away from dinner for being sassy, and now, you’re being punished. And they all know it.”

My cheeks burn like fire. “I said I was sorry.”

He looks me over. “You aren’t. But you will be.”

He pulls me into a coat closet he finds tucked by the back wall. Lucky for him, there just happens to be a little padded bench in the center of it. He sits, tugging me right over his lap.

One of my hands goes to the carpeted floor, holding my weight. I throw my other arm behind me and wave it around, attempting to protect my backside. My legs kick behind me. “No!”

He’s grabbing my wrist, pinning it to the small of my back with his strong hand. “Yes!”

His palm comes down with a loud crack. Pain explodes over my ass as I cry out. His hand comes down again, starting a matching fire on the other cheek. “How dare you speak so disrespectfully to me.”

I’m still mad about the dress. And I’m furious about the spanking I’m being subjected to. It’s not fair. I yell, “You spilled butter on me! And now, you—you… Neanderthal, you are⁠—”

My words are cut short. Suddenly, there is a raining down of sharp, fast spanks. One after the other, they fly down, assaulting my bottom. It hurts terribly. I’m shocked at how fast the pain is spreading across my ass. My feelings are hurt by how hard he’s spanking me. By the fact that he’s spanking me at all—on the night of our rehearsal dinner! I’m humiliated.

Tears burn in my eyes as I gasp for breath.

His words punctuate each slap. “Don’t. You. Ever. Talk. To. Me. Like. That. Again.”

My hips tear right and left, trying to evade the spanks. I’m crying out, Ow! as each punishing slap lands. My entire bottom is on fire. I kick my legs, screaming, no longer caring who hears me. Not that it matters if the servers hear my cries—or the torturous spanks. No one will dare to interrupt a Bachman punishing his woman.

He’d never spanked me like this before. I suddenly realize I’ve crossed a very hard line of his. He’s not a man to be disrespected. “I’m sorry! Please, stop!” I wail.

“I’ve only just begun.”

I shut my eyes tight as my dress is pushed up around my hips. I wear nothing but a G-string beneath. His fingertip pokes at my bottom, searching. It hooks into the string between my ass cheeks. He pulls it back, letting it go with a stinging snap.

It’s mortifying.

And it makes my pussy gush through the thin satin crotch of my barely there panties.

He gives my bare, already sore ass a hearty slap. My smacked cheeks jiggle. My face burns. My eyes water.

My pussy begins to throb.

Why must his spankings always have this effect on me?

It’s embarrassing, shameful.

Carnal.

As if reading my thoughts, his lecture continues.

“You’re my naughty little girl. One who’s behaving badly. I’m like your loving father, and I’ll spank you into a good little girl again.”