Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I had never, ever had the feeling I had then, with my bottom bared and warm from the family strap, waiting over the arm of a man’s easy chair to have my real whipping. The feeling that if I didn’t touch myself, soothe the raging heat between my thighs, I might explode.
They couldn’t see. I felt sure they couldn’t see me from the kitchen table. With my lip caught securely between my teeth, I relaxed my right fist and started to slide that hand backwards along the leather of the upholstery. I felt my forehead crease hard as conflicting thoughts and feelings roiled violently in my mind and my body.
I won’t move at all, really. I can just… put my middle fingers…
I felt my face go hot as my fingertips touched the sparse, wiry hair that thatched my privates. I pushed, and rubbed, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood, so that I didn’t let out a sob of mixed relief and need.
“Alright, Grace,” Jake said, and I heard his chair scrape across the kitchen linoleum.
I ripped my hand away from my pussy. A cry of alarm, in which I could hear to my distress a good deal of frustrated arousal, burst from my chest.
“Now, now,” Shelly said, from a distance that could only mean she had also stood up, and was coming over to the living room. “It’s not as bad as all that. Your bottom’s going to hurt tonight, and you’ll be a little sore tomorrow, but that’s just the reminder you need.”
“You earned this, honey,” Jake added, as his weight made the old boards of the farmhouse floor creak. “Sass is something that comes with a price, in this family.”
The crease in my forehead got deeper as his words sank in. This family. Could he really mean that he considered me a member of his family? The sheer complexity of my psychological—and physiological—reaction to what Jake had just said threatened to make me scream out of sheer confusion.
The chairs in front of the hearth, one for Jake and one for Shelly, were turned so that with my face toward the mantelpiece I could see Shelly sitting down in hers. She reached into a basket next to the chair and pulled out a piece of wool and two needles. I blinked, and it seemed so strange that it took me a long moment before I understood that she meant to knit, while her husband whipped my bare butt.
At the same time, just behind her, Jake took the strap back off its hook. I felt my face pucker, and the tears begin to trickle again.
“Please,” I begged. “Sir… you already… I’m…”
Jake shook his head, the look on his face solemn as he walked slowly closer, toward his own chair, where he had me, the offender, bent over with my bare bottom poised for the family strap. Panic crawled in my belly and I found myself putting my hands behind me, to defend my backside. I knew that would only make things worse, but the reflex was irresistible.
“You need a real whipping, Grace,” he said, “and you’re going to get one. Now get those hands away from your rear end. If I have to hold them behind your back, it’ll mean extra licks from the strap.”
“She’s just scared, sir,” Shelly said, her voice gentle, not challenging her husband but explaining. My heart warmed to her in a terribly complicated way; the conflicting ideas that she had come to sit and knit in order to comfort me, and that she was there to enjoy the sight of my just punishment for sassing my foster father, began to have a battle inside my mind.
“Yes,” I sobbed, though part of me didn’t want to admit it, and that made me realize that despite everything I still had some defiance left. The situation had begun to seem less crazy, because Jake and Shelly clearly had a logical notion of what they intended to do with me, but that didn’t make it any less horrible. They meant to treat me like a daughter, but to be their daughter meant, for me, a fate that currently seemed a lot worse than jail.
“Yes, what, honey?” Shelly asked from her chair, her voice sweet but serious.
“Oh, God,” I said. “Yes, ma’am… yes, sir… I’ll… I’ll say whatever you want, if you don’t… don’t… do this.”
“No chance of that, Grace,” Jake said gruffly, stepping out of my field of vision. “Get your hands away from your bottom. Last chance.”
I breathed in and out through my nose, trying to keep myself from bursting out in a storm of sobs and tears. I squeezed my butt cheeks in my fingers, as if saying goodbye to them in their only-slightly-sore state. With a whimper, I took my hands away and put them, balled into little fists, on the cushion beside my face.