Chapter 2 #2
Fear rips through my body. What is he going to do to me? Should I call for Manny?
Carter catches my arm and pulls me from the center of the dance floor.
His grip is firm enough that I know I’m not slipping away again, but the instant I stumble he loosens it and steadies me.
Fear still races through me—not because he is hurting me, but because I have never seen this version of him before.
Everyone around us stops dancing. Watching as he pulls me into a dark corner. Holding my arm with one hand, he grabs the back of an empty chair with his other. With a bang, he turns the chair around, so it is facing the back corner of the room. He sits down and tugs me roughly over his lap.
I’m in shock. I can’t believe this is happening.
“Oomph!” I land over his thighs. My hands grasp for something, anything other than the sticky floor.
I settle on wrapping my fingers around the legs of the chair.
Luckily, thanks to my yoga classes, I’m able to balance my weight.
I quickly press my tiptoes into the floor behind me, performing some kind of new downward dog.
Once I’m positioned and not fearing falling, reality strikes me.
I’m lying over Carter’s lap.
In the club.
Surrounded by people.
All my friends are here.
They are all watching.
He’s finally going to give me the spanking he’s been threatening me with for years.
My face burns with humiliation. Sure, we’re in a dark corner, but I can feel the curious gazes on me. I hear the hushed whispers. I picture their faces—pretending not to stare, politely not observing the spectacle before their eyes.
I know otherwise.
They’re all watching. Loving every minute of it. And no one will dare to stop a Bachman. Everyone here knows who Carter is and the powerful men who back him. Hell—half the people here tonight are Bachmans.
I’m lying over his lap. His huge arm locks around my waist, pinning me to him. The heat from his body radiates through my thin dress. His voice is low, furious. “Why did you lie to me and sneak out after I told you we needed to be home?”
My embarrassment flashes into anger. “Because I am not asking permission for what I wear, Carter. I won’t.”
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.
He spanks me again. “When I get you home, that dress goes straight into the trash.”
I love this dress. I wore it when I was single, and all the boys loved it too. I feel an argument bubbling in my throat but I’m shocked when the words slip from my mouth. Two words I’ve never, ever said before. Not even to my own father.
“Yes, sir.”
My quiet response must shock him as well because the spanking stops. Gently, he brushes his palm over my bottom. My aching skin tingles. Maybe he’s finished.
His hand stills. His voice changes. “Look at me, Sasha. Do you want me to stop? Really stop?”
I twist enough to meet his eyes. My breathing is ragged. “Not us. Not this. But not here anymore. Take me home.”
He releases me at once and draws my dress back into place.
“Done.”
That one word settles something inside me. Angry Carter is still Carter. I can draw a line, and he will hear me.
He helps me stand, keeping one hand at my waist until my legs are steady.
“We’re not finished talking,” he says.
“I know.”
“And the dress is not the issue.”
I swallow. “The lying and running are.”
“Exactly.”
My face burns, but for the first time tonight the shame feels attached to something I actually did wrong.
His thumb brushes once over my knuckles. “Home.”
I nod.
This time, I go with him because I choose to.
Put me in the corner? My tummy turns. To be put in the corner, my ass on display, it’s humiliating. It sounds worse than being spanked. Fear strikes my heart. “But haven’t you already… punished me enough?”
The spanking may be over for now, but the conversation is not. We still have to address the fact that I lied, disobeyed a direct safety rule, and ran away.
My ass cheeks clench. I’m in so much pain. “Carter, I’m sorry. Truly I am—”
He says, “There’s something waiting for you in the bedroom at home. And before anything happens, we’re going to talk about what you want, what I want, and what this relationship is going to be.”
“No! Let’s go. I’m ready to go!” I cry.
He allows me to stand up. I quickly tug at the hem of my skirt, pulling it down over my throbbing bottom. Sniffling, I wipe at my face with the back of my hand. I don’t want Carter to see the tears that are welling up in my eyes.
My ass stings. My pussy burns for him. My nipples are hard as they strain against my dress.
He takes my hand in his. I wrap my fingers around it, tightly. I lean in close to him as he leads me out of the club. A desire to be as near him as possible wells up within me. My other hand finds his forearm, holding it as we walk.
His head is high, his jaw jutted out—daring anyone to stop him.
Walking through that club, right past all the people who’ve just seen me get spanked is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Too ashamed to make eye contact with anyone, I keep my eyes trained on the floor. I think I hear Manny chuckle at me as we walk out the door.
Just a few minutes ago, I had been so confident, so carefree. Grinding away on the dance floor.
Then… Carter.
Sneaking out was wrong. Lying to Carter was wrong. Wearing the dress wasn’t. Wanting to dance wasn’t. I can finally separate the pieces instead of throwing all of them into one furious pile and calling it independence.
I would have hated it if Carter vanished after telling me he was home safe. That is the part I owe him an apology for.
And maybe, if I’m being completely honest, there is another truth under all my fighting: part of me wanted him to come after me.
Not because I want to be owned like an object.
Because I want to know I can stop fighting long enough to be held.
Guilt washes over me. I tug on Carter’s hand.
He looks down at me. His gaze locks on mine.
My voice is soft, tiny. “I’m really sorry, Carter.”
Surprise flashes in his eyes. I’m not usually so docile. He simply replies, “Good.”
My heart sinks. He’s still mad.
And I’m still being punished.
My teeth bite into my bottom lip. My free hand tugs at the end of my long ponytail.
My tummy flip-flops, wondering what awaits me at home.