Home for the Holidays by Hill April

Author:Hill, April [Hill, April]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Blushing Books Publications
Published: 2013-11-28T22:00:00+00:00

* * * *

The look in David’s eye had worried me, but the truth is that the New Year’s Eve spanking that ensued wasn’t the worst one I’d ever gotten. Maybe in the top ten, but not the worst, although it’s possible that my assessment was a little skewed because I knew that I had every single swat coming. I certainly can’t fault David. He gave it his best effort. Whenever he uses his belt, I know he’s trying to make a serious point. And it works. When a man rolls up his sleeves and unbuckles his belt, the implication is that something on a much grander scale is about to happen, don’t you think? Even though a well-applied hairbrush hurts just as much and even more, a belt just seems more ominous, somehow. Maybe it’s just me, but the sight of David unbuckling his belt, pulling it through the loops, and then folding it always makes my stomach do flip-flops.

I groaned when I saw the belt, but decided to go to my well-deserved fate as gracefully as possible. Like Anne Boleyn, or Mel Gibson, in Braveheart. Let’s face it; David was right. I had broken a promise, spent way too much money, and then lied about it. The broken promise and the money would have brought a disappointed look and a lecture from him. Okay, maybe a few well-chosen profanities, and on a bad day, a couple of swift smacks on the rump with whatever was at hand. But it was the lies and the "cover-up" that were about to bring a hail of fire and brimstone down upon my trembling rump. I pulled down my jeans and panties and bent over David’s desk with my elbows resting on the leather blotter. This, by the way, is not a comfortable position, and since I am short, my feet dangle in the air, leaving me totally helpless and unable to get up by myself—which is exactly the way David wants it. I’ve been known to attempt escape when things get too warm, and I knew that they were about to get very, very warm.

"I’m sorry," I said miserably, as I bent over. This remorse was genuine, by the way, not just a last ditch try for mercy. But David already knew I was sorry. He just wanted me to be a little bit sorrier. Okay, a lot sorrier.

David never starts slowly. David’s method is to get right to it. Which is exactly what he did that night. (Morning?) Anyway, we began the "après-party" festivities at exactly 12:36 a.m., when my pants came down around my ankles. By 12:37, my butt was radiating enough heat to melt the ice on the old skating pond, had there been one. I squirmed and kicked and grimaced my way through ninety seconds of that pure fire and brimstone I mentioned above, but after the first thirty seconds, I had given up all pretense of being either brave, like Mel, or ladylike, like Anne Boleyn.

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