She was curled in the passenger seat, white bathing suit still damp, the smell of salt water in her mussed blonde hair. Her head was down, focused on the Instagram feed on her phone, giggling at a video of puppy yapping at a cat. Her feet – dirty, damp, sandy feet in even dirtier damper flip-flops, were pressed carelessly against the dashboard.
He’d given her a minute to remember his rules about such a thing. His girl could be forgetful and it had been a long day, laying on the beach in the sun. She had felt warm and looked so sleepy when he’d helped her into the car for the drive back home. So he’d waited. He’d given her a chance to realize her mistake.
“Feet off the dash, little one,” he said, and reached over to give her tanned thigh a squeeze. She looked so pretty in her bikini, curled up in such a way that the curve of her bottom seemed to invite his hand. He anticipated sweet cuddles and slow sex once they got back home – perfect to end a beach day.
“But it’s comfortable,” she said, not glancing up from her phone. Her feet stayed firmly planted on the dashboard. Dirty feet on the pale, creamy vinyl. His hands tightened slightly on the wheel.
“It’ll get stained if you keep putting them up there,” he kept his voice light, but firmness crept in as he insisted again, “Feet down, please.”
She shifted, but all she did was rub her feet a little harder on the dash and sink further into her curled up position in the seat. She still didn’t look up from her phone, but he could see her downcast eyes as they stared blankly at the screen. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was waiting to see what her defiance would bring.
It was late enough that traffic was flowing freely on the highway, rush hour having passed. Without taking his eyes from the road, he said, “I’ve asked you twice. I’m not asking anymore, little one. Feet down.”
She huffed a heavy, exaggerated sigh. Her feet went down with a little stomp, leaving streaks of grit and sand on the dashboard. Everything he needed to hear was in that sigh: the tiredness, the defiance, the frustration. It had been a long day after an even longer week. Both of them had been working, usually collapsing straight into bed within an hour after coming home.
He took the next exit off the freeway, and she immediately perked up in her seat.
“Where are we?” she said, peering about. There was a small gas station, a Starbucks and a Taco Bell nestled alongside the freeway, and the nearest houses were distant, speckling the hill further up the road. He pulled into the Starbucks parking lot and parked at the back, near the wall of the fenced dumpster. She glanced at him skeptically, tucking her phone down into her purse. “What are we doing?”
“We are going to have a little discussion,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt. “About your behavior.”
Her eyes widened. “Let’s just wait till we get home…”
He chuckled at the immediate tone of regret in her voice. So bratty right up until the consequences were staring her in the face. But she wouldn’t have asked for it had it not been something she needed – and likely had been needing for days. A rush of guilt came over him – how often had he asked her how she was feeling over the past few days? Taken a moment to hug and kiss her? Lingered with her in intimacy? Not nearly enough. He’d neglected her and he knew it. Life had reared its ugly head and swept them both in their different directions. This day was meant to change that, to pull them back together and let the strings of tiredness and stress fall away.
So there was still one last thing to be done.
“No, we need to see to this now, little one,” he said. “You refused to obey. Why?”
She shrugged, paused, then shrugged again, more forcefully. “I was comfy. I didn’t wanna move. I’m tired.” A whine crept into her voice as she listed off her complaints; the kind of whine that simultaneously pulled at his heart, made his dick hard, and made his hand itch to give a good smack to her backside.
“But you know I have good reason for asking you not to put your feet up there.”
“Do those reasons you listed override my rules? Have I been unreasonable?”
She folded her arms, slowly, staring down at anything but his eyes. “No…it’s not unreasonable.”
“Yet you disobeyed. You have a bit of a deeper reason for that than merely being tired, isn’t that so?”
She folded her arms tighter, her lip protruding in the slightest pout. No response. She wasn’t ready to speak her desires yet: her pride had built a wall up around her heart, as they had so often discussed it was wont to do. He reached over, with gentle hands, and held her face. “You’re alright,” he said softly. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m sorry it’s been a long week.”
Her eyes immediately welled with tears, and her lip pouted a little further. “It’s not your fault. We’ve been busy.”
“I know,” he kissed her forehead. “But I’m sorry if you felt neglected.”
“It’s okay.” She blinked rapidly. “I think…I think we both need…I need…” She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
He grasped her chin, with just enough strength to raise up her head and make her look at him with her wide, teary eyes. “You need a spanking. And I need to give it to you.”
She gulped, a protest on the tip of her tongue. But her heart wasn’t in it. A little whine came up out of her, but that was the extent of it. She followed his lead as he exited the front seat and slid into the back of the vehicle, where there was enough room for him to draw her over his lap, her bottom positioned just over his thighs, tilted up at the perfect angle to receive his swats. Her tiny white bikini bottoms barely covered her, and he decided to keep them on her for now. The slight dampness of the cloth would make for a satisfying sharp sound.
He held her there for a few moments, letting her squirming calm. She was always wiggly before a spanking: her energy high, impatient, scared, eager. He rubbed his hand over her bare back, toying with the strings of her bikini top. Eventually he felt the tension go out of her body as she sighed and buried her face in her folded arms.
“Are you ready, little one?” he said.
He squeezed her backside, first one cheek and then the other, relishing the softness of her skin and the fullness of her in his hand. Then he swatted down, a sharp slap across both cheeks. She inhaled sharply, held it – he swatted again, and her breath rushed out in a gasp.
Again, and again, one measured spank after another. He would slap his palm down, wait until he knew the sting had bloomed, and then follow it with another. Every swat had her hissing, gasping – he could tell she was holding back her louder cries. Her skin grew pink, then red, her cheeks rosy where they peeked from beneath the white bathing suit.
“Even when work keeps us apart, I still care about you, little one,” he said. He raised his leg slightly, just enough so that he could swat the tender underside of her bottom. The change in position got an immediate wiggle out of her, and the first whimper she’d yet dared let free. “I still think about you every day, and worry over you. I still want you to feel loved and cared for.”
“I know, Sir,” her voice shook, hitching as he picked up the pace of his spanking. He could feel the sting in his own hand, and knew her bottom likely felt ablaze. She had taken harder spankings, but his intent was not to break her down with sudden, overwhelming pain. The slow, steady sting, applied unceasingly as she was firmly held in position, would ease her into her submission, into a head-space of calm, forcing the tension and frustration from her. As he kept up the steady pace her whimpers began to increase. Every slap of his hand on her already reddened skin was worse than the one before it. Finally, a sharp slap across the reddest part of her cheek cracked her silent pride. She yelped aloud, squirming forward as if to escape. But he held her there, waiting until she had struggled out her sudden energy once more.
“Ooowww,” she moaned, finally letting her head fall limp again. He laughed despite himself: not from any cruelty, but from how adorable she sounded.
“I know, little one,” he said. “But it needs to hurt, doesn’t it?”
She kicked her feet and huffed, but begrudgingly admitted, “Yes, sir.”
“Now, I think it needs to hurt just a little bit more before we’re done.”
She stiffened again, as he leaned down and picked up one of her discarded flip-flop from the floor. It was made of a flexible leather material, perfect for paddling a naughty girl’s bottom until she cried.
Which was exactly what he intended to do.
“Noooo, don’t use that!” she whined, glaring over her shoulder as he adjusted to the feeling of the sandal in his hand. He smirked at her.
“Oh no? Don’t use this? Don’t use this sandal to spank your naughty little bottom?” he taunted, unable to keep from smiling as she glowered at him, such a marvelous pout on her face. “Well, I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m going to do little one. And just to make sure the lesson really hits home…” He grasped her swimsuit bottoms and pinched the sides together, holding it so that her bottom was fully bared and the swimsuit wedged between her reddened bottom cheeks. She whined even more as he did it, squirming over his lap but making no effort to actually get away.
“Stop that squirming now,” he said sharply. “Otherwise you’ll be getting the last of your spanks getting a very tight wedgy, and I don’t think you’d much like that, now would you?”
She immediately stopped squirming. “No, sir. Sorry, sir. I’ll be good.”
“Good. Now, you’ll be getting spanked with this until your whole bottom is a beautiful cherry red. No matter how much you cry and complain, I won’t be stopping until then. Understand?”
Her voice was meek, but shuddered with desire. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
Without any further ceremony, he began. Perhaps she had not expected just how much of a sting the sandal could inflict, but the very first smack made her yelp, and as he continued on with firm steady smacks she began to kick, squirming from his lap.
“None of that now,” he said. He paused to reposition her, so her legs were firmly clasped beneath one of his, still bent over his opposite thigh. It limited her kicking, so when he started up the spanking again, there was little she could do besides cry out and wail.
“Your bottom is looking very pretty, little one,” he said, over her moans and cries. “How does it feel, hm?”
“Huuuuuurts!” she wailed. “St-stings! Please!”
“Please? Oh, you don’t want me to stop yet. We need to get a nice, shiny cherry red on these cheeks. So the rest of the ride home you can feel the sting on your bottom and remember why you need to obey me.” She had no more words, just vain struggling and a cry at every swat. The sandal gave a satisfyingly sharp crack as it landed, reddening her skin a little darker with every swat. She gripped the edge of the car’s seat, and pressed her face to the leather to muffle a loud, cathartic scream.
Four more swats followed, his arm whipping down, back and forth between each cheek. Her bottom was red, bright and hot, undeniably painful. He set aside the sandal, his own heart pounding with the rush, his head light. Carefully, he picked her up and held her on her lap, curled against his chest as she wept. When she had quieted to sniffles, she managed to say, “Th-thank you, sir. I…I love you.”
The relief and calm in her voice made his heart swell. He looked down at her, and found her smiling dreamily at him with her watery eyes.
“Do you feel better, little one?” he said gently. She snuggled tightly under his chin, clinging to his shirt, her body limp and soft in his arms.
“Yes, sir. Much better.”
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