of pure genius by putting Michael on duty. However, it did not
necessarily mean things would be easier on her. Judging by the tone in Rich’s
voice, she wondered if she had gone from the frying pan into the fire. At least
she was confident that no switches would be used. His belt, though... that
raised a much different concern.
“Because this is the first time I’ve had to seriously
discipline you, I want to make it clear that I have rules,” Rich said, pacing
before her in her bedroom after a light dinner that evening. He had spent the
day making her do Saturday chores, including cleaning her bedroom, dusting and
scrubbing the bathrooms. Sam had kept her complaints to herself, relieving the
horrors of OCS boot camp as the tall man leaned over her, watching every move
she made. She had prayed that her cooperation would earn forgiveness. No such
luck.
“I will be finished when I feel you have learned your lesson
and not one second before. If you even think of biting, pinching or scratching me,
I can assure you that I can go on all night. I’m not at all concerned about the
condition of your backside, so the prospect of bruising does not bother me. And
finally, I will use a cane on you if you even think of repeating these offenses
ever again. The switch Mike used on you was nothing compared to my cane work. Understood?”
“Yes, Rich,” she whispered, visibly trembling. A cane? She
found herself longing for her father’s strap.
Rich pointed to the belt that he had around the waist of his
jeans. It was wide and heavy, with beveled edges and simple stitching, Sam
gulped tearfully. “This will be also be used tonight. Trust me, you won’t
forget it.”
“Rich, I’m really sorry. Please don’t…” Her fear and tears
were real now. This side of him was terrifying. He was in full dominant mode. He
made Scott look like an amateur!
“Take down your shorts and put yourself across my lap. If I
have to repeat myself or come after you, I will start with this belt,” he
commanded. Shaking, she obeyed. He tsked, observing the tiny polka dot bikini
panties she wore. “Didn’t I tell you to start wearing thongs? Very well, your
choice,” Rich announced, pulling the garments away from her bottom and sliding
them well past her knees.
He patted her shapely cheeks, completely aware of how they
quivered in fear. “These beautiful, perfect little things are going to know
once and for all that I’m in love with them and that they are never to be put
in a position of danger again,” he said raising his hand high before sending it
hard against her flesh.
Sam shrieked in pain. “Oh my god! That hurts!”
“Yes, it does. And stop kicking,” Rich said grimly,
continuing his assault on her bottom while lecturing her about the dangers of
driving under the influence, stealing and defiant behavior. She was sobbing
within minutes, pinned down and unable to squirm or wiggle. She certainly made
every attempt, but was held securely in Rich’s iron grip. Slap after slap, Rich
did not stop the flurry of swats upon her jiggling flesh until his hand started
to sting, a good 300 or more smacks later. By then, Sam laid limply across his
lap, her backside burning with pain. She tried to swirl, but couldn’t
concentrate. It hurt way too much.
“We are far from done, my love. Lay across those pillows,”
Rich ordered, tossing two pillows on the bed. Still crying, Sam crawled over
the fluffy mound in obedience, burying her face in her arms. She tried
desperately to convince herself that this pain was worth the effort to expose
the prostitution ring. She was not successful, feeling only sorrow for herself
and her predicament.
The sound of the belt being unbuckled and pulled from his
pant loops turned Sam’s stomach. She held her breath as he carefully folded it
in half in his hand, and held the buckle securely in his palm. This instrument
brought a new, sharper and otherwise inconceivable source of agony to her
backside. She screamed
necessarily mean things would be easier on her. Judging by the tone in Rich’s
voice, she wondered if she had gone from the frying pan into the fire. At least
she was confident that no switches would be used. His belt, though... that
raised a much different concern.
“Because this is the first time I’ve had to seriously
discipline you, I want to make it clear that I have rules,” Rich said, pacing
before her in her bedroom after a light dinner that evening. He had spent the
day making her do Saturday chores, including cleaning her bedroom, dusting and
scrubbing the bathrooms. Sam had kept her complaints to herself, relieving the
horrors of OCS boot camp as the tall man leaned over her, watching every move
she made. She had prayed that her cooperation would earn forgiveness. No such
luck.
“I will be finished when I feel you have learned your lesson
and not one second before. If you even think of biting, pinching or scratching me,
I can assure you that I can go on all night. I’m not at all concerned about the
condition of your backside, so the prospect of bruising does not bother me. And
finally, I will use a cane on you if you even think of repeating these offenses
ever again. The switch Mike used on you was nothing compared to my cane work. Understood?”
“Yes, Rich,” she whispered, visibly trembling. A cane? She
found herself longing for her father’s strap.
Rich pointed to the belt that he had around the waist of his
jeans. It was wide and heavy, with beveled edges and simple stitching, Sam
gulped tearfully. “This will be also be used tonight. Trust me, you won’t
forget it.”
“Rich, I’m really sorry. Please don’t…” Her fear and tears
were real now. This side of him was terrifying. He was in full dominant mode. He
made Scott look like an amateur!
“Take down your shorts and put yourself across my lap. If I
have to repeat myself or come after you, I will start with this belt,” he
commanded. Shaking, she obeyed. He tsked, observing the tiny polka dot bikini
panties she wore. “Didn’t I tell you to start wearing thongs? Very well, your
choice,” Rich announced, pulling the garments away from her bottom and sliding
them well past her knees.
He patted her shapely cheeks, completely aware of how they
quivered in fear. “These beautiful, perfect little things are going to know
once and for all that I’m in love with them and that they are never to be put
in a position of danger again,” he said raising his hand high before sending it
hard against her flesh.
Sam shrieked in pain. “Oh my god! That hurts!”
“Yes, it does. And stop kicking,” Rich said grimly,
continuing his assault on her bottom while lecturing her about the dangers of
driving under the influence, stealing and defiant behavior. She was sobbing
within minutes, pinned down and unable to squirm or wiggle. She certainly made
every attempt, but was held securely in Rich’s iron grip. Slap after slap, Rich
did not stop the flurry of swats upon her jiggling flesh until his hand started
to sting, a good 300 or more smacks later. By then, Sam laid limply across his
lap, her backside burning with pain. She tried to swirl, but couldn’t
concentrate. It hurt way too much.
“We are far from done, my love. Lay across those pillows,”
Rich ordered, tossing two pillows on the bed. Still crying, Sam crawled over
the fluffy mound in obedience, burying her face in her arms. She tried
desperately to convince herself that this pain was worth the effort to expose
the prostitution ring. She was not successful, feeling only sorrow for herself
and her predicament.
The sound of the belt being unbuckled and pulled from his
pant loops turned Sam’s stomach. She held her breath as he carefully folded it
in half in his hand, and held the buckle securely in his palm. This instrument
brought a new, sharper and otherwise inconceivable source of agony to her
backside. She screamed
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