her, quite an imposing figure because of his size as well as his unhappy glower as he looked down at her, big fingertips resting gently atop the small of her back. "While I am glad that you told me without making me have to drag it out of you, I'm very unhappy with you for doing that, Miranda. You know what I wanted to do for you in regards to your studio. I have to have you happy here or it's not going to work. If I'm not worried about the money that I'm spending then why should you be?"
Why, when he spoke to her like this, quietly and calmly chiding her, did he so easily succeed in making her feel like an ungrateful chit when she was the furthest thing from it? She was trying to save him money, after all, damn it! There were tears in her eyes already, just from his soft upbraiding, and she knew that there were much more to come. Especially when she heard the distinct, unmistakable clink of him loosening his belt buckle. She couldn't really drum her feet as she would usually since they were barely touching the floor, thanks to the pillow. But she did kick them up in protest about what she knew he was doing and what that meant for her.
"Settle," was all he said and her legs went still immediately, in time to hear the sound of leather being pulled through slick fabric.
Miranda couldn't help it. She began to mewl at what she knew was going to be happening to her within the next few minutes. He hadn't used his belt on her very often – for which she was eternally grateful – but the few times that he had were downright horrible, and she couldn't imagine that this time was going to be any better. In fact, he'd said that he was unhappy with her and that probably meant that things were going to get much, much worse.
"I'm sorry to have to do this, honey, but I refuse to argue with you about this any more. You are mine," and he dearly loved saying that out loud, "and I will do what I think is necessary to make you happy – whether it's fucking you until you faint beneath me or taking my belt to your backside because you've way overstepped your bounds, or buying you a brand new mansion."
Even though she was already crying – much to her mortification – she couldn't stop herself from issuing a yowl of protest at the idea that he might buy her a house. And he didn't miss that reaction at all; that wide, flat palm of his applying ten tremendously hard smacks to her behind, leaving her squealing even before leather met flesh. "That's not something over which you have any control. I know that you're chafing partly because I'm being so strict with you, and you're finding that you have less control now, probably, than any other time in your adult life. And believe me, if I thought you didn't like exactly that—" He moved to stand behind her, at her bottom, and she felt him use one of those enormous feet of his to nudge her ankles further apart, until they were not only spread wide but forward considerably, so that they bracketed the legs of the couch. Miranda caught her breath when she felt her lady bits being exposed to the cool air.
He crouched down behind her, his head level with her rear, one hand on the small of her back to remind her to behave, she was sure, and the other reaching boldly between her legs and cupping her, palm up, his fingers delving eagerly between her folds to find exactly what he expected.
She was, quite literally, sopping wet.
"And here's indisputable proof that you do." He didn't sound triumphant or as if he was trying to make her feel embarrassed by the eagerness with which her body responded to pretty much everything he did to her, but rather was simply stating a neutral fact. "I know that eager, overactive mind of yours is always hard at work trying to make you feel conflicted about your submission to me, but my arbiter of what works in handling you will always be your pussy, because it's never conflicted. It loves everything I do to you, even the things that make you scream in a bad way, and this
Why, when he spoke to her like this, quietly and calmly chiding her, did he so easily succeed in making her feel like an ungrateful chit when she was the furthest thing from it? She was trying to save him money, after all, damn it! There were tears in her eyes already, just from his soft upbraiding, and she knew that there were much more to come. Especially when she heard the distinct, unmistakable clink of him loosening his belt buckle. She couldn't really drum her feet as she would usually since they were barely touching the floor, thanks to the pillow. But she did kick them up in protest about what she knew he was doing and what that meant for her.
"Settle," was all he said and her legs went still immediately, in time to hear the sound of leather being pulled through slick fabric.
Miranda couldn't help it. She began to mewl at what she knew was going to be happening to her within the next few minutes. He hadn't used his belt on her very often – for which she was eternally grateful – but the few times that he had were downright horrible, and she couldn't imagine that this time was going to be any better. In fact, he'd said that he was unhappy with her and that probably meant that things were going to get much, much worse.
"I'm sorry to have to do this, honey, but I refuse to argue with you about this any more. You are mine," and he dearly loved saying that out loud, "and I will do what I think is necessary to make you happy – whether it's fucking you until you faint beneath me or taking my belt to your backside because you've way overstepped your bounds, or buying you a brand new mansion."
Even though she was already crying – much to her mortification – she couldn't stop herself from issuing a yowl of protest at the idea that he might buy her a house. And he didn't miss that reaction at all; that wide, flat palm of his applying ten tremendously hard smacks to her behind, leaving her squealing even before leather met flesh. "That's not something over which you have any control. I know that you're chafing partly because I'm being so strict with you, and you're finding that you have less control now, probably, than any other time in your adult life. And believe me, if I thought you didn't like exactly that—" He moved to stand behind her, at her bottom, and she felt him use one of those enormous feet of his to nudge her ankles further apart, until they were not only spread wide but forward considerably, so that they bracketed the legs of the couch. Miranda caught her breath when she felt her lady bits being exposed to the cool air.
He crouched down behind her, his head level with her rear, one hand on the small of her back to remind her to behave, she was sure, and the other reaching boldly between her legs and cupping her, palm up, his fingers delving eagerly between her folds to find exactly what he expected.
She was, quite literally, sopping wet.
"And here's indisputable proof that you do." He didn't sound triumphant or as if he was trying to make her feel embarrassed by the eagerness with which her body responded to pretty much everything he did to her, but rather was simply stating a neutral fact. "I know that eager, overactive mind of yours is always hard at work trying to make you feel conflicted about your submission to me, but my arbiter of what works in handling you will always be your pussy, because it's never conflicted. It loves everything I do to you, even the things that make you scream in a bad way, and this
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