run the hand!”
“We will stop at twenty,” Mariano informed her. “That way we’ll be sure you’ll remember this.”
Again the belt came down, this time striking the quivering girl on the upper leg below her left buttock. At least it took some of the mounting pain from her rapidly reddening ass away, but it also created a new discomfort in yet another spot.
“Eight,” Angela shrieked. “Please. Please. I will run the hand. I will run the hand.”
“Of course, if I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t do this,” Mariano reminded her. “This hurts me more than it hurts you!”
Angela hated that cliché. Her father had used it when she was twelve and caught her smoking. He’d bent her over the bed with her pants down just like this and blistered her behind with a belt as well. The only thing was his punishment was not as hard or as drawn out. Likewise, she had been a kid then and not an adult as now. Discipline was for little kids and not grown women.
“Nine,” she hissed, biting her lip after the next blow came, again on her ass. “Nine, and damn this! Nine! I will run my hand!”
“Do not get defiant on me,” Mariano ordered. “This is for your own good!”
“I hate it,” Angela protested. “This is stupid.”
“No, it isn’t,” the matador responded, striking her the hardest blow as of yet to make his point. The stroke brought a literal shriek from Angela, who could no longer help herself. Crying more furiously, she dared to move her hands and place them over her badly busted ass, trying to afford it whatever protection she could.
As she bawled, she turned to face her assailant.
“Please,” she begged. “I want to learn to be a bullfighter. I want to run my hand. Now please let me train. Skip this. This is stupid. I’m not a little girl.”
Mariano lowered the belt and looked at her without anger. There seemed to be an odd mingling of pity and caring in his face. As her teared up eyes drifted downward, however, she noted an obvious bulk in the bullfighter’s pants. He was enjoying this.
“We’re halfway done,” he instructed with a tad of kindness in his voice. “Halfway done. Now turn and take the rest of it. Then it will be over.”
“I’m sorry,” Angela bumbled. “I’ve learned my lesson. This really hurts!”
“It’s going to hurt more,” Mariano grumbled, with severity returning to his voice. “Now you turn around and get back in position.”
Reluctantly, Angela turned and stooped in the same way she had been before. Her bare bottom was aflame and she dreaded to see what it looked like even though she had only taken the belt ten times. She knew she was being whipped raw.
“How many will this make?” the matador asked wickedly.
“Eleven,” Angela cried, but the count was mixed with a scream as the blow snaked across her bottom once more, catching both sides.
“And what will you do?”
“Run the hand,” Angela protested. “Run the hand. Run the hand!”
The next blow was another leg shot, catching her on the right side this time, just below the ass. This was the most painful slap to date.
“Owwwwwwww!” she again shrieked. “Owwww!”
“Count,” the matador barked out.
“Twelve,” Angela pleaded, as more cries left her lips, piercing the El Toreo’s air.
“Owwwwwwwwwwww! Owwwww! Owwwww! Owwwww! Oh God! God! Ow! Twelve! Let’s stop now!”
The answer sent a chill through her.
“We end at twenty.”
The thirteenth blow caught her in the center of her ass again and brought forth another uncontrolled howl from her mouth. She had never bellowed such a sound before, like a rooster at daybreak mingled with human emotion.
“Oooooohhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhh! Oooooohhhhhhh!”
“Count,” Mariano ordered.
“Thirteen! I will run my hand!”
The pain was unbearable, but with it grew another sensation that seemed totally inappropriate. Angela was growing aroused.
“You have to know this is for your own good,” Mariano reminded her as he let
“We will stop at twenty,” Mariano informed her. “That way we’ll be sure you’ll remember this.”
Again the belt came down, this time striking the quivering girl on the upper leg below her left buttock. At least it took some of the mounting pain from her rapidly reddening ass away, but it also created a new discomfort in yet another spot.
“Eight,” Angela shrieked. “Please. Please. I will run the hand. I will run the hand.”
“Of course, if I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t do this,” Mariano reminded her. “This hurts me more than it hurts you!”
Angela hated that cliché. Her father had used it when she was twelve and caught her smoking. He’d bent her over the bed with her pants down just like this and blistered her behind with a belt as well. The only thing was his punishment was not as hard or as drawn out. Likewise, she had been a kid then and not an adult as now. Discipline was for little kids and not grown women.
“Nine,” she hissed, biting her lip after the next blow came, again on her ass. “Nine, and damn this! Nine! I will run my hand!”
“Do not get defiant on me,” Mariano ordered. “This is for your own good!”
“I hate it,” Angela protested. “This is stupid.”
“No, it isn’t,” the matador responded, striking her the hardest blow as of yet to make his point. The stroke brought a literal shriek from Angela, who could no longer help herself. Crying more furiously, she dared to move her hands and place them over her badly busted ass, trying to afford it whatever protection she could.
As she bawled, she turned to face her assailant.
“Please,” she begged. “I want to learn to be a bullfighter. I want to run my hand. Now please let me train. Skip this. This is stupid. I’m not a little girl.”
Mariano lowered the belt and looked at her without anger. There seemed to be an odd mingling of pity and caring in his face. As her teared up eyes drifted downward, however, she noted an obvious bulk in the bullfighter’s pants. He was enjoying this.
“We’re halfway done,” he instructed with a tad of kindness in his voice. “Halfway done. Now turn and take the rest of it. Then it will be over.”
“I’m sorry,” Angela bumbled. “I’ve learned my lesson. This really hurts!”
“It’s going to hurt more,” Mariano grumbled, with severity returning to his voice. “Now you turn around and get back in position.”
Reluctantly, Angela turned and stooped in the same way she had been before. Her bare bottom was aflame and she dreaded to see what it looked like even though she had only taken the belt ten times. She knew she was being whipped raw.
“How many will this make?” the matador asked wickedly.
“Eleven,” Angela cried, but the count was mixed with a scream as the blow snaked across her bottom once more, catching both sides.
“And what will you do?”
“Run the hand,” Angela protested. “Run the hand. Run the hand!”
The next blow was another leg shot, catching her on the right side this time, just below the ass. This was the most painful slap to date.
“Owwwwwwww!” she again shrieked. “Owwww!”
“Count,” the matador barked out.
“Twelve,” Angela pleaded, as more cries left her lips, piercing the El Toreo’s air.
“Owwwwwwwwwwww! Owwwww! Owwwww! Owwwww! Oh God! God! Ow! Twelve! Let’s stop now!”
The answer sent a chill through her.
“We end at twenty.”
The thirteenth blow caught her in the center of her ass again and brought forth another uncontrolled howl from her mouth. She had never bellowed such a sound before, like a rooster at daybreak mingled with human emotion.
“Oooooohhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhh! Oooooohhhhhhh!”
“Count,” Mariano ordered.
“Thirteen! I will run my hand!”
The pain was unbearable, but with it grew another sensation that seemed totally inappropriate. Angela was growing aroused.
“You have to know this is for your own good,” Mariano reminded her as he let
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