Read Online Caroline's Rocking Horse by Emily Tilton, Blushing Books - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Tilton, Blushing Books
Ads: Link
it put that bottom at my Daddy's mercy—gave it to him to do with whatever he happened to think I deserved.
I felt his hands at my hem; the right one was still holding the belt, so that the buckle came up against my bare thigh and made me shiver. I felt my skirt being raised, slowly—up my thighs, over the sit-spot, over my bottom-cheeks, over my tailbone. He bunched it around my waist and tucked the hem into the waistband so that it wouldn't fall down. Even that small gesture of authority made me moan.
The air moved across my bo ttom, bare now but for my still-disarranged pink panties. I imagined what I looked like, as if I were the heroine of one of my naughty books: Mr. Hastings smiled at the sight of Miss Dawkins' shapely young bottom in its pink schoolgirl panties. He knew he was going to give her as much discipline as he wanted, no matter how she struggled or cried. She was a bad girl, and she was going to pay for it.
"Caroline," said George, interrupting my Victorian-themed reverie, "I want you to know that from now on, this lovely bottom belongs to me. It is going to receive exactly what I want to give it, whenever I want to give it."
"Hunnh," I moaned. "Yes, Daddy." He pulled the pink panties down to my tightly-clasped knees.
"After I stripe you, I am going to tell you some of the rules that you are going to follow from now on."
"Mmm ," I whimpered. "Yes, Daddy."
"But for now I want you to remember that this is for your own good." He didn't wait for a response but put his left hand on my waist and began to strike me with his belt, over and over again upon my bare bottom.
It was my first actual punishment, and though I would soon be able to count several others in the number, this first one has always stayed in my memory because it was the first time I realized that real pain actually was in its own way something I craved. George really had decided to hurt me with his belt, and he succeeded admirably and quickly.
Chapter 9
Again I had the feeling of possible insanity, but I wasn't going to submit to mere reason so stupidly again. Yes, I liked being hurt by my daddy. Yes. Yes. Ow! Yes!
I realized he was saying something, was asking a question, and I hadn't even noticed. I was somewhere else—in the air? The sanity question pressed itself upon me, but for goodness' sake, this felt better than anything—even better than Wednesday night. It felt like I was me , in a way I hadn't been since... since I was a real little girl, and I realized that the world didn't think the same way I did about everything. My mind floated in a faraway, submissive, mist.
Faintly in that misty distance I could hear the snapping of the belt, and George was practically yelling, now. He had no idea, of course, of the very strange thing going on in my head and thought I was being defiant. God, my rear end hurt! And my daddy just kept hitting it with his belt, over and over and over, teaching me my lesson.
"Will you answer my calls?" was what he was yelling, I realized.
"Yes, Daddy!" I screamed. Where had I been for the last five minutes? I didn't know, but it had been so wonderful that I wanted to go back there as soon as I could. It wasn't being, or doing: it was just feeling—feeling loved, and pleased, and wonderful. And all because my husband had been punishing me with his belt?
George actually was unnerved at that point. This was our first experience with "subspace," and neither of us knew what was going on. Belt marks fade pretty quickly so I never got a proper understanding of what my posterior looked like at the point where I finally responded. I take George's word for it that he had beaten me by then to his own satisfaction, and he had begun to freak out a little that I was just panting and emitting little moans that were slightly ambiguous but definitely sounded like moans of pleasure. That was, of course, because they actually were moans of pleasure—not to minimize the fact that, when I had finally dropped out of
I felt his hands at my hem; the right one was still holding the belt, so that the buckle came up against my bare thigh and made me shiver. I felt my skirt being raised, slowly—up my thighs, over the sit-spot, over my bottom-cheeks, over my tailbone. He bunched it around my waist and tucked the hem into the waistband so that it wouldn't fall down. Even that small gesture of authority made me moan.
The air moved across my bo ttom, bare now but for my still-disarranged pink panties. I imagined what I looked like, as if I were the heroine of one of my naughty books: Mr. Hastings smiled at the sight of Miss Dawkins' shapely young bottom in its pink schoolgirl panties. He knew he was going to give her as much discipline as he wanted, no matter how she struggled or cried. She was a bad girl, and she was going to pay for it.
"Caroline," said George, interrupting my Victorian-themed reverie, "I want you to know that from now on, this lovely bottom belongs to me. It is going to receive exactly what I want to give it, whenever I want to give it."
"Hunnh," I moaned. "Yes, Daddy." He pulled the pink panties down to my tightly-clasped knees.
"After I stripe you, I am going to tell you some of the rules that you are going to follow from now on."
"Mmm ," I whimpered. "Yes, Daddy."
"But for now I want you to remember that this is for your own good." He didn't wait for a response but put his left hand on my waist and began to strike me with his belt, over and over again upon my bare bottom.
It was my first actual punishment, and though I would soon be able to count several others in the number, this first one has always stayed in my memory because it was the first time I realized that real pain actually was in its own way something I craved. George really had decided to hurt me with his belt, and he succeeded admirably and quickly.
Chapter 9
Again I had the feeling of possible insanity, but I wasn't going to submit to mere reason so stupidly again. Yes, I liked being hurt by my daddy. Yes. Yes. Ow! Yes!
I realized he was saying something, was asking a question, and I hadn't even noticed. I was somewhere else—in the air? The sanity question pressed itself upon me, but for goodness' sake, this felt better than anything—even better than Wednesday night. It felt like I was me , in a way I hadn't been since... since I was a real little girl, and I realized that the world didn't think the same way I did about everything. My mind floated in a faraway, submissive, mist.
Faintly in that misty distance I could hear the snapping of the belt, and George was practically yelling, now. He had no idea, of course, of the very strange thing going on in my head and thought I was being defiant. God, my rear end hurt! And my daddy just kept hitting it with his belt, over and over and over, teaching me my lesson.
"Will you answer my calls?" was what he was yelling, I realized.
"Yes, Daddy!" I screamed. Where had I been for the last five minutes? I didn't know, but it had been so wonderful that I wanted to go back there as soon as I could. It wasn't being, or doing: it was just feeling—feeling loved, and pleased, and wonderful. And all because my husband had been punishing me with his belt?
George actually was unnerved at that point. This was our first experience with "subspace," and neither of us knew what was going on. Belt marks fade pretty quickly so I never got a proper understanding of what my posterior looked like at the point where I finally responded. I take George's word for it that he had beaten me by then to his own satisfaction, and he had begun to freak out a little that I was just panting and emitting little moans that were slightly ambiguous but definitely sounded like moans of pleasure. That was, of course, because they actually were moans of pleasure—not to minimize the fact that, when I had finally dropped out of
Similar Books
