Thanks for joining the writers on the Saturday Spanking blog hop.
This weekend I’m sharing bits from Trusting Ingrid.
Ingrid has spent her entire life looking after number one. Charming when she needs to be, she can lie more persuasively than an Academy-award winning actor. After all, society’s rules don’t apply to her.
If her outrageous behavior made her happy, it wouldn’t be so bad. But she’s a desperate woman, wrestling with alcoholism and not winning the battle.
In this scene, she had just accepted Lachlan’s offer to help her get her life on track.
Lachlan, a man with a commitment to rehabilitating feral, frightened creatures, is taking her in hand. This is her first spanking.
From Trusting Ingrid, book 3 in the Romancing the Coast series:
Lachlan shimmied his right hand under Ingrid’s hips, forcing her bottom in the air before cramming a pillow under to hold her backside high.
“You have a beautiful ass,” he said.
Ingrid relaxed at the compliment, not expecting the fierce smack that followed. It echoed in the room, for a second drowning out the sound of the fire.
She yelped as the pain sank in. A second stroke followed. Then another, more intense with a sharper bite. The amount of burn he could deliver with his wide palm and long fingers defied belief. He must be using an implement she hadn’t seen. Surely a man’s simple hand couldn’t hurt so much.
She gulped. “No.”
Lachlan stopped. “Those weren’t strong enough to hurt a fly, which is why the color of your bottom will be the deciding factor of when you’ve had enough.”
He sounded amused, as if he was nothing more than a masseuse working through a stubborn knot in a muscle.
“If I listened to your complaints, I’m sure I’d have to stop after a few strokes.”
The air stuck in Ingrid’s lungs as she braced herself for what was coming next.
One smack followed another after that, so closely paced, it was impossible to know where the pain from one ended, and the next one began. Ingrid wheezed from the shock and sting. The pre-heating in front of the fire now magnified every stroke as Lachlan’s hand fell relentlessly on her bottom. First one cheek, then the other. Then what felt like a dozen on one side before a dozen more on the other. She wriggled and danced on his lap, reaching back to stop him. He pinned her hands to the small of her back without breaking the pace of the punishment.
She wanted it. She hated it. She wanted him in control like that. She wanted to be helpless, to surrender to his will. She craved the lack of control.
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