Page 8 of Keeping His Brat

The belt hissed, snapping with a sharp bite across the fullest part of her ass. She didn’t make a sound that time, expecting it, but the next seemed deliberately targeted to smack against the plug. That pushed a groan out of her, and she let her head drop forward.

The plug wasn’t terribly uncomfortable physically, although it was large enough that it made her feel full and there was a slight ache from the stretch. But somehow when the belt smacked it, nudging it inside of her, it upped the embarrassment level. She couldn’t stop from clenching tight around it.

Her attention was soon completely taken up by the belt as Sam continued to swing it in searing strokes across her ass. It reignited the heat from earlier and it wasn’t long before she was squirming and wiggling to avoid the leather. Tonight, he was choosing to give her a predictable pattern, so she knew what was coming.

Each time the belt landed just a little bit lower than the time before and he didn’t stop when he reached the base of her ass but continued straight down to mark her tender thighs. Those painful strokes got extra reactions and she was glad for the restraints keeping her in place across the saddle rack or she might have rolled off.

Her legs were stretched and taut on either side, which meant a couple of unfortunate things happened. The first was that the skin was fully exposed to the biting leather and that seemed to make it hurt more when the belt popped against her thigh. As if that wasn’t enough, because her legs were spread, the end of the belt was folding around so that the doubled fold snapped against the extra sensitive inner thigh each time.

Those made her holler with no attempt to be stoic as she strained and yanked against the cuffs. She knew without a doubt she’d be feeling those in her jeans the next day. The denim rubbing would make her think about the punishment every time she moved.

“Not there, Daddy! Please not there!” she yelled, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“You better settle down or I’ll use the belt some place you’ll like even less,” he said, warning her. But he didn’t stop with a warning, he gave her an example of what he meant by bringing the belt up in a light slap across her pussy.

It didn’t take more than that soft smack to make her jump and whimper. He’d made his point and she tried to stop making such a fuss, but it wasn’t easy.

She’s always thought the unpredictable swats were the worst because she couldn’t prepare herself for them and never knew where they’d land. Now she was reminded that patterns didn’t help much. Sure, she knew where the next one would strike but there wasn’t much she could do but dread it.

He worked his way to half-way down her thigh and the lower he went the stingier each one was. And then, because her legs weren’t together and he could only spank one at a time, he moved around to the other side and started all over again from the new angle. It was like a painful kind of déjà vu. She strained against the bonds to move her leg away from the impending smacks.

It was pointless of course.

By the time he’d covered her backside in burning scarlet swatches from the top of her cheeks to mid-thigh she had begun to cry, as she whined and yelped. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and splattered to the wooden floor and she couldn’t possibly have regretted her mistakes any more than she did.

“I’m sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry and I promise none of it will happen again!” she blurted.

Sam didn’t bother to reply to that. This was the part of the punishment where she always made those promises. He did pause long enough to twist the plug and then push it back in, reseating it.

She’d almost forgotten about the object inside her ass, what with her skin being on fire, now she whimpered at the reminder and squirmed a little. She may have apologized a few more times, but she was more focused on the fact that he’d moved back over to the first side and was still holding the belt.

By then she’d lost track of how many strokes he’d given her. A quick review and she came up with maybe three dozen. That wasn’t really so many. They were both experienced players and spankings tended to be long.

But the saddle rack made everything worse. The position, especially the way she was stretched made every leather stroke feel like they wear searing into her skin. What would normally barely count as a warm-up was already feeling pretty hard and there seemed to be no end in sight.

I deserve this,she told herself. It helped, in a way, to remember that she’d earned it, all of it. But that only lasted until he started over again on the first side, laying the leather hard and heavy across her rump.

The belt lashed down across her ass, covering both sides at once with wide swathes of burning pain as it marched its way down a relentless path. Once he reached that tender band of flesh at the base of the cheeks, just where her legs joined, he concentrated five or six especially stingy swats on that area.

She wailed long and loud. It felt like she could have levitated off the rack if she hadn’t been so firmly tied in place. Her ass danced and bobbed as she made desperate efforts to evade the leather, but it probably only managed to give him an obscene show, while doing nothing to help her. Every stroke landed exactly where he wanted it to.

It wasalmosta relief when he moved on, going lower and once again focusing on just one thigh. At least then the spanks only overlapped a little and didn’t focus repeatedly on one spot, but it wasn’t much better when he started moving back up.

She lost track of how many circuits he’d made. She’d counted at first, concentrating on the number seemed to help in an odd way, but as the bite and sting grew fiercer, she found herself losing count so often that she gave up. There had been dozens though, she knew that much.

It felt like she was much closer to true sobbing than she should have been so soon into the spanking. There had been the warm-up yes, but they’d been known to have spankings that went up into hundreds of swats before she really started bawling. The only thing that could account for it was the damn rack she was spread-eagled across.

It stretched and pulled everything so tight that it seemed to double the pain. Being tied down firmly in place meant she could barely even wiggle, which had always seemed to spread the pain out, making it less intense. Between the emotions and the pain, the arousal that had her wet and needy before he started with the belt had vanished.

Her hands clenched, nails digging into her palms as she fought to hold back the waterfall of tears that was coming. It was a losing battle, it always was, but within her personality was a stubborn core that demanded she at leasttrynot to sob like a baby. The yelping and hollering were different somehow, more for dramatics and to make sure he knew it hurt enough.

She rarely cried from pain. Watery eyes, tracks down her cheeks, sure; but real crying, the kind that shook her body and made her feel raw and vulnerable only came from punishment.

They’d had play sessions that lasted hours and not more than a few tears had fallen. Those that did spill down her cheeks were usually just about the vividness of the pain. They weren’t attached to deep emotions, but sobbing was a different story. Almost every time she had disappointed Sam, she ended up there.

She could feel it welling up inside of her right then as the leather crossed over the heated skin, leaving one line after another. The searing fire was only a piece of the puzzle, and the pain seemed to tug at her guilt, dragging it into the light. Exposed.

An image of her horse galloping into the barn with an empty saddle rushed through her mind and for a second, she could almost feel Sam’s terror at what that meant. And then she remembered her own terror as she wrestled with a struggling animal in a dark field and prayed that someone would come looking for her. It struck her hard in that moment that she could have died because of a dumb mistake.

---