Page 60 of A Brat's Tale
Father’s words get me three months in before I start feeling sorry for myself again. Corrik is now having to inspire me to work instead of forcing me to take breaks. “Inspire” should be read as “spanking,” and believe me, there’s a lot of it.
“Tristan,” he says coming into the room. I don’t like the way he’s said Tristan.
I heard him coming; I can hear the locks as they’re being undone. I grabbed whatever book was closest so it could look like I was reading it. “Hey Cor, look I’m reading,” I peer at the cover, “Elven Fighting… oh shite.”
The evil brow is back. The one that gets mad at me all on its own,by the simple arching of it. This tells me a lot about what’s going to happen, without him ever saying a word. I set the book down carefully. “Cor. Look, I promise I’m reading; I was just taking a break.”
The problem is I take a lot of breaks.
His eyes flicker to a chair,thechair, the one he often uses when he’s going to turn me over his knee. I don’t have much time to convince him if I truly have time at all. “What did I say would happen if I caught you slacking off again?”
I get up from my seat preparing to run. “You said you would spank me with your hairbrush, but please. My arse is sore, Corrik.”
He takes a step closer knowing I’m about to bolt, hoping he can get close enough to snatch some part of me before I get too far away. “Funny. If your arse is so sore one would think you would behave yourself. Come here.”
I take a step away. “No. I don’t want a spanking. Okay, I’ll study. No more breaks—got it.”
Corrik analyzes the distance between me and him. “Now, Tristan.”
There are several heartbeats while we face off and then I run for it. I don’t know why I do. Locked in this room as I am it’s a case of “I can run, but I can’t hide,” and running prevents him catching me. He is Elf; I am human.
Yet running seems a viable option.
I head for the library where there are tables and knock over chairs to act as obstacles.
He’s close on my heels and Ijustclear the first table, diving over it when he catches up. “Come quietly and I won’t make you stand in the corner.”
Tempting. “I promise I’ll behave. I swear it.”
He’s not buying it. I look around for an exit as his thick arms cross over his chest. “I won’t have it, Tristan. Then you’ll be crying in my arms about how you didn’t get enough studying done.”
Apparently, me crying is a war crime—he can’t handle it. He wants to crush whatever’s made me cry. If it’s due to my own behavior, he’ll spank me until he’s sure spanking is the only reason I’m crying.
“I won’t be upset.”
“You are getting this spanking, my love.”
I’ve reached the end-stage of negotiations. There’s no more, “if you come now, I won’t …” because I’ve earned all the things by stalling. Soon we’ll enter the stage of, “you’ve also earned yourself a bedtime spanking, delay anymore and you won’t be sitting at all this week.” I should give up, but I am Tristan Kanes, stubborn fool.
He steps toward me and I see an opening. It’s enough that I can slide through and return to the other room. I make my move.
But he is an Elf, which means he’s a lot quicker than I am. He catches my wrist and I’m unceremoniously flung over his shoulder. He gives a spank to my arse for good measure and with his arm across my legs as it is, I can’t even kick them. Instead I whack his back. “Put me down Corrik! I’m not a sack of potatoes.”
I won’t stop fighting today which speaks to my mood. Corrik knows. “It’s like that is it?”
He’s calm as he walks to the dreaded chair. He spins it around with his free hand so that it faces away from the table and thus gives him ample room to put me over his knee. He does without preamble. He smacks at my bottom without rhythm until he’s said without words how displeased he is. “I’m sorry, Cor.”
He helps me to stand between his legs and his expression doesn’t budge. “My hairbrush. Go get it,now.”
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to explain the difference between now and moments earlier. Maybe it’s the shift that’s happened from the short spanking I’ve just received knocking sense into me, maybe it’s that I’ve realized how done he is with my behavior—that’s always piercing at some point during the process—or maybe it’s the simple act of dominance, appealing to the deeper part of me who innately responds to such things.
Maybe all of it. I don’t know.
Whatever the case, now isn’t the time for running, even though I could. I’m quick to retrieve the nasty little item and return, my face aflame, awaiting to go over his knee. He takes the brush setting it on the table behind him.
Whoa.The tummy drop sensation I get from all of it—knowing I’mabout to go over his knee, standing before him shamefully regretting my behavior, how unbending he is.
It’s humiliating when he slides his fingers under the waistband of my trousers and pulls them down in a way that’s deliberate and meant to humiliate. That’s part of it.
