Chapter 9

  Turning the corner from the restaurant, Chelsea held the phone up on the front of the wheel, hitting the green button with the white phone in the middle, calling Emerson.

  “Hey, I’m on my way home, calling as you ordered.” She giggled saying it.

  “Good girl. Did you have a good time?”

  She squirmed in the seat, her clit throbbing when he said good girl. It always made her smile, and her sex drip. “I did. We laughed a ton, but I’m getting tired for sure.”

  “Well, I hope not too tired. I may need a little attention. It’s been kind of lonely all day here without you.”

  “I’ll never be that tired. Besides—What the fuck? You stupid asshole!” Chelsea swerved out of the way, slamming her brakes to avoid a collision with a vehicle that cut her off to get onto the expressway.

  “Chelsea? Are you okay? What’s happened, baby? Do I need to call the police?” Emerson’s voice was filled with fear.

  And now her heart raced. How would she explain this? “This stupid fucker in a black SUV just cut me off. If I hadn’t slammed my brakes when I did, I would’ve been toast. Goddamn idiot!”

  “You’re on your phone? And driving?”

  She paused, not answering. Shit!

  “Yes, you’re right on one thing—you would’ve been, and are, toast. Hang up. Now!”

  She immediately ended the call. Her mind racing. Emerson would be punishing her, no doubt. God, she was still sore from her punishment yesterday. Tears welled in her eyes from self-pity.

  What will he use? Will he use the belt—again?

  Her hands shook on the wheel. She flipped her turn signal, glaring at the driver of the black SUV as she whipped past him. She thought aloud, “Wouldn’t he love to know that I’m getting my ass paddled because of him.”

  Well, in all honesty, it wasn’t his fault at all. It was hers. She should have stayed in the parking lot and waited for him to answer the phone, but she just wanted to go home, not wanting to delay her trip for even a few minutes.

  And now, the penalty for her impatience would be a very sore bottom, sleeping on her belly, and no fun hanky-panky either.

  David, her ex-husband, saw no issue with her talking into the speakerphone while driving. However, she’d been lectured by Emerson more than once since he’d moved that if he ever saw or heard that she’d been using text, talk-to-text, or the speaker phone while driving, she’d be one very sorry girl.

  The seriousness of his threat, along with the tic in his jaw and clenching fists at his side, had her heeding his directive. She’d been on the receiving end of a very upset but calm and reserved Emerson and swore she’d stay away from any situation like it.

  Until tonight…

  She turned down his street, seeing the tall black and white building with the typical red and white shutters that were common in Amsterdam. Parking in her usual spot in the driveway, she turned to see him looking out the window, his arms crossed over his chest, crooking his forefinger at her to come inside.

  “Oh God.” A sob broke from her throat. She grabbed her purse and climbed out of the vehicle to receive her comeuppance from her Master and her priest.

  Chapter 10

  Waiting for her to climb the stairs, he ran his hand through his hair. Deciding he didn’t have the patience, he ran down the stairs to wait in the foyer for her. As soon as she came through the door, he undid the front of her pants, bent her over under his arm, and jerked both the black dress pants and panties down in one fell swoop. He proceeded to spank her bare bottom, his hand leaving angry red splotches all over her creamy bottom, marred with only a couple of pink marks from a previous punishment.

  Her feet danced on the floor, groaning and whining behind closed lips, but her moans quickly became cries, digressing into loud sobs. She reached her hand around to protect her flesh from his punishing blows, but he quickly grasped it, keeping it out of danger and pressing it to her hip.

  The palm of his hand burned, the pain becoming almost more than he could stand. Purple spider veins started appearing on her inflamed buttocks, but his hand continued to march up and down, not only on her sore cheeks, but also her sit spots and thighs as well, turning them an angry red too.

  “How many times have I told you not to text and drive or talk on your phone?” The crisp slaps echoed off the concrete walls of the two story foyer.

  “I’m sorry!” Chelsea shouted between sobs.

  “Not as sorry as you will be when I’m done with you.” Out of breath, he stayed his hand, jerking her pants back up. Panting, he said, “Upstairs. Now!”

  When they both looked up, the neighbors across the hall both stood staring dumbfounded; the woman with her mouth literally agape, the husband smirking, but quickly wiping it away with his hand and then looking at his wife and saying, “I hope you’ve learned a lesson by watching one of your kind.”

  The woman nodded emphatically toward him before looking at Chelsea saying quietly, “I’m sorry.”

  Chelsea nodded back, choking on a sob before opening the door to their apartment and running inside.

  Emerson shook the man’s hand, which felt unnaturally cool against his spanking hand. “Sorry for the commotion. She totally deserved this.”

  “Hey, no apologies to me.” He slapped Emerson on the back loudly. “If my woman ever texted while driving, I’d be tempted to do the same. And we’re out for the evening by the way, so you have the whole apartment building to yourselves tonight, no worries.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. Enjoy your evening.” He slipped into their apartment, closing the door loudly, locking it and slipping the chain into place, then kicked his shoes off. Walking quietly through the living room, he didn’t see Chelsea, so he moved on to their bedroom where he found her standing gloriously naked in the corner, her hands laced behind her head.

  His good, bad girl.

  Her backside was an angry red; no sign of pink anywhere from the upper slope of her buttocks to about four inches from the under curve. He remembered reading once that a well-punished backside should be red, and if you had to ask if it was red, then it wasn’t. When it was at the appropriate hue, you wouldn’t have to wonder. You’d know.

  And this derriere? It was very red. Too bad she wasn’t done with her punishment.

  “So I see you’ve decided to do what is expected even though I didn’t specifically ask. Explain to me why you’ve chosen to listen now and stand in the corner versus not listening and talking on your cell phone just a half hour ago.” He sat down on the soft chair in their room, staring at her bottom.

  “I don’t know.” Her voice trembled, and it bothered him—only on a slight level—that her trepidation and fear was due to his demeanor or upcoming retribution.

  “I think I know why. Do you want to hear?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good response. You’ve heard my warnings many times, yet there wasn’t really a bite to them, no teeth per se. But this time, with the thrashing you received in the foyer, you had some teeth as incentive. The need to please and keep my teeth from coming out behooved you. Am I correct, my dear?”

  She shuffled her feet, struggling with agreeing, but knowing she had no choice. He loved watching her reason through her behavior, loved giving her enough rope to hang herself. “Yes, Sir. I guess so.”

  “I know so.” He stood up and walked toward her. “I’ve never seen you put yourself in the corner. Have you ever done that before, love?” He kissed her earlobe; his hand caressing her hot backside, squeezing the plump globe roughly.

  Gasping, she stiffened from the pain. “No, Sir.”

  “So I’m right.” He walked away, slowly disrobing. She liked watching him, but that was reserved for his good girl. He slipped his shirt off first, tossing it to the dresser before undoing his belt, watching her buttocks clench at the sound of the tooth clinking against the metal buckle. He pulled the leather out quickly, the kerschlap of the leather slapping against the loops of his pants, making her take in a shivery breath, the goose flesh rising on her skin.

  “I’m putting my belt on the dresser in case you’re sent to retrieve it later. Are you listening, bad girl?” He let the silver buckle clink on the wooden surface.

  “Y-yes, Sir,” she mumbled into the corner.

  Opening the dresser drawer, he pulled out his collarette, snapping the gold clasp at the back. He checked that it was centered on his neck before bending and pushing his boxers over his erection. Standing naked, his cock bobbing in front of him, he quietly approaching her and slid his cock through the divide between each cheek, pinching a hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  “We were going to have fun tonight, but you ruined that for yourself—not for me— you’ll be lacking in enjoyment tonight.” He pressed his penis through her labia; she arched her back, pushing back on him, moaning with her arousal.

  “Press those tits against the wall.”

  She quickly moved forward, the position leaving her unable to grind on him to pleasure herself.

  Emerson returned to his chair, lightly stroking himself, watching Chelsea, planning his next moves. “You’re losing the privilege of driving for two months. You’ll have to rely upon me or public transportation. If you arrange a ride with a friend, it has to be approved by me first. Clear?”

  She turned, looking at him over her shoulder. “Two months? Emerson, I can’t—”

  “You can. And you will. If you had been in an accident, you would’ve not only received a fine, but you more than likely would have had your license suspended. This is more than lenient.” He waited silently for that to sink in.

  Her cheeks flushed as she wiped a tear off.

  Good. She needed to learn. Had to learn.

  “Next, you’re going to write me a forty to fifty page research paper on America’s most lethal cell phone accidents. I want a description of the fatalities and effects these accidents had on families. For extra points, you can include extra pages recounting the experiences of rescue workers to those tragic accident scenes. I’ll take into account that you’re working full time and have to meet my needs as well, so I’ll make this paper due in five days. You’ll receive ten lashes of the belt for every day that it’s late. I’d use your time wisely, my girl.”

  She quietly began to cry, resting her head against the corner, her lips quivering.

  It tugged on his heart to see her so upset, but coddling her wouldn’t be beneficial. Her well-being was of utmost importance to him. He struggled to not pull her into his lap to comfort her, but the rising irritation and frustration kept his sympathy at bay.

  “The fucking audacity!” he shouted, making her jump, his anger surprising even him. Leaping up, he paced at the foot of the bed. “I left the priesthood for you. I traveled half way around the world to be with you. I opined for you, praying to meet you again someday, and finally, God brought us back together. For what? For you to throw it all away with a phone call to me on the expressway? Does our relationship mean that little to you?” He leaned his shoulder against the wall near her, breathing heavily, glaring at her.

  She turned her watery green eyes to him, sobbing. “How can you say that to me? You know how much I care. I…I made a mistake…a stupid one, I’ll admit. But…it wasn’t because I didn’t want to be with you or that I was trying to throw everything away.” Her voice rose incrementally until she was shouting near the end. Her nostrils flared, and her cheeks flushed with her own anger at his accusation.

  “You’re right.” He brushed his knuckles on her cheek. “I shouldn’t have phrased it like that. I know you care about me, baby.” Enveloping her into his embrace, he kissed the top of her head, swaying with her. “Thank you, God, for protecting my girl.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He mumbled into her hair, his finger tightening on her scalp before fisting her hair tightly. She hissed in reaction to the burning in her scalp. “I know you think you’re sorry, but you’re nowhere near as sorry as I want you to be. But, I’ll take care of that. Now.” He sat back down in his chair, still holding her arm. “Kneel.”

  She quietly knelt in front of him, her arms clasped behind her back with her head down just as he expected, her tits on prominent display.

  He regarded her quietly, watching her deal with the internal conflict, struggling to stay still in obedience, yet wanting to shift with her nervous energy, the uncertainness of what he’d be doing. She’d told him before that she hated the silence, spending more time thinking about him and his feelings. She hated disappointing him, hated his anger and knowing there was a punishment only highlighted those feelings.

  “You know what to do.” He released his cock, staring intently at her eyes.

  Her gaze fell to his collarette, pulling in a shaky breath before lifting it to his eyes again. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  “How long has it been since your last confession?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

  “It’s been two days since my last confession, Father.”

  With his elbow on the arm of the chair, he braced his face with his forefinger and thumb. “And what was your sin and atonement, my child?”

  Right on cue, her hips thrust, quickly dropping her gaze, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. She loved him being her priest, never realizing that she had a priest fetish until now. He covered his mouth with his hand, hiding the grin that overtook him at the display of her arousal.

  “I mumbled asshole when you told me to do something this week.” Her eyes quickly glanced at him, and he nodded for her to continue. “And you spanked me with the hairbrush.”

  “And what else, bad girl?”

  She shifted, obviously not wanting to talk about it, let alone think about it. “You put soap on my tongue and made me sit on my spanked bottom on a hard chair.”

  “Mmmm. I did.” He loved watching her bristle while recounting her sins.

  Until Chelsea, he’d never given it any thought, but maybe that’s why the Catholic Church had confessors state the last time they’d come to a confessional. The admission of sin made the memory of the last offense clear and immediately put the sinner in a state of submission, expecting discipline.

  It was quite diabolical actually, and he loved watching her squirm under his authority. It thrilled through him, puffing his chest (and other areas), re-establishing who was in charge.

  “And while sitting on that hard chair with your very sore hind end, did you contemplate how you’ll behave for the rest of the week, or was it just something to endure, something to get over, moving on to what you wanted to do?”

  Her eyebrows were knit with her confusion, the shock at his words evident on her face. “I did think—a lot. I never take a spanking lightly. You know I always feel bad when I disappoint you, and I swore I’d be good for not only this week, but the month.”

  The sincerity of her words filled him with pride. She was such a good girl. Stubborn—yes. Impulsive—yes. But a good girl. And he—well, he was evil, and he’d push her tonight.

  “And while you drooled, soap suds covering your chin and chest, gagging and crying in that chair, did you think upon how your words and actions affect me? Yes, we know they affect you. And on that night, you had a double whammy of sorts—a paddled backside and a soaped mouth. But did you think upon how your actions would affect me and our relationship? Did you make any vows in that regard? Or did the soapy, drool-covered girl only think of herself and her poor bare bottom?”

  Her lips thinned, her nostrils flared. She opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it again.

  Good.

  She’s censoring herself. That was always a good sign in any situation with Chelsea. It wasn’t one of her gifts, and any time that she put a guard over her lips, Emerson sighed with a bit of relief. The spark of anger, however, wasn’t a good sign, and if she fueled it even a little tonight, he’d tear her ass up. He wasn’t going to tolerate any more defiance from her at this point. What she’d done had been the limit he could handle for one night.

  “I always think of how my actions affect you. And yes, I did think—”

  “I’d straighten up my attitude if I were you, kitten. You’re bordering on this conversation ending abruptly and—let’s just say—in a way you won’t like. Try again.” He narrowed his gaze at her, leaning forward, invading her space.

  She stiffened, dropping her gaze back to the floor. She appeared to submit, but the flush on her chest and neck belied that she was still angry. Her tone would be the indicator of how they’d proceed.

  Taking her time, with her gaze still downward, she said, “I hated the soap. You’d never done that before. And yes, I gagged and drooled, and was a mess when it was over. But sitting there like a naughty, well-spanked woman with my ass on fire, drooling from the soap that burned my tongue, and holding back my vomit, I still spent more time thinking of you and your feelings than I did mine.”

  “And that’s the girl I was looking for. That’s the girl I love, the one who feels remorse quickly, who sympathizes with everyone and puts their needs before her own.”

  She looked up her lashes wet with her tears, smiling weakly at him.

  “So,” he rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, whispering, “Tell me where that girl went tonight? How did she get replaced with the carefree, disobedient, selfish woman who put her life—and the love of my life—on the line? Your disregard for how serious this is has me…a bit baffled. And yes, I’m very disappointed in your character at this moment.”

  A sob erupted from her. She covered her face with her hands, crying quietly behind them.

  Emerson leaned back in his chair, watching her, wondering what thoughts were running through her mind. As her Dom, he cared very much about the thought process, what she felt or didn’t feel before breaking a rule, how she felt during the sin, and more importantly, the realization and remorse (if any) that occurred when caught.

  All of these little things were tells for him. They helped him figure out her motive, what the root cause of her misbehavior was, and, more importantly, how to nip it at the bud before it grew further, making it harder to cut later. But if it was a heavy root, something she’d struggled with for most of her life, he wanted to know so he could methodically—and painfully—chip away at it, cutting it away bit-by-bit.