Page 18 of Christmas Secrets

She started. “What? Oh...sorry.” She jammed her hand in her coat pocket.

“Honestly, Dottie. Sometimes I feel like just turning ye over my lap and spanking yer wee bum. Here I give ye an opening to either confess yer misdeeds, or tell me what’s bothering ye, and ye space out on me. What is going on?”

Dottie folded her arms in a huff. “Why does there have to be something going on just because I’m holiday edgy?” she snapped. “Lots of people don’t like the holidays, and fer different reasons.”

Ben pulled the truck into a dark parking space in front of the hot chocolate and biscuits building. Inside the brightly lit windows they could see people sitting at tables and enjoying the Christmas goodies. Children were laughing and chasing each other around their seated parents. The scene was very festive with twinkling garlands and wreaths hanging everywhere and a beautifully decorated Christmas tree standing in one corner with a nativity scene in front of it.

He shut off the engine and turned to face her. “Ye have always told me ye loved Christmas. Are ye saying ye don’t?” he asked carefully, searching her face.

She glared at him. “Of course I love the holidays, but I don’t like it when ye threaten me, Ben Sangster.”

“Ye have never objected before,” he reminded her. “I’ve threatened lots of times, but ye have always been such a good lass that I’ve never had to do it.”

“Hadto do it?” she scoffed. “Ye don’thaveto do anything; ye make a conscious choice to behave like a stodgy old Scott. Spanking went out of fashion decades ago. Didn’t ye get the memo?” She scooted away from him on the seat and reached for the door. “I’m going inside, I’ve had enough of this ridiculous conversation.”

Dottie’s hand didn’t quite reach the doorhandle before she felt Ben move in close behind her, and turn her upper body back around and over his thighs before she realized what he was doing. Then he put his right arm under her hips and lifted her on over his lap with her head in the driver’s seat and her toes digging into the floorboard in protest.

“What are ye doing, Ben?” she squealed, grabbing the steering wheel with her right hand and looking back just in time to see his arm come down. A sudden burning pain exploded in the middle of her buttocks. “Ow! That hurt! Stop it!”

He didn’t stop though, but he did begin lecturing. “Ye have let yer little mouth run away with ye this time, lass. I don’t know what’s causing this attitude but I don’t like it. Ye’re being downright disrespectful.”

“No, I’m not,” she yelped, trying to put her hand back and wiggle off his lap. It was useless, he didn’t miss a spank.

“Aye, ye are and ye know it. Ye have been giving me sass every time I ask what’s wrong and I’m tired of hearing it. That alone tells me there is something wrong. I don’t like ye keeping secrets from me, Dottie, unless they are fun Christmas secrets. But I can tell from the condition of yer thumb that what ye’re hiding isn’t something fun.”

It had been a long time since Dottie had been spanked, and never as an adult. Ben’s relentless, work-roughened hand was taking her breath away. Her toes drummed a protest on the floorboards. Tears spurted into her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ben, I didn’t mean it,” she finally gasped.

“That’s a little better,” he replied gruffly, but he didn’t stop his spanking. The heat in her buttocks was building to a fever pitch and there was no way she could get out of his grasp. He was far too strong—and she should know. She’d caressed those muscles many times while admiring their soft cover and rock hardness underneath.

Her husband was an outdoors man, used to handling sheep, horses, and even cattle. Used to lifting 50-pound bags of feed, sometimes three at a time. He handled her 115 pounds quite easily. Every single spank hurt like wildfire on her shrinking flesh, even through her clingy jeans. “Ben, please stop,” she sobbed wildly, breaking into full-on tears. “I’m really sorry.”

He paused then and rested his big hand on her trembling bottom. “What’s wrong, Dottie?” he asked softly. “What has ye hating the holidays this year?”

Dottie was tempted to come clean at that moment. After all, he was already spanking her. How much worse could it get? Then again, if she confessed to the amount of money she’d spent, his gut reaction might be to take his belt off and really lay into her. Maybe a partial confession? One that would gain his sympathy and not his ire? It was worth a try.

“I-I’ve just been on edge every time I think about preparing food fer Neamh,” she finally admitted. “As ye know, I don’t have a great track record with food. I hate being expected to provide an edible dish.”

“Did they say ye needed to contribute?” he asked, his brows drawing down into a frown. He pulled her up into the seat beside him so he could look closely into her face.

She bit her lip and hiccupped. “Not exactly. They were all discussing the holiday schedule and I...I just felt compelled to offer. Like I was being a slacker because all of them were pitching in to help with the cooking and I wasn’t,” she confessed, the tears still leaking down her cheeks. She tried to get her breathing under control. Her butt literally felt like it was on fire and the seat beneath her was painful.

Ben reached out and pushed the tears away with his thumbs and then dropped a kiss on her upturned lips. “Yer lasagna was amazing, honey. Ye did a fine thing and it turned out well. Ye should be proud of yerself.”

“Aye, this time,” she cried. “But what if the next dish isn’t so good? What if this was just a one-time shot and the next time will be a disaster? I still have to bring a dish to the Neamh party. What then?”

Ben pulled her into his arms and hugged her. “Don’t worry so much, honey. I’m sure whatever ye decide to do, it will be just as good as the first time. I have faith in ye. Besides, if yer that unsure of yourself, have Toni help ye. Ye have always told me that she likes to cook, right?”

Dottie buried her face in Ben’s neck and hugged him fiercely. “Aye, I guess I could do that. That’s a good idea. That way I don’t have to pester Poppy or anyone else. They are all busy enough helping Lucerne with little Darro and Corey and Delilah.”

“Do ye have a dish in mind?”

“Aye, but it’s a surprise,” she quickly replied. “If it doesn’t turn out, I’ll bring some drinks or something instead. At least I’ll have contributed.” She sighed heavily, thinking of the Clootie Dumplings. Maybe she shouldn’t have ordered something like that. If questioned heavily, how would she justify her time? The lasagna was bad enough, time wise. Would they really believe she made the dumplings? She resisted the urge to chew on her thumbnail.

“Why was that so hard to tell me about?” Ben was asking. “I don’t like ye holding out on me Dottie, not when I might be able to help. I want to know all yer worries and problems.”

Dottie shrugged, feeling another intense stab of guilt. “I’ve been used to keeping things to myself fer years, I guess. No one has ever been as interested in my problems as ye are. Sometimes it’s disconcerting.”

“I’m concerned because I love ye, honey. I don’t like to see ye suffering.”

---