Page 11 of A Little Love

Giving him a sour look, she turned around, putting her back to him before bowing her head and unfastening her jeans. She pushed them off her hips, lowering them only far enough to bare the absolute summits of her panty-clad bottom—soft black cotton emblazoned with bright red cherries polka-dotted across her seat.

“Nice,” he said. “Very apropos. That’s exactly the shade I’m going to go for. However, I didn’t say hold your pants up around your thighs. I said drop them.”

Shoulders slumping, she let go and gravity did the rest. Her jeans collapsed into a puddle of faded blue denim around her sneakers.

“Underwear too.”

That made her pause. Her saw her fingers twitch and knew what she was thinking, because frankly he was thinking the same thing. A lot could be said for the magic of two people getting to know one another. Relationships were hard; BDSM relationships were even harder. He didn’t want to move too fast, make a mistake, shake the trust or fuck things up beyond all revocation, and especially he didn’t want to do any of that once his heart—or hers—became irrevocably involved. He was probably one movie and a cuddle on his sofa, one goodnight story before tucking her into her bed, and one middle of the night ‘Daddy, there’s another spider’ call too late for that, and maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, but Jesse had damn near killed him and he never wanted to go through that again.

He waited, standing silently by until she’d picked through her mounting reservations and made a decision. She bent slightly and, slipping her thumbs into the elastic, pushed her underwear all the way down.

Nolan looked his fill, admiring the curves of her waist as it rounded into soft, pale hips, the equally luscious rounding of her bottom cheeks, and the slender slope of tense thighs. Her fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against her legs as she waited for him to make his next move. Her buttocks clenched. It was all he could do not to run his hand down over them, rubbing. Squeezing. Perhaps even letting his fingertips skim down into the shadowy place between to feel for himself the source of all her feminine heat. He wondered if he’d find her wet.

“Good girl,” he said, just a little huskier than normal, but wanting to reward both her obedience and the courage it had taken to bare herself to him for the very first time. Digging for one last item, Nolan set the rest of his duffel bag aside. The handle of that old-fashioned wooden hairbrush fit as if it had been molded into his hand. The once-white bristles had yellowed a little with age, but that didn’t matter. This was one hairbrush never meant to be used on hair.

Tricia’s eyes widened when she glanced back over her shoulder and saw that brush. Her entire body stiffened before she snapped away again.

Catching her shoulder, Nolan walked with her up to the nearest wall. She had to take little shuffling steps in order not to trip on her tangled jeans. Nolan kept her moving, but not farther or faster than she could safely go, and he did it with his hand cupping the nape of her neck the whole time. When it came to discipline, he could think of nothing more important than touching—both because it let him feel her panic, and it gave him the chance to soothe it away. To tell her with a comforting squeeze and a caress that he would never hurt her, not in any way that mattered. Because that wasn’t what Daddies did.

“You know what a safeword is?” His thumb brushed up and down, following the gentle slope of her tense throat. She was trembling now. Trembling and rubbing her hands against her bare thighs. He wondered if she knew that each of her hands had fallen into up and down sync with his thumb.

Head still bowed, clothespin dangling off her tongue, Tricia nodded.

“Do you want to use it?” he asked, letting his voice convey that he wouldn’t judge her if she did, or hold it against her.

She hesitated, but ultimately shook her head.

“Traffic signals?” he asked, just so they were clear.

She nodded.

He let his thumb wander another caressing path down to her shoulder, then gave her a squeeze. “Put your hands on the wall and don’t take them off until I tell you. If you reach back, I might not be able to stop in time to keep from catching your fingers, and that’s going to hurt a whole lot more than anything I’m about to do to your bottom.”

He felt her shiver and saw her bottom tighten, the fleshy mounds tensing as if she could already feeling the crisp assault of his hairbrush bearing down upon her, before she bent to brace her hands upon the cool cement wall. He could feel every twitch of movement she made now, each wince and indrawn breath as she tried to anticipate what was coming. She seemed far more nervous than the situation warranted.

“Did your last Daddy spank you?” Nolan asked, letting his hand caress a comforting path down her spine until it came to rest at the small of her back. He was a little surprised when she shook her head.

“I had Time Outs,” she slurred around the clothespin. “Sometimes he’d make me write lines.”

“He never spanked you for punishment, or he never spanked you ever?” Nolan asked, eyebrows arching at the thought. When it came to Littles or Middles, spanking was almost always involved at some level. It wasn’t hard to understand why some Doms preferred not to use it for discipline, especially when so many submissives viewed it as anything but something to fear and avoid.

“I did a lot of lines.” Lifting her head, she wiped at her chin again, but made no attempt to take the clothespin off her tongue. Once she was sure he wouldn’t see her drooling, she looked at him hopefully. “I’m all done being smart now, Daddy. Can’t I write lines for you too?”

Shaking his head, Nolan tsked. “Sorry, sweetheart. That’s not how this works. You need to know when I say I’m going to do something, I mean it.”

“I’ll pay attention.” A sheen of moisture flooded her eyes and her tone turned Small as she pleaded, “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“After this, I’m sure you will. Hands on the wall,” he reminded, his hand on the small of her back becoming the anchor now meant to keep her still.

She caught her breath when she felt him, but promptly lost it again as the first crisp impact of that hairbrush met the center of her right buttock. Stiffening, Tricia sucked a startled gasp. A flush of bright pink rose to stain a perfect oval upon the surface of her skin.

It was a brisk spanking, one meant more to catch her attention than to impart pain, although judging by her reaction, a significant amount of both was happening. She twisted, her hips waggling from side to side as she squeaked and squealed and finally threw back her head and wailed. She bounced and stamped, but her hands never left the wall. Neither did she cry out ‘red’ or ‘yellow’ or ‘platypuses are for pussies’ or anything that could remotely be mistaken for a safeword. She only yelled once, in fact, and that was just as the hairbrush rebounded off her for the sixth and final time.

“Owie! Owie, Daddy!” She must have bitten the clothespin, because it flew off the end of her tongue, ricocheted off the wall, and clattered to the floor at her feet.

“It’s okay,” Nolan soothed, slipping the hairbrush into his back pocket before allowing his hand to rest upon the flushed and heated surface of her naked backside. He rubbed gently. “You’re okay.”

She sniffled, bouncing and stomping in residual pain. But she never once protested his touch, or tried to twist away, and though he continued to rub for far longer than six relatively lightswats required, before it was over, she was arching her hips back as if offering herself for more.

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