Isabelle pushed the door a quietly as she could and tiptoed inside the apartment, holding her high-heeled shoes with two fingers. She softly pushed the door back to a close and paused to listen. Silence.
With a smile, the young woman put her little shoes down and went to the kitchen ; she was starving. There was a bottle of wine on the counter, and she couldn’t resist pouring herself one last glass. It had been a fun night, and even though he would be a little irritated in the morning that she hadn’t come back in time for bed, she had enjoyed herself. Dancing, flirting, chatting, it had all been nice after so much rigour and work over the past weeks. One night out couldn’t hurt, exams of no exams. Plus she had a few more days.
The bottle slipped a little and she dripped wine on the counter. She did have quite a lot to drink, she thought, and giggled to herself. She raised the glass.
“To dancing and having fun and not caring at all,” she said with a smile.
The lights suddenly came on, white and harsh after the comforting darkness. She gasped and the glass fell to the floor, where it shattered, spilling the expensive wine on the dark-tiled floor. She looked at it with a pout, then up at the man who’d turned the light on and was glaring at her.
“Do you know what time it is?” he said coolly.
“Hum… Past bedtime?” she tried with a little grin. He didn’t look amused at all, his arms crossed over his chest.
“It’s 3 am, Isabelle. Where the heck were you?” he asked, his tone still ice-cold. He knew perfectly well where she had been. It wasn’t the first argument they’d had about her partying.
“I was having fun, okay?” she said with a shrug, “I’ve been working hard, you know that…”
She was still pouting.
“You made a promise, remember?” he said, coming closer. She hadn’t made a move to clean up the mess the wine had made ; she stood there with her back against the counter, looking at him through the thick mascara of her heavily shadowed eyes. The purple around them complemented her teal short dress beautifully indeed.
She looked down and bit her lip, “Yes, I remember…”
“What was it?”
She hesitated… “Listen…” she started, passing a hand in her long, chestnut hair.
“What was it, Isabelle?” he interrupted straight away.
“No partying… until my exams…” she said coyly.
He nodded, “So… Where were you tonight?”
“It was just one night, okay? Just one… Please…”
“You promised. You know you have to get up early tomorrow, there’s still a lot of things we need to go over. Don’t you care?”
“No I do…”
“Don’t you appreciate me helping?”
“You know that I do… I couldn’t—
“Exactly. You know you need to give it your best and yet… you’ve still been out. You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“You sound like my fucking dad, just stop it” she muttered.
“Language, Isabelle,” he warned, pointing a finger at her. She rolled her eyes.
“Are you done?” she asked, rapping her fingers on the counter and letting out an exasperated sigh.
He was on her in a heartbeat, grabbing her by her wrist and holding her. He was a good head taller than she was, and stronger for it. She tried to get her hand free but couldn’t.
“No, I’m not done,” he said harshly, “I’m quite fed up with your attitude, in fact” he continued, forcing her to turn around and face the kitchen counter. “Fed up with the partying, the lack of organisation, your messiness, brattiness…”
“Let me go!” she said. He forced her down on the counter. “What are you doing?!” she cried, louder.
“What I should have done a long time ago,” he answered, and slammed his hand down on her round bottom, barely hidden under her dress. The sound echoed loudly in the kitchen. Frozen by surprise, disbelief, and anger, she didn’t make a sound.
He slapped her again, harder, right on the same spot. She cried out this time, and tried to get away.
“Are you mad?” she yelled as he kept spanking her bottom one cheek after the other, hard, heavy smacks that made it bounce under the tight fabric. He didn’t answer, pinning her arm behind her back, forcing her to stay down on the counter while he peppered her cheeks with hard slaps.
The dry, loud sound drowned out her little yelps and gasps. It would wake the entire building up, she feared. And they kept coming, these slaps. Her bottom was already burning. She felt tears coming to her eyes, tears of pain, of shame, of humiliation. She was being treated like a child, a misbehaving brat. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt so bad and he kept going.
“Okay, okay,” she said, her voice cracking a little, “you’ve made your point!”
“Have I really?” he said finally, landing a couple more hard smacks, “I think I’m just getting started…”
“What? No…” The tears were filling up her eyes now. He grabbed the bottom of her dress and raised it up to her hips, revealing her burning, bright pink behind framed in a plain, white thong. She bit her lips, not wanting to make things worse. He let go of her arm.
“Stay there,” he said sternly. She did.
He reached over the counter for a wooden spoon in a pot among other kitchen utensils. She shivered, it looked mean and she did not want to have it strike her exposed bottom. Not that she had any say in the matter. He put it against her warm cheeks and tapped them softly a few time. Tears rolled down her face. Then he raised the wooden spoon high and it came down with a sharp whistling sound. Pain exploded in her punished bottom and she cried out, “Oooooooow!”
He quickly whipped her cheeks a few times, eliciting a cry of pain each time, then switched cheek for a few more, and kept hitting her bottom harder and harder, leaving dark red marks over the pink.
She was crying more and more, wiggling her bottom, trying to cover it with her hands only to be chased away and rewarded with even harder smacks for trying.
Her thong came off despite her protestations, and soon, so did the dress. She was naked, crying like a little brat that she knew she was, and he kept spanking her.
She was begging, pleading, asking, promising to be good, to behave, to work hard. She promised everything he wanted as long as he just stopped spanking her. He didn’t. She was completely exposed to him, every inch of her body. Where her bottom had been pink, it was now a deep red. He threw the spoon down on the counter and came back at her punished cheeks with his large, square-palmed hands.
“No.” *smack!* “More.” *smack!* “Partying” *smack!* he said, the slaps a hard punctuation to each word.
“Noooo… no, I promise… Please, please, pleaaaaase…” she begged. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good, I’m so sorry.”
“Will you work hard?” he asked, spanking her still.
“Yes, yes, yesss, I will, I promise, I will!”
“What will happen if you don’t?”
“I’ll get punished!” she said, bawling, “You’ll spank me again.”
“Exactly, and it will be even harsher.” She doubted it ever could be worse than the burning she was feeling in her cheeks. She wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week.
“Stay here, hands on the counter,” he said ominously and left. She got up, her legs trembling, and put her hand down on it as instructed. The tears kept streaming out of her eyes and she sobbed as silently as she could. She could feel the warmth between her legs, not just her bottom, and she felt ashamed. She dared not look or feel it, but she knew she was drenched. He came back, and she felt his fingers between her thighs. Had he read her mind? Was it so obvious that… She didn’t want to think about it.
“Well, Isabelle,” he said calmly, “I think you need a little time to think about your behaviour” His fingers went up from her vulva and caressed her anus.
“Wha… what are you doing…” she gasped… He had never touched her there before. She felt something cold on her. Was it… Suddenly, something massive went up her ass, and she moaned loudly, “Oh God…!”
“Punished and plugged, like the misbehaving young girl that you are,” he announced with a grin and she realised he had been planning that moment, knowing that sooner or later she would slip up and he would have an opportunity to punish her as he desired. She felt her swollen pussy drip over her thighs. She wanted to beg him to take her right there, right then. She knew he would have her wait. She felt the plug filling her, making her moan with the slightest move of her hips. The pain and pleasure merged into one and she bit her lip again.
She would be good… tomorrow.