Silly Mistakes

“Quiet down, please!” the teacher said to the class. The boys stopped chatting as they saw the pile of papers that she was holding.

“Are these our tests, Miss?” a boy named Ryan asked.

“They are. Now, please take a purple pen and go through the annotations as I hand them.”

There was a rustle as the boys dutifully looked into their pencil-cases for the necessary pen. As post-16 students in one of the top grammar schools in the country, all of them were used to weekly tests, and needed little reminder of what to do. Discipline and behaviour had never been an issue.

“Got it!” Ryan said, holding his pen up. “First?” he looked around. “Boys, always competitive…” Miss Moore thought.

With a tut, she put the paper down on the boy’s desk. He gasped.

“What is this?” he asked.

“That’s your test, Ryan,” she said.

“I can see that, but it seems you’ve given me a… C minus?”

“Indeed, Ryan, that’s quite disappointing… Did you revise before this one?”

“Of course I revised,” he said with a frown. “Not that I needed to, this was ridiculously easy. There must be a mistake.”

There was a snicker behind him. “Is that a C, Ryan?” another boy asked.

“No way!” Ryan said, “Miss has made a mistake.”

She huffed. “There is no mistake! I do not make mistakes. Maybe you need to reconsider the amount of effort you should put into your work, young man.”

Ryan frowned and turned the page, quickly scanning through the answers. Miss Moore gave the next boy his test.

“Miss!” Ryan called.

“Not now, Ryan,” she replied tersely, and kept handing out the tests.

“Hey, Ryan!” the boy behind him called, “Look, an A!”

“A plus!” another called out.

“Quiet, boys…” the teacher warned.

“But Miss!” Ryan called again.

“That’s enough, young man!” she snapped. “I can see that you are disappointed with your grade, but it is merely a result of your own complacency. No one else in the class is complaining. In fact, no one else did quite as bad! Maybe next time you will check your work before handing it in, and make sure that you didn’t make silly mistakes that end up costing you dearly, yes? Now I don’t want to hear one more word about it, understood, Ryan?”

Ryan frowned.

“Ryan?” she asked again.

“Yes, Miss… But…”

“Not another word! I’d rather not have to discipline you. Though if I’m honest with you, a result like that should be reason enough for a good spanking!”

There was a OoooooOooooh from the other boys. It had been a long time since any corporal punishment had been needed, and Miss Moore was well fit. More than one boy had dreamed of being pulled over her lap… or the opposite.

She looked at the rest of the class and lifted a finger in warning. “That’s quite enough, boys. You only have twenty minutes to do your corrections, then the lesson’s over. And as for you, Ryan, I would use my time wisely if I were you and try to understand what went wrong so it doesn’t happen again.”

For the next ten minutes, only the rustling of papers and pens could be heard. As the minutes ticked by, Ryan’s frown only deepened, until he couldn’t hold it in anymore and rose his hand.

“Miss?” he asked.

Sat at her desk, she slapped it with the tip of her fingers and rolled her eyes. “I thought I made myself clear, young man?”

“Yes, but can I show you something, Miss, please?”

“Yes, yes, if there’s something you don’t understand, I can help you, of course.”

“Poor little Ryan can’t even correct the mistakes himself…” said a voice behind him.

More snickers behind his back, and Ryan felt his cheeks blush in shame and anger.

“Shut up!” he said, turning around.

“Ryan!” Miss Moore said.

“But Miss!”

“I’ve had quite enough of your attitude, young man!” she hissed. “I think you and I are going to have a talk at lunch.”

More ooohs and aaahs.

“But you got it wrong!” he said, “Look!”

He held his test up.

“You’ve marked each question as if it were the next,” he continued. “See? The first one here? It’s correct, right? And this one, look? It goes A, C, D, but you circled A, C, D on the next one. And then the next, and then the next!”

Miss Moore snatched the paper off his hand and started leafing through it, blushing. “I-I…” she stammered.

“Well?” Ryan asked.

“I think…” she started.

“Did he get it right?” one of the boys asked.

“Legend!” another yelled from the back.

“It’s all correct, isn’t it, Miss?” Ryan asked with a smile.

“Y-yes… It appears so…”

“So what you’re saying is…” Ryan continued, grabbing his chair and dragging it in front of the desks. “What you’re saying is that you made a silly mistake?”

“I… Hum, well…” she stuttered again.

“Are you telling me you didn’t check your work before handing it in?” he grinned, “I think you’re the one who needs a lesson, Miss…”

The other boys in the room were gleefully looking at her, arms crossed, a smile on their face. One of them, Ian, went to the door and casually leaned against it. A few already had their phones out.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Ryan, but…”

“What I’m saying, Miss, is that we expect a high standard of work from you, just as you do from us. That’s only fair, right?”

“Yes. I-I suppose?”

“And you said it yourself, such silly mistakes are reason enough for a good spanking.”

“I… Did I say that? I… Hum…”

“You said it, Miss…” said another student with a wry smile.

“Yup, you did,” chirped another.

“What’s my grade?” Ryan asked.

“A… A plus…” Miss Moore said, hesitantly.

“What was it out of? The marks?”

“One… One hundred and ten…”

Ryan looked around with a grin. “What do you think, guys? One hundred and ten, sounds fair?”

All of them nodded, some of them mouthing “Yeah!”

“I… I don’t think that’s appropriate…” Miss Moore tried, but Ryan was already pulling her over his lap.

Quickly, he landed a series of slaps over her dress. It was clingy enough that he could see the patter of her lacy panties underneath. As she wriggled and protested, he held her firmly in place and only spanked her harder, encouraged by his classmates, several of which were pointing their phones at them.

“Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to dismiss questions, Miss?” he said with a grin, and kept landing hard, open-palmed smacks on her curvy ass.

“Oww!” she yelped in pain, “Please! You’ve made your point!”

“Lift her dress!” one of the boys called. Many others approved. Not one to disappoint his audience, Ryan quickly pulled it up, revealing a white pair of lace knickers under which creamy-white buttocks were turning pink. After a second of admiring the view, he went back to work, much to the delight of the other boys. As more slaps poured down, Miss Moore was blushing from both ends, and tears had begun rolling down her cheeks. She was begging and crying out with every other slap, knowing that a classful of boys were staring at her rear, and that a frilly pair of lacy lingerie was all that protected her dignity —the little of it she had left, anyway.

“Have you been counting, Miss?” Ryan asked as his hand hit her wobbling bottom once more.

“Oww! C-counting?”

“The one hundered and ten slaps?”

“W-what?”

Ryan tutted and shook his head, “Were you not paying attention, Miss? I thought the task was quite clear… Such a silly mistake… Should we start again at one, then?”

“N-no! Please! Ryan!”

He nodded to another boy. “Joe. How many?”

“Sixty four,” the other boy said.

“See? We do pay attention, don’t we miss?”

“Y-yes, I-I’m sorry!”

“You said it yourself, you should make sure that you don’t make silly mistakes that end up costing you dearly…”

“Yes… I’m sorry… I…”

“Only forty three to go!” Joe said with a grin.

“No, please!” she moaned.

“Oh yes…” Ryan said with a grin, “But first…”

Pinning her arm behind her back. he grabbed her panties and slowly, almost delicately pulled them down to her thighs, revealing bright red, clenched cheeks. She kicked her legs in protest, but there was nothing the could do. There was palpable excitement in the room, and none of the boys said anything, as if stunned by the view. Big, ugly tears were running down Miss Moore’s cheeks and she screw her eyes shut.

A sudden massive slap made her open them wide again, and she cried out in pain and surprise.

“How many more?” Ryan asked.

“Forty two!” she moaned.

“Well done!” he said and slapped her ass again. And again, and again.

“T-ten!” she sniffled a few minutes later.

“N-nine…”

“Owwwww! Eiiight!”

“Se-e-ven!”

“Six! Six! Oww!”

“Fiiive!”

“F-four, please…”

“Three…”

“Two-Ooow!”

“One! One!”

He held his hand high. “Anything you want to tell us, Miss?”

“I… I…”

“Will you make any more silly mistakes?”

“No! No! I will check my work! I won’t make silly mistakes again! Please”

Just as the final slap landed, the bell went off.

Ryan let his teacher go and got up.

“There you go lads, class dismissed!” he said. Behind him, one hand on her desk, Miss Moore was rubbing her red, painful, punished bottom.

Customer service

It was a quiet day, it seemed, and the shop was empty. After the festive rush, it was no surprise. People had had their fill of shopping and crowds for a while. That, or they were all still in a food coma. Bliss, Liam thought. He walked towards the back of the shop and found the till, behind which stood a very bored young woman, staring at and twiddling on her phone.

Liam came to stand in front of the now-ubiquitous plexiglass screen and made a little polite wave.

“Heya,” he said. “Happy New Year.”

“Yes? Can I help you?” the young woman said, a practiced look of indifference on her face.

“Hum, yes, it’s for a return. I bought this for a gift and it—” the man started.

“Do you have a receipt?” she interrupted him.

“Pardon me?”

She rolled her eyes. “A receipt. Piece of paper with the price on it. Proof of purchase, yeah?”

“Hum, I’m not sure, I…” Liam hesitated

“Next!” she yelled, looking behind his shoulder.

“What?”

“No proof, no service. Next!” she yelled again.

He turned around.

“… There’s nobody else here…”

“Right, guess I get a break, then.” She smiled and looked back at her phone

“And my return?”

“Can’t help ya.”

“Could you just take a look?” he asked, ticked.

“Did you find you receipt?”

“No but…”

“Can’t help you.” She cut him.

“Please? It’s unopened.” He showed her.

“Nah.”

“Listen, I’m not trying to be a pain here. I have a customer account here, you can probably—”

“Like I said, nah,” she cut him again

He looked around again. “Can I speak to someone else?”

“What is it, Karen? You want to talk to the manager?” she grinned.

“That’s not what I said. Listen, I’m really not trying to be difficult. I’m just trying to return something and, quite frankly, you’re just being rude, you know?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. The customer is always right, isn’t he? And I, the poor little employee should so whatever you want. Is that it?”

“That is… Not what I said either? I’m fine with just an exchange. See? It’s in perfect condition.” He showed her.

“Nah, you see, I’m very busy, I don’t have time to deal with stuff like that.”

“You… don’t look very busy?” Liam said through gritted teeth, his patience wearing thin.

She waved her phone. “Uh, yeah? I’m talking to people?” she said, dismissively. She looked him up and down. “Yeah, it’s probably not a problem that you’d have…”

He frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means leave me alone, you creep.”

“Right, where’s the owner then?”

“On hols. It’s just you and me. And I’m busy.”

“You’re rude is what you are.”

“Whatever.”

“No, not whatever!”

“What, what are you gonna do, big man? Bore me to death?”

“Clearly, someone should have taught you some manners…”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Can you please leave me alone, thank you. Is that polite enough for you?”

“I would have been gone already if you’d just had a look, you know?”

“Good grief, you just can’t take a hint, can you?” she sighed. She put her phone up and looked at the screen, pouting, “Hey guys!” she said to the phone, “This is the creep that’s harassing me at work! Say hello, creep!” She turned the phone around to face him, and Liam could see himself on video.

“What the hell? Are you filming me?”

“Yeah, say hi!”

He shook his head and shrugged. “Unbelievable…” He turned around and started to walk back out. She came out of her booth and followed him, her phone still held high.

“And there you have it, you guys, that’s how you deal with rude-ass custom—”

Suddenly turning around, he grabbed the phone out of her hand and looked into the camera.

“You think I’m rude? I came here to ask politely for a return”

“Hey! Give it back!” she yelled.

He moved it away from her grasp, still talking to the camera. “This young lady is anything but polite, she thought that tapping away at her phone was more important than actually doing her job.

“Give me my phone!” she yelled again.

“So I think I’ll give her a piece or my mind…” he continued.

“Give me my—”

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward what looked like a footstool. With the girl still protesting and trying to get away, he placed the phone on a shelf, camera still recording. He sat and pulled her over his lap in one fluid movement.

“What are you doing?!” she cried. The camera was pointing at her bottom, perched as it was over his knees. He turned to the camera once more. One of his hands was holding her tight by the waist, his other hand went up.

“And this, you guys, is what happens to rude girls…”

With a resounding ‘SLAP!’, his open palm came down on her rear, making her jump and yelp instantly.

“Stop!!” she cried, but it was much too late.

The smacks, slaps and spanks began pouring down one after another over her short dress, and it wasn’t long before she was crying and wriggling, hopelessly trying to get away from his firm grip. She hurled insults and invectives at him, from comments on his mother’s proclivities to questions about his manhood and what he could go do to himself with an impressive diversity of objects. Through it all, he said nothing, hitting her bottom, her thighs with the satisfaction of someone who’d been dreaming of it for a while.

He grabbed her dress and lifted it up to her midriff, exposing a little pair of white knickers.

“No! What are you doing you fucking pervert??” she yelled.

“What someone should have done a long time ago…” he replied with a grin and pulled the underwear down as well. Without missing another beat, the slaps resumed. Twenty more hard slaps and the pale pink had turned bright red. Thirty more, forty, and she was begging him to stop, kicking her legs, grabbing and holding to his leg. He held her firmly in place, relentless.

“So, do you have other comments to make?” he asked.

“N-no…” she said and sniffed.

“I thought so…”

His hand came down again slammed against her tender, hurt bottom. She cried out and whimpered. “Please…”

“Oh I don’t think so,” he said, the slaps falling without a pause. Left-right, left-right, evenly covering her naked, throbbing cheeks. She moaned and protested, tears rolling down her cheeks. He carried on without a word, enjoying the spectacle of her ass jiggling and bouncing under his undivided attention. Little by little, as her bottom became a darker and darker shade of red, her invectives died down and she started crying more. The insults became begging, became pleading, became apologies.

“PLEASE! I’M SORRY!” she yelled at last. He did pause at that.

“Are you going to do your job?” he asked, punctuating the question with a slap.

“Yes! Yes, please!”

“Was it so hard?” Another slap.

“N-no…”

“No sir” Smack!

“Ow! N-no sir!”

“There we go… Get up!” he said with one final slap.

“Oww! Yes, sir…”

As she did so, he reached for the phone and, pointing it to her bruised bottom first, brought it up to her face.

“Something you want to say?” he asked, nodding towards the phone.

“I… I’m sorry… I’ll be m-more professional…” she mumbled

“How should you treat your customers?”

“R-respectfully?”

“And?”

“K-kindly?”

“And?”

“P-p-politely?”

Liam turned to the camera one last time.

“And there you have, you guys! A lesson well learnt!” he said.

Premières fois

« Alors, heureuse ?

—Oui oui…

—Bah quoi ? Qu’est-ce qu’il y a ?

—Ben rien, rien…

—J’ai fait comme tu voulais, non ?

—Oui oui…

—Sur les genoux, à la main d’abord…

—Oui, c’était bien…

—Et pas trop fort au début, puis progressivement plus intense.

—Mmmhm, voui.

—Et j’ai gardé ta culotte un peu plus longtemps, t’as vu ?

—Oui, j’ai remarqué…

—Ça prolonge un peu…

—Oui, enfin, t’aimes ça, aussi, Thomas…

—Oui, j’aime bien… Le rouge qui apparait petit à petit quand je la baisse…

—Il est fier…

—Bah oui, non ?

—Sûrement…

—Bah pourquoi t’es pas contente, alors, Julie ?

—J’ai pas dit que j’étais pas contente…

—T’avais dit pas la spatule, alors j’ai fait avec ton petit paddle.

—Ah bah je sais, je le sens encore…

—En cuir, tu préfères, non ?

—Oui oui…

—Ça fait de jolies marques, en plus

—Tu trouves ?

—Ah oui, j’aime beaucoup

—D’accord…

—Bon… C’est les coups sur les cuisses, c’est ça ? C’était trop fort ?

—Ben non, ça change, c’est bien.

—C’était trop long ?

—C’est jamais trop long…

—Trop court ?

—Ben non…

—Trop fort, pass assez ?

—Non, Thomas, d’accord ? C’était bien, exactement comme j’avais demandé.

—Bon, bah je comprends pas.

—Y a rien à comprendre.

—Bah essaye, Julie…

—Bon… C’était… Un peu trop comme je voulais…

—Pardon ?

—Ben c’est pas drôle quand c’est prévisible, quoi. Y a pas de surprise.

—Mais…

—C’est comme voir un film à suspense une seconde fois, c’est moins excitant quand tu sais ce qui va se passer.

—Tu te fiches de moi ?

—Bah non… Ce que j’aime, quand tu me fesses, c’est que c’est toi qui commande, c’est toi qui gères… Si je te dis quoi faire, c’est pas pareil…

—…

—Sois pas fâché, Thomas…

—Chuis pas fâché…

—T’as l’air fâché… Tu veux un bisou ?

—Oui… »

Elle l’embrasse.

« Là, ça va mieux ?

—Moui…

—Bah… Dis-moi, Thomas ? Qu’est ce que tu veux ?

—Je vais te dire ce que je veux… »

Il passe son bras autour d’elle et la bascule sur ses genoux, ses fesses encore rouge, encore nues, bien en évidence.

« On va voir si tu peux prédire ce qui va se passer… »

Alors que la première claque de la seconde fournée s’abat, elle sourit. Il apprend vite, celui-là !

Juste un café

« Un café ?

—Non, merci. 

—T’es sûr ?

—Bah oui, pourquoi ?

—T’as l’air fatigué.

—Ah bah merci, ça fait plaisir.

—Ben les mensonges, c’est non, Thomas, alors je dis la vérité… 

—Ça ne t’oblige pas à dire tout ce qui te passe par la tête…

—Tellement ronchon…

—Mais non, je suis pas ronchon.

—Grognon, alors ?

—Julie, arrête, si je suis grognon ce sera de ta faute.

—Des excuses, toujours des excuses… P’têt que tu devrais prendre un café ?

—Dis, Julie ?

—Oui mon cœur ?

—Tu cherches.

—Non non.

—Tu cherches, c’est pas une question.

—Je cherche rien du tout, je te propose un café.

—C’est quoi cette obsession avec le café, tout à coup ?

—C’est pas un obsession, c’est de la politesse.

—…

—Quoi ?

—Ben je sais pas, Julie, j’attends de savoir.

—Je vois pas comment je pourrais faire une bêtise qui ait un rapport avec le café, hein.

—On ne sait jamais, tu sais toujours me surprendre…

—T’es méchant… Je voulais juste te faire plaisir, je sais que t’adores le café…

—Euh… Oui ?

—Ça te rend de bonne humeur, tout ça…

—Mais encore ?

—Bah ptêt que tu serais moins fâché…

—Et voilà, on y est…

—Bah c’est pas d’ma faute…

—Julie…

—J’ai un peu oublié les impôts…

—Un peu ? On est mi-Novembre !

—J’ai un peu oublié de payer le gaz aussi…

—Julie !

—En fait, j’ai un peu oublié toutes les factures ce mois-ci…

—Tu plaisantes ?

—Bah je pensais les avoir payées, moi… C’pas d’ma faute… »

Il soupire. Il ferme les yeux et se pince l’arête du nez. Elle baisse les yeux et ne dit rien. Déjà qu’il est pas content, elle ne va pas en rajouter. Elle sent déjà un picotement lui démanger le derrière, comme un présentiment. Sauf qu’il n’y a pas besoin d’être voyante pour savoir ce qui va lui arriver. La seule question c’est si ca va être à la brosse ou à la ceinture.

« Vas chercher la brosse… »

Ah bah maintenant, elle sait…

« Celle en bois. »

Rhooo… Elle déteste celle en bois. Elle fait mal, celle-là. Non pas que l’autre caresse comme la brise, mais celle en bois, elle est pas gentille.

« Et prends ton ordi portable aussi, tu vas faire toutes les démarches pendant que je te fesse !

—Euh… tu veux pas un café d’abord ? »

Parfum

Il sent bon. C’est un peu étrange d’y penser maintenant, lovée comme elle est sur ses genoux, la culotte a mi-cuisses, les fesses en feu. Mais il sent bon. Le bruit de sa main s’abattant sur sa croupe emplit le salon, et elle pousse des gémissements de douleur, des petits cris de honte et des murmures de plaisir. Mais c’est à son parfum qu’elle pense. Elle imagine sa peau contre la sienne, quand il lui fera l’amour une fois ses transgressions pardonnées. Elle ne sait même plus ce qu’elle a fait cette fois-ci —il le lui rappellera bientôt, il aime sermonner quand il la punit. Mais après, il la prendra dans se bras, nue, peut-être, et la prendra tout court sur le lit. Ou le canapé. Ou la table de la cuisine. Elle frissonne. Sa peau contre la sienne, sa main dans ses cheveux, son parfum, sa sueur, ses lèvres. Son cul brûle, la main tombe et tombe et tombe. Elle l’imagine la serrant fort. Elle est trempée, elle le sait. Il peut le voir, c’est sûr. Elle aime ça. Elle se cambre, s’offre à ses mains. Elles lui font mal. Elle aime ça. Il sent bon et elle, elle a envie de lui.

Elle sent bon. Elle sent toujours bon, d’ailleurs. Elle sent bon quand il l’embrasse au réveil, elle sent bon quand il rentre le soir, elle sent bon quand elle minaude et se presse contre lui, espérant échapper à sa fessée. Qu’est-ce qu’elle a fait, déjà ? Là, perdu dans le moment, il ne s’en souvient même plus. Ses fesses rebondissent, se serrent et rougissent au fur et à mesure que sa main frappe. Elle sent bon. Son parfum, ses cheveux, son entrejambe qu’elle ne cache plus, toute pudeur oubliée. Il a envie d’elle. Elle mérite sa punition, ça, il le sait, mais une fois pardonnée, il la prendra dans ses bras, nue, peut-être, et la prendra tout court sur le lit. Ou contre le mur. Ou dans la douche. Il la sent frissonner. Il imagine sa main caressant son dos, ses jambes, ses fesses encore brûlantes. Il imagine ses lèvres baisant son cou, la chaleur de sa peau, son parfum, sa chaleur. Elle gémit tandis que sa main tombe. Elle frisonne. De honte ? De plaisir ? Elle est presque à bout, presque pardonnée. Il passe sa main entre ses cuisses. Elle gémit plus fort. Il veut se perdre dans ses bras, dans son parfum. Une dernière claque, un dernier gémissement. Il la relève et l’embrasse, goûtant le sel de ses larmes sur ses lèvres.

Dieu qu’elle sent bon.

Pensive

On reflexion, Karen told herself, maybe that young waitress was just doing her job, and there was no need to throw abuse at her and make her cry. The chef storming out of the kitchen and pulling her over his lap for a sound, humiliating public spanking had certainly made his point very clear. As she stared at the corner she had been told to stand in, she wondered which was the most painful, her red, throbbing bottom or the stares and snickers of the other diners in the restaurant…

Le pire

« Alors, tu m’ignores ?

—Quoi ? Non, pourquoi ?

—Bah je sais pas, tu dis rien…

—Je suis juste fatigué.

—Oui, oui…

—Oh non…

—Quoi ?

—Julie…

—Quoi ?!

—Je le connais, ce regard.

—Quel regard ?

—Le regard coupable…

—N’importe quoi…

—Je te connais, tu sais…

—Bah pas vraiment, apparemment…

—Quand tu veux de l’attention, tu fais des bêtises…

—Tu crois ?

—Je sais…

—Donc si j’avais de l’attention, je ne ferais pas de bêtises, oui ?

—Bah c’est logique.

—Donc si j’en fais, des bêtises, c’est de ta faute…

—Hein ?

—C’est la faute à ton manque d’attention. CQFD…

—CQ rougi, surtout…

—Ah bah non. Si c’est pas de ma faute, c’est pas moi qui me ferais punir, hein.

—Et qui l’a faite, la bêtise ?

—Bah quelle bêtise, d’abord ? J’ai pas vu de bêtise, moi…

—Julie…

—Oui mon choupinet ?

—Qu’est ce que t’as fait ?

—Rien qui vaille la peine d’en parler, vraiment…

—Ah si, si…

—Ah non, non…

—Julie, plus tu attends, pire ce sera.

—Tu sonnes comme Yoda.

—Ne change pas de sujet…

De sujet, ne change pas, mmmmmmh?»

Sans un mot, il la prend par le poignet et la bascule sur ses genoux. Pas trop tôt… Il se ramollit avec l’âge, clairement. Ou peut-être qu’il aime ça, la faire attendre… Ah le petit saligaud… Est-ce qu’il sait ? Non, s’il savait il ne l’aurait pas ignorée si longt— « AIIIIE ! »

La claque est dure. Sa robe est légère. Pas vraiment de saison. La culotte, pas rembourrée non plus, c’est comme s’il n’y en avait pas. Les gifles s’abattent l’une après l’autre. Droite, gauche, droite, gauche, les fesses, les cuisses…

« Mais c’est pas juuuuuste !

—Quoi ? Qu’est ce qui n’est pas juste ?

—Tu ne sais même pas pourquoi tu me punis !

—Je sais qu’il y a quelque chose, et le plus tôt tu l’admets, le moins pire pour tes fesses…

—C’est pas du bon français ça, “moins p—” AIIIIE!

—J’attends ? »

Elle sent sa main qui se glisse sous sa robe, la soulève et la retrousse. Il tire sa culotte vers le haut, révélant un peu plus de ses fesses déjà meurtries. Elle ne dit rien. Si elle l’admet, ce sera pire. Il va se lasser… A fesses vaillantes, rien d’impossi—« AIIIIE ! Pas si fort…

—J’attends, Julie…

—Bah attends, attends… Il va arriver, Godot, t’en fais p—AIIIIIIIE ! »

Bon, il est fâché… C’est pas une brute, d’habitude, mais sa main se fait lourde. Claque après claque après claque, ses fesses sont de plus en plus brûlantes, et sa volonté de moins en moins forte. Elle sent les larmes qui lui coulent le long des joues. Il fait une pause, prend la culotte par l’élastique et la baisse d’un geste vif. Elle serre les dents. Il attend un moment. Pour lui donner une chance, peut-être ? Ou peut-être pour admire son ouvrage. Les hommes et leur fierté, pfff…

La fessée est soudaine, et le répit vite oublié. Il accélère, lui laisse à peine le temps de reprendre son souffle entre les gifles, les larmes et les gémissements.

« Dernière chance, Julie, après c’est la brosse…

—Mais…

—Pas de mais ; qu’est-ce que tu as fait ? » Il ponctue chaque mot d’une nouvelle claque.

« Je… »

Il pause, la main levée.

« Oui ?

—Tu sais avec la Covid et tout…

—Oui ?

—Ça fait longtemps qu’on a pas eu d’invités…

—Oui, et ?

—Bah…

—Non…

—Si…

—Non, Julie, non ! Non, non, non, non, non !

—Euh…

—Combien de temps ?

—Une… une semaine ? Peut-être un peu plus… ?

—Une semaine ??

—Mais je l’aime bien, moi ta mère… »