gave you a very stern scolding. And two big tears rolled down your face. That’s because you knew that you deserved a spanking. And that was what you were going to get!”
“No! Please!” she whimpered, putting her hand back to shield her upturned bottom.
“Don’t you dare, young lady,” he told her, pinning her wrist to her side. “You’ve been a very naughty little girl!” He raised his hand and began the spanking, over her black satin panties. But each spank was no more than a sharp, little slap, the sort that one would give a child of five. He alternated cheeks and skipped two beats between each swat, to draw out this quaint punishment. When he’d given her precisely fifty of these baby smacks, he stopped to tug her pretty panties down.
He’d been spanking her so lightly, her bottom was barely pink, and yet it felt quite warm beneath his hand. Again he commenced the spanking, a fraction more sharply this time, but pausing as long between smacks.
To Laura, all this was so poignant that she felt she might really cry. She was overwhelmed by Hugo’s affection. In a strange way, being spanked softly and slowly like this was much more humiliating than being spanked rapidly and hard. Because without the distraction of genuine pain to make the experience inescapably immediate and real, the childishly light little paddling ignited a lush and voluptuous shame, hitherto confined to savored threats and fantasies.
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