Samantha feels almost human as the sun's warmth seeps into her bedroom on the third morning. Though the mere thought of vodka began to make her stomach flip, as she recalled, she didn't drink one but two bottles that night. She takes deep breaths and remembers Jasmine's words—that Marc cries and could help. Something she tried to convince Samantha of years ago, but she was too stubborn to accept then.
A soft knock comes on the door as Sam rubs her eyes, chasing away the nightmares. The feeling of being chased, having nowhere to go, and constantly falling, reaching for an edge that never appears. Her body trembles at the memory of hell that she can't escape.
The knocks seem to persist. Wanted holds her eyes closed tightly, taking a deep breath. The soft smell of lavender and sandalwood fills her nostrils, and the floorboard creaking alerts her to someone's presence. Opening her eyes, Sam looks up at Marc's imposing build.
"It's time to get up." Marc's voice sounds husky and commanding.
"I am awake already. The world is still spinning, but I am awake." Samantha replies with a front of pain
"It's time for you to get up and get a shower. Need to get your hair washed."
"I really can't, not this morning Marc."
"It's not a choice. It's time to get up and get going. If I let you remain in bed, you will never get out.'"
"And if I refuse?" Samantha hears herself asking without thinking. The words, the attitude, dripping in sarcasm, challenge him.
"You can't."
"Oh? Why not?" Her blood is pounding in her mind for some reason. Fuck...fuck...fuck... Her drunk brain is still fading. She is questioning why she is fighting Jim while running, going headfirst into defiance.
"Samantha, I already told you. If you, needed to, I realizesake you across my knee."
"Sure! Of course, you would. If you were going to, you would have done it already. So give me a couple more hours, and I will get up."
"Young, lady. I need you to get up now." Marc's voice is slow and measured. Alarm bells are going off deep in Sam's mind, but are so far away she barely even notices them.
"I will not get out of bed now. You will have to go."
"Samantha, do you trust me to do what is right for you? To look out for your trubsway, I think you should be. To direct you and make you do what I wish?"
"Fuck you, I will not you for years, and you never did anything." Jabbing her finger into his chest, she was livid as this was his fault. He has free reign to correct her; Samantha told him for years that it is HIS fault... "You allowed me to fuck up my life like this. You could have stopped it if you wanted to, hell I even tried to seduce you, and you turned me down. Of course, I was drunk then but no, you and your fucking morals. Of course, I trust you, and look where I am. I trust you to do anything you want,d, and you did NOTHING. So now I will not get out of bed, and you better get the fuck out of my.... "
The smoothness of the action sends Sam's mind reeling as the words trail off. His grit on her wrist as he pulls her from the bed effortlessly benefits. Her chest and upper body hit the mattress as he pins the back of her legs under his right knee. Shifting her weight across his left thigh, she tries to escape. The sound of his right palm striking her lower left ass reaches her ears long before the pain begins to set in.
"Yeeooowwww..." Samantha is howling at the first strike, instantly regretting all those times she teased Jasmine; this fucking hurts, "Wait! We can talk about this!!!"
As the second strike lands on the lower right ass, the pressure begins to build. With every strike, some sound, whimper, screech, or howl escapes Samantha's lips. The warmth, initially a pain, escalates quickly as //she struggles against the correction. Pushing with her hands, she does her best to reach as tears spring. She can barely hear his words as she realizes he has been speaking to me this whole time...
"What, Sir?" Samantha asks desperately, trying to appease him.
"I will not, now, or ever tolerate thisasksnguage from you, young lady. Is that clear?"
"Yes! I understand..." Samantha's hands move to her ass, doing her best to protect herself. Showing her palms and reaching as far down as she can. "I will be good ... I promise!"
"Move your hands, young lady."
"Please, Sir, I will be good..." Sam cries out as she rubs her burning bottom on the edge of tears. She hates this; she curses and promises she is not going to breakunknownShe is not going to relent, her ass is on fire, but she is still in control.
"Remove your hands, young lady," Marc commands, but still she refuses. The rubbing of her ass with the back of her hands is already easing her pain as she begins to regain her composure.
Her hands quickly twist as Marc pins her wrists to the small of her back. No longer able to run or push and move away, Sam yelp in protest as he strikes her ass, then yanks down her pajama bottoms and panties. It didn't hurt yet, but the surprise startled her as he pressed the back of my knees under his right leg, her hips lifted, and her face flushed. The movement causes her legs too, lifting her hips, her body, everything tender she has been offered up to his eyes, him.
"Wait! Please!"
"You failed to lower your hands, young lady. You need to start obeying..."
"I will; just give me a chance, Sir!"
"I did," Marc says.
His hands begin to strike the lower part of her ass, where she sits comfortably across the bottom of her ass and thighs. The cries of pain that escaped her lips reach down into the very recess of her soul as the tears come. It has been years since she has cried, and the tears still come.
No longer focused on the present moment, as the stinging pain continues to build, she thinks of all the times she has failed him. Altruly mattersarc has offered his help, but she refused. Every time he has tried to be there to talk to her, every time in a thousand different ways, he has shown her that she was loved but never felt worthy of it. A,s the emotional pain and the warmth reached a breaking point; something inside her snaps, and the sobs rack through her body.
"Marc?" she asks. Nearly thirty minutes later, after the pain subsides, she realizes the spanking has stopped.
"Yes, sweetie?" He asks in a calmin,g voice.
"I emerge for not listening to these years. I am so sorry for not allowing you to help. I am so sorry for what I said and will try to improve. I trust you, the dead."
"Thank you. I forgive you, and you have a clean slate."
Forgiveness sends her somewhere unknown. The wave of relief that washes over her is nearly impossible to explain. The aches and pains of always being wrong and never being enough wash from Samantha as the memories of being worthless leave through her tears. Therfeeling of hrubsnce strong and commanding touch shifting to a gentle caress shocks her.
Samantha loves Marc; she has always loved him but was never worthy of it. She was never anyone who realized that she could be loved. So many people told her this so many times. Sam had always believed them, releasing moments of tears and warmth lingering in her mind.
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Why did you spank me?"
"Besides the language?"
Her face flushes, and she buries her head in the softness of the comforter blanket a moment before turning her head, "Yes, why now?"
"As you sat on the beach, you told Jasmine you wanted to go to bed and never wake up."
"Yes, but..."
"I won't allow you to give up, Samantha. You mean so much more to me than that. I won't let you ever believe you walk this path alone again."
The tears began to fall once more from happiness the first time. For the first time in Samntha's life she was not upset that Jasmine told on her. For the first time she is completely safe and home. As the t eyes as Marc rubs and grasps her ass softly, she feels loved, cherished and that she matters truly to him.
The sensation of crying, of the release through pain, did some feel. A strange se,nsation of not needing to be strong sent her over the edge. Suddenly, she wasn't too strong to cry, and the tears kept coming even as Marc" 's hand caressed her lower back.
The emotions poured out of her from the tears she couldn't cry at my dad's funeral years ago and, finally, rerolled downer her cheeks. The loss of her job, the boyfriend, and life falling apart. In the m, young of crying, everything started to come out and break through the invisible barrier she held for herself.
The moment he first made contact, she felt something—a closeness that she had never felt with anyone before, that she was truly vulnerable. Calling him Sir and listening, having to listen in the moment, was scary, as she had no control. But he must have never felt safer than when he had complete authority over her.
"Marc?" Samantha asks softly, a
"Yes?" Marc answers, his voice calm and soothing. No longer the harshness that existed when he was soldering her.
She shifts her weight slightly and realizes his leg isn't pressimen o,n his. Her sweet slit is no longer within his full view as he releases the pressure from her leg. She shakes out her feet to try to ease the pain that resonates down her ass to the upper thighs.
Running her hands forward over the silk sheets beneath the comforter, a soft breath escapes Samantha's lips. The sensation of hi,s hands grasping my flesh sends tingles all over. Squeezing her thighs tightly, she bites on the sheet beneath her, keeping the soft mews of pThe small erect ripples present to him assure from escaping.
"Spajamascuts through the muffled haze my mind exists in.
Shaking her head, she initially refuses as this moment, this tenderness is a dream and overdue desire. Hiding behind her long blond hair, pretends she does not belong as he repeats the command. Samantha realizes if she stands she will leave the safety of his touch, the warmth of his body, and the stiffness that presses into her. Even as her bare flesh touches his jeans, she feels the arousal pressing into her. Wanting desperately and surprisingly to feel his power in other ways as well.
Closing her eyes softly, the power of his grip on her skin shocks Samantha as a squeal of pain leaves her lips. The squeal intensifies as his fingertips grasp tightly into my flesh. The pain is almost overwhelming, "Ow...ow...ow.....ow... Wait!"
"You have to get up, young lady..." Marc's voice is dark.
"Ow.... Please. I will get up... Shit!" The sense of his fingers digging into my lower ass is excruciating as she squirms to try to escape. Finding momentary relief as he moves his hand. But as she catches her breath after a few moments, he begins again on the other side.
"When I tell you to do something, young lady, you must obey." His voice sends soft trembles through her body. Obey sounds so final, so complete, that it keeps her in deep thought until his fingernails press into her flesh. The squeaks and pleading come forth once more.
"Please, I will be good. I promise to obey," she cries softly, forgetting her desire to disobey minutes before.
"Stand y, young lady," Marc commands as he releases his grip.
Moving her hands down beneath her, she quickly moves. Pressing down across the bed, she pushes me up, feeling the pajama bottoms and panties slip down as she lifts herself off of his lap. Absentmindedly, I grasped for the seam to keep them from falling when his palm struck across her left cheek as a grasp escaped her lips.
"Did I tell you to pull them up?"
"No, Sir." She answers as the pajamas slide down to her ankles, realizing belatedly what he wanted. Placing her hands on the hem of her shirt, she lifts it over her head as her pert breasts come free.
The small erect ripples present to him as Samantha steps out of her pajamas. Letting her top fall to the floor, she stands before him, a named, spanked, scolded, crying girl who is right where she has always belonged. Naked and unafraid, standing before a man that her body, heart, and soul belong.