"These are all paddles, but each produces a slightly different sensation. This is a wooden fan paddle. Go ahead. Touch it."
Pam ran her fingers over the polished surface of the implement, which she considered a little larger than a ping pong paddle, but nearly as thin. The wood felt cool, almost soothing.
"Notice how the paddle is wide, smooth, and absent of any holes. Wood has little give in it, making this instrument the most unforgiving of the three, but, remarkably, the least painful. Since the surface is broader there is more air resistance and the pain is spread over a larger area." He set it back on the bed and selected the paddle to its right that she imagined was made of transparent Swiss cheese.
"This is Lexan." He placed the paddle in her hands. "See how light it is?" Pam nodded. The spatula-shaped implement felt almost insubstantial. "Lexan is far more pliable than wood, which means it leaves a snappier impression and a stronger bite. The holes cut down on the air resistance, making it the most painful of the three."
Pam tilted her head back. "But it's so flexible, it seems flimsy."
He nodded. "I know. But, trust me, it's not." He removed the paddle from her fingers, put it back, and picked up the third in line. A thick leather swatter that reminded her of a small cricket bat. Again, he set it in her hand.
"As you can see, this one is thicker than the fan paddle and the blade is padded, giving it a slight cushion. Its thinner, rectangular shape covers less area, so even though there's a little more give in it, there's less resistance, which gives it a bit more slap. I'd put this one in the middle of the discomfort meter, though I doubt you'd be able to tell much difference between this and the fan paddle."
"Make your decision, Pam. I can try them out on your hand first, if you want. Due to the lack of protective cushioning there, my strikes will be much lighter, but sharp enough to give you an idea. If you still can't choose, I'll give you five of each, leaving the Lexan for last."
She turned, and he released her but didn't move back. "I realize you mean to teach me a lesson, but every one of these seems so impersonal. Is there no way you could use your hand instead?"
He shook his head. "Not this time. Want me to test them on the back of your hand first?"
At her reluctant nod, he picked up the wooden fan paddle. "Hold your hand out, palm down."
When she obeyed, he brought the implement down once. Though he'd clearly put little to no strength behind the smack, the nerves in her hand instantly fired a thousand impulses. Giving a cry, she thrust her hand toward her mouth and gazed at him. "That hurt."
One eyebrow arched, but, rather than comment, he switched to the leather cricket bat next. "Hand."
She hesitated then slowly extended her arm. He placed his fingers under hers to hold them in place, and slapped the paddle down. Her nerves complained even more vociferously this time as she jerked her hand back, shook it, then covered it with her other hand. She thought that one seemed a little less painful, despite the fact he'd held her still for the strike.
He selected the Lexan next and extended his hand for hers. "Last one."
With a sigh, Pam placed her fingers on his palm and shut her eyes. Despite his barely touching her with the flimsy-looking spatula, a fiery agony of ten thousand fire ants erupted on her hand. Jerking back, she yanked the injured body part to her mouth and did a little dance until the pain subsided.
"Shit. That one is diabolic."
He tapped her nose. "Language. Your bottom has a lot more padding, and fewer nerves, but you get the idea."
"I don't think I can do this."
"It won't be easy, and you're going to want me to stop long before I'm ready to end the session, but you'll survive."
"After fifteen swats, I won't be able to sit for a week."
He bent toward her. "Fifteen is an exceptionally light punishment, Pam. You'll be able to sit with little discomfort by tomorrow morning."
She shook her head and turned away, but he drew her into his arms. "Want me to decide for you instead?"
"I hate that Lexan thing. I don't want it. Ever."
"Your choice, for tonight. So, wood or leather?"
Glancing up at him, she asked, "Between those two, which would you choose?"
"The fan paddle."
"You seem pretty sure about that."
"The leather one seems like it would be less painful, but the pain is concentrated in a smaller area. The fan paddle distributes the discomfort more evenly."
"You appear to know a lot about paddles."
"I've been doing this a while, and I've seen the results."
"What happens afterward?"
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I'm going to be hurting, most likely sobbing and upset. Do you intend to simply turn out the light and abandon me to my misery?"
"I would never leave you when you're distraught and in tears. If you're ranting and angry, I might insist you stand in a corner to calm down, but I'd remain with you until you could discuss the problem in a more rational frame of mind."
She gazed into his eyes. "I'm sorry for throwing a temper tantrum." He didn't reject her apology, but his lack of a reply indicated it was insufficient, so she turned away again, and his arms tightened in reassurance. He wouldn't relent, but he wasn't going to push her before she was ready to submit, either.
Finally, she said, "I'll follow your suggestion. So I guess we'll be playing ping pong with my butt tonight," she quipped, trying to hide her apprehension behind glib words, though she doubted she fooled anyone. Especially, not herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"Good girl," Rob praised as he led Pam over to the edge of her bed. "Put your knees on the padded bench and bend over."
She knelt on the soft, velvet-covered surface but stayed upright. Bending over in submission seemed so final, she couldn't do it. Not yet.
His hands remained firm at her waist, but he didn't press her. She was immensely grateful for that. Instead, he stroked her sides then reached beneath her nightie and lightly caressed her posterior. She stiffened at the first touch then pressed back against his supportive shoulder.
"Breathe, Pam, and try to relax."
She wanted to scoff, but her throat was too tight to manage more than a whimper. Hatred had allowed her to accept her stepfather's belt with stoic indifference. But she didn't hate Rob for what he intended to do or the fact he wanted her willingly engaged as a partner in the process, which was much more difficult than mere acceptance.
"I'm not your stepfather, Pam. I would much rather be giving you pleasure than pain, but I need you to assimilate the reality that I will provide everything you require, even when you don't want it."
"What if I said I believed you?"
He pressed a kiss to her temple. "But you don't. Not really. Not until I prove it to you, and if I backed down, you'd have even more cause to doubt my word later on. How could you trust me to follow through when you needed me, if you could easily talk me out of fulfilling my promise tonight?"
Tears fell, but she gave a nod and leaned forward then let out a soft sob when he bared her buttocks by raising her nightie to her shoulder blades.
He plunked a box of tissues near her right hand. "Use these if you need them, but, when we start, I want you to place your fingers and palms flat on the bed. You're going to want to put them behind you, but I can't allow that. Bring your hands below your waist, and I'll hold them captive at the small of your back. I refuse to take any chance I'll break a finger or worse. In the future, I'll add swats if you move your hands back, but, this time, I'll simply keep them out of the way."
He bent forward and something soft rested against the back of her knees, but when she tried to turn and see what he was doing, he said, "No. Hold your position. I'm securing restraints to keep you from kicking out and losing your balance."
Restraints? He had restraints built into his furniture? Pam's breathing instantly sped up until he stroked her again "Easy, kitten."
"I hate restrain
ts. Max used to tie my ankles together when I struggled. Can't you leave my legs free?"
"I could, but I think you'll find the support reassuring, and, since this is your first real punishment from me, I want to make the experience as tolerable as possible for you."
"I'm not reassured, Rob," Pam gasped out. "I'm scared."
"And I'm here." He continued his caresses until her muscles gave up the fight and she relaxed beneath his touch. "Better. Remember why I'm doing this and take comfort from the fact you'll never need to hurt yourself again. Ever." At her nod, he said, "Lay your head down and breathe."
He kept on stroking her for a minute then his hand firmed on her back. "Normally, I wouldn't limit a punishment to a fixed number, but, tonight, I want to set your expectations, so I'll stop at fifteen, but not before. We'll begin."
The sting from the paddle's first strike had her grabbing the covers and arching her back. "Ow."
"Hands flat," he reminded.
"It hurts." Rather than reply he administered the next swat.
Tears streamed down Pam's cheeks as she panted against the pain. He maintained a steady pace that had her jerking and crying out with every stroke of the paddle until he reached five. Unable to help herself at that point, she flung her right hand back in protest. "No more. Please. I'm sorry."
He grabbed her wrist and pinned her arm to her back. "So am I," he said as the hurtful implement fell again and Pam screamed. She hadn't begged her stepfather to stop, because she knew her pleas would only egg him on, but she started to beg Rob as she struggled to free herself.
"Ow. I'm sorry. I won't—Rob, please, no more. I'll…. Oh, God. It hurts!"
She lost count, and he wasn't counting aloud, so she couldn't say when she ceased trying to get away, but eventually she slumped on the bed and sobbed. Too spent to fight or beg, she accepted. Shortly after that, he stopped and bent over her.
"It's over, kitten. You did very well. I'm proud of you."
She blinked at him as he handed her a wad of tissues. "Proud? I'm a mess."
"You did just fine," he reassured, as he freed her legs. She had tested the restraints and found they had made her feel more secure, despite the fact she couldn't escape.
The moment her knees were released, she turned on her side to face him but couldn't help cringing when he reached for her. He ignored her flinch and lifted her in his arms to move her to the center of the mattress before he stretched out alongside her to stroke her back.
"I don't want you to do that to me—ever again."
"I believe that is precisely the point I wished to make. If you ever feel a need for pain, I want you to come to me first. Now, would you like me to hold you?"
"No. I'm…."
"You're what?"
She blinked again then reached out to him, desperate for reassurance.
"That was terrible," she wailed as he drew her close to his chest. "I was so helpless and vulnerable."
"I regret needing to fill you with so much uncertainty, but you'll never try to cut or injure yourself again, will you?"
She shook her head as she clung to him and cried. He was the one who hurt her, and yet he was the only one who could take the pain away. The only one who could soothe her. The irony wasn't lost on Pam, but at the moment he offered her everything she needed.
"My butt's on fire," she stated when she finally stopped sobbing.
"It's a little pink."
"Pink! You're kidding. It feels like it's lobster red."
"Nope." He lowered his hand, and she jerked back with a hiss. "Shh. Let me rub for a minute, and the stinging will ease."
At first, his rubbing hurt almost as much as the paddle, then her nerves calmed and, as her discomfort eased, her breathing slowed.
"Talk to me, Pam. What are you thinking?"
"That this is harder than I thought it would be."
"What is? Submitting?"
"Yes. My stepfather removed all my options and whipped me until he was satisfied I was beaten. You gave me choices, which made your punishment all the more difficult to accept."
"I won't always give you a choice, Pam."
"I know. You said that already." She drew back to look at him. "I won't try to cut myself again. I promise."
"Good girl." He ran his fingers through her hair then bent to touch his mouth lightly to hers. She met his kiss eagerly, but, when she tried to deepen it by swiping her tongue across his lips, he pulled back. "Too soon, kitten. I want to make love to you more than anything, but I think it's best we wait until you're on firmer ground."
"I'm on the bed, and it seems pretty firm to me."
He chuckled then tapped her nose. "I meant emotionally, brat. You've been through a lot in the past few days. You just got out of the hospital today; you're in a new place with new rules and starting a slightly different relationship with me. Adding sex into the mix would be overload for you, I think."
Though his rejection stung, the gentle stroking of his hand helped ease the pain of her disappointment. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep?"
She nodded, recalling how he'd read to her the other night. She couldn't remember either of her parents ever reading aloud, and she wanted the safety and security his presence offered. "Yes, please. Perhaps you could read to me again?"
"All right, but let's get you under the covers, first." And, with a few quick moves, he had her settled on her side beneath the sheet and blanket. He picked up the book she kept on her night table, glanced at the title, and replaced it before turning back to her again. Though he remained fully dressed and stretched out on top of the counterpane, he managed to wrap his arms around her until she rested his head on his chest.
He wore a light, expensive cologne that reminded her of a tropical forest filled with evergreens. A touch of pine, a hint of smoke, and a trace of lime. The scent was uniquely his, and it had been imprinted on her brain.
"I didn't handle that very well, did I?"
"For your first time, I think you handled it exceptionally well. As I said, I'm proud of you."
"How could you be proud? I flung my hand back and begged you to stop."
"And I held your hand safely out of the way before I continued."
"There's no grace in begging."
"There's no disgrace in it either. It's quite natural for you to want me to cease hurting you. But if I'd done as you asked, I would have failed in my promise to you, which is something I refuse to do."
She stroked his shirt. "It won't always be that bad, will it?
"No. But I won't say that's the worst you'll ever receive from me, either."
"It's not?"
"No, but I believe it would rank among the top ten."
Drawing back to glimpse his face, she asked, "Top ten? There are nine higher levels of pain and discomfort than that?"
"Many more than nine, actually, but I'd say on a scale of one to twenty, I'd rate that paddling around ten for you. What would you give it?"
"A twenty," she answered without hesitation.
"As a punishment spanking, I'd place it at a three."
She jerked away from him. "A three? You've got to be joking."
"No. A paddle is a relatively low-impact instrument compared to a crop or a cane. I prefer to use floggers for pleasure, but even they can deliver a sharper sting than a paddle."
Pam couldn't believe what he was telling her. "A flogger? You've flogged your admins before?"
"Only a few who enjoyed leather slapping against their flesh."
"Enjoyed it?"
"Yes, Pam. Some women like getting spanked."
She shook her head. "I can't stay with you."
"Because you're afraid of what I might do?"
"Yes! Your hand was bad enough. That paddle was evil, and yet you only gave it a three."
"I've already told you I intend to reserve spankings for the most serious infractions, like lying and putting yourself down. Now I need to add causing harm to the list—
"
"I won't do that again."
"So, you say, and yet you took pills and drank wine—"
"That was an accident."
"Perhaps, but it was still a self-destructive thing to do. Then, you cut your hands. From your actions alone, I'd say the desire to cause injury is aligned with your self-image. Until you see yourself as deserving of love and attention, and stop viewing the time I spend with you as nonproductive, there's a good chance you'll continue to punish yourself. The pain from cutting is something you know how to handle. It helps turn your focus away from the messy emotions you find more difficult to face."
"Did you take Psych 101 in college or something?"
"I minored in psychology. Understanding how people think is essential if I wish to avoid the liars and cheaters who are abundant in business."
"I'm still not convinced this will work between us."
"We'll never know unless we try."
"Fine," she agreed, though a part of her nearly overflowed with doubt.
He smiled at her obvious disgruntlement. "In case you're wondering, this cleared the slate for everything. The liquor, pills, Koppler file, as well as the bathroom incident."
Her eyes widened. "All of them? The slate's clean?"
"Yes. Totally. So, how are you feeling now?"
Pam took inventory of her aches and pains. "Okay, I guess. My backside still burns, but the pain has dulled to a mere throbbing."
"That's your physical state. I want to know about your state of mind. If you had to sum up your mood in one word, what would that be?"
She considered his question. What were her thoughts about the punishment she just received? "Relieved. I've been anxious since you read me the riot act. Even in the hospital, things remained unsettled between us."
"I figured that would be the case, which is why I wanted to assure you those infractions are forgiven and forgotten as well."
"Thanks. I didn't like going through it, but now that it's over, I feel as if a burden has been lifted. Lighter."
"Good," he replied with a nod then rolled onto his back, tucked her into his side, and reached for the book. She let out a soft sigh and relaxed against him. "Close your eyes and listen while I relate the story of the March sisters."
Lessons in Love Page 22
