Her bottom tingled, as if covered in an army of restless ants, all of which were swarming the spankable surface, running faster and faster the closer he came. Her forehead touched his shoulders and his arms came around her, rocking her in a faint side to side motion. There was nothing trepidatious about that feeling. Just hearing the slow beat of his heart under her ear made her own dance in her chest.
“Why are we here, Stace?”
Her heart was still dancing. That that question didn’t kill it surprised her.
“Because I said things about myself that you don’t like and I’m very sorry for that.”
“Are you, though?”
That made her think. She bit her bottom lip, worrying it as she wondered whether she would do better to tell him what he wanted to hear or if she was supposed to be honest.
“I’m sorry I made you mad,” she said finally. “But I don’t understand why saying I don’t do things well is wrong.”
“Because you’re judging whether you’re doing things right based on the harmful things being said to you by others. It’s painful for me to see you repeating those same harmful things. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life thinking of yourself as inadequate in everything you do?”
She bowed her head, tapping at her fingers as her shoulders sank under the weight of the mountain of guilt now building up inside her. “No,” she said softly, hating that he was right. Hatingthat she could see herself doing exactly what he’d just said, and yet, it felt so real, so truthful whenever those things just popped out of her mouth.
“Pants down,” he told her again. “Panties too. Nose to the corner, please. I want you to think about how you can keep from being mean to yourself, because I’m not going to allow you to say these things anymore.”
She shouldn’t be saying mean things about herself to start with. When had it become such a habit?
Shoulders drooping, she walked herself to the same corner he’d put her in the last time he’d spanked her. Sighing, she glared at the walls, then took down her pants and panties both. It was horribly humbling.
“Hands on top of your head,” Brock said dryly.
She glanced back over her shoulder to find him standing by the crib, arms folded across his broad chest while he watched her.
“Turn around,” he ordered, making twirling circles with one finger until she did. “Nose to the wall.”
She sighed as she obeyed, tugged at her shirt, pulling it down as low as it would go over her bottom. For all the good it did. The moment she crept her hands up to rest palm on top of hand on top of her head, she could feel the hem of her shirt rising, baring her from behind. Her face flushed hot and her eyes began to sting from the watery rush slowly filling up the back of her throat until it overflowed her lashes and blurred everything before her.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, filling in the heavy silence that was quickly growing every bit as awful as having to stand bare-assed in front of him.
She sniffled, and then shrugged. She wasn’t sure she knew all the words to effectively describe what she was thinking about. Not that it would help. It wasn’t like she was thinking about anything that he’d actually sent her to the corner for.
“Use your words,” he coaxed. “What are you thinking about?”
She sighed, sniffled harder, and finally confessed. “How awful this feels. It’s so embarrassing.”
“How about you forget about the embarrassment, and instead start thinking about why I sent you there.”
Tipping forward, she rested her head against the joining of the walls. Snaps from the fireplace crackled softly behind her, the warmth spreading out from the hearth soaked into the backs of her bare legs. It was the next best thing to an actual spanking that she’d yet felt. If he wanted her to think about what she was waiting here for, the fire helped. The heat soaking into the backs of her thighs was rising up to kiss the curves of her bare buttocks, warming her there too. Like his impending spanking was going to do, once he’d decided she was here long enough.
And that wouldn’t be decided until she was done thinking. That felt impossible. She wasn’t any good at thinking about things, and the problem Brock had set her to brainstorming already seemed impossible. How was she supposed to remember not to do things that came so second nature to her that she was barely aware she was doing them?
“It’s too hard,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I can’t think of anything, except how awful this is.”
“Perhaps I should spank you. Maybe if I make that feel worse than the awfulness, you’ll start to pay better attention to doing what you were told to do in the first place.”
“But I can’t think of anything!” she cried, bouncing on her heels. “How am I supposed to stop myself from doing something I barely know I’m doing anyway? That’s just stupid!”
“So, you’re telling me that you’d rather I help you brainstorm preventative measures than continue trying on your own?”
Her chest got tight. She felt guilty for not trying harder. Seriously, how difficult was it to just not talk? For sure shewouldn’t say the sort of things he took exception to if she never said anything at all.
“I just come up with dumb things,” she muttered sadly. At the first tromp of his boots as he came closer, Stace closed her eyes. Knowing he was coming for her didn’t make her feel worse, though. Instead, like an instant balm on an aggravating itch, she relaxed. It was only slightly appalling to suddenly realize—
Her eyes flew open wide. Flipping around, she stared up at Brock, one hand clapping across her mouth to keep back a startled cry.
