“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
The first lash came without further warning. The thin switch bit into my bottom with a sharp, burning pain that was nothing like his hand had been. I cried out, my whole body jerking.
“Count,” Chris said firmly.
“One,” I sobbed.
The second stroke landed just below the first. The pain was worse now, building on itself.
“Two.”
By the fifth stroke I was crying openly, my hands gripping the rough bark of the log so hard I could feel splinters digging into my palms. The switch found new places each time, painting lines of fire across my bottom and the tops of my thighs.
“Six,” I gasped.
“Seven.”
“Eight.”
The ninth stroke landed right across the sensitive crease where my bottom met my thighs and I shrieked, my hips bucking involuntarily.
“Nine,” I managed to choke out.
Three more. I could endure three more.
“Ten.”
“Eleven.”
The twelfth and final stroke was the hardest yet, and I felt something break inside me as I cried out the number. Not just pain but surrender. Complete and utter submission to my husband’s will.
The switch clattered to the ground. For a moment there was only silence except for my ragged breathing and quiet sobs.
Then I felt Chris’s hand on my burning bottom, rubbing gently. The touch should have brought relief, but instead it made everything worse, made me more aware of the pain, of how exposed I was, of how utterly under his control.
His hand moved lower, between my legs, and I gasped as his fingers found my pussy.
“You’re very wet,” he said. To my distress, I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Soaking wet, actually.”
The humiliation of having him feel my arousal, of knowing he could tell how much my body had responded to the punishment, made me want to die.
“You don’t deserve a reward, though,” Chris continued, his fingers still touching me there, making me squirm and whimper. “You need to learn to be a good girl for your husband if you want the reward nature put inside your little pussy… the one obedient wives get for pleasing their husband’s cock… for not making a fuss when their husbands decide it’s time to fuck them.”
I whimpered as much at his terrible words as at the movement of his fingers. Then those fingers withdrew, and I whimpered in helpless frustration as I heard him step back.
“Stand up,” he commanded. “We’re going back to the main trail now.”
I pushed myself up on trembling legs, reaching automatically for my jeans.
“No,” Chris said sharply. “Leave them where they are.”
I looked at him in horror, understanding what he meant. “Chris, please?—”
“You’re going to walk back to the main trail with your jeans and panties around your knees. So you remember what happens when you lie to me and try to run away.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. “Someone might see?—”
“Then you’d better hope no one comes down this trail.” His expression was implacable. “Start walking.”
