PT 95: Catching Sarah

“Sarah, sweetheart,” Grisham says. “You are going to come here, you are going to bend over my knee, and you are going to have your bottom spanked.”

“Am not,” Sarah growls. Her voice is getting softer though, even her growls aren’t as aggressive as they were before. They’re almost cute little snarls as she lowers her head and looks at Grisham under her lashes.

You can’t help but notice every time Grisham says something Sarah gets squirmier and somehow… smaller? Not literally, of course. Shes not shrinking. There’s just something about her which seems to be dwindling under Grisham’s attention.

“The longer you stall, the more I am thinking about pulling your pants and panties down too,” Grisham adds casually.

“No!” Sarah shakes her head again. “Stop it! Stop saying words!”

“Stop saying words?” Grisham’s cheek dimples. “Come over here, Sarah.”

Sarah almost takes a step toward her. Almost. Her foot moves an inch as if she is about to take a step, then stalls again. You almost feel sorry for her, she’s put herself in an impossible position and unlike you, she can’t exactly be physically overwhelmed – at least, you don’t think she can.

“Right,” Grisham says, sliding her hands down her thighs. She stands up and crossed the room toward Sarah. Sarah backs against the wall, pushing herself against the wood so forcefully you can hear it creak and crack.

You don’t quite see what happens next, it all happens so fast. There’s a whirl of motion, a high pitched squeal and the next thing you know, Grisham has Sarah up and over her shoulder, carrying her in a fireman’s lift.

The expression of shock on Sarah’s face is priceless as she is carried as if she weighs nothing at all. It seems pretty obvious that she’s never been handled like this before. Grisham walks back across the room with her, drops her lightly onto her feet and catches hold of her before she can run away again. With her large hand wrapped around Sarah’s wrist, Grisham tugs the squirming young super soldier back over her broad thighs. Sarah tips forward, the tight fit of her uniform making each one of her cheeks distinctly visible as Grisham wraps her arm around Sarah’s waist much more firmly this time and lands a swat on the seat of her pants.

It’s not nearly as hard as you’re expecting it to be. Actually, it’s more of a tap than a swat. You can’t imagine that it hurts at all, but Sarah’s entire body contracts as it lands. Not out of pain, necessarily. She has a very different neurology than most people, you realize. Maybe the first swat Grisham gave her was actually hard enough to trigger some kind of automatic escape mechanic programmed deep in Sarah’s altered biology. Maybe she really couldn’t help her reaction. Maybe she’s more sensitive than you’ve given her credit for.

“That doesn’t even hurt,” Sarah sneers over her shoulder.

Maybe not.