“I’m not that innocent,” you say. “I was in a cell, remember?”

“Mhm,” she says. “That’s not the kind of innocence I’m talking about.” She shakes her head at you and pulls you into a hug which leaves you pressed against her body, hard and yet soft at the same time. Grisham is so confusing. She has the capacity to simultaneously be one of the scariest people you’ve ever met, but she’s also given you more comfort than anyone else in this confusing time.

“You probably need as many of these as you need spankings,” she says, tapping your butt as she releases you and straightens your collar again. “We’ll start with the hair cut,” she says, her eyes running over you again with that critical gaze which makes you feel prickly and hot.

“I don’t want a hair cut. I like my hair.”

“Don’t whine,” Grisham says sharply. “That hair needs to come up off your collar. Be grateful you’re not getting a buzz cut.”

Just like that, you’re opponents again.

“I’m not getting a haircut,” you insist. “You can’t make me.”

“I can thrash you first if I need to,” she says, her frown from yesterday evening returning. “And you can sit on a sore bottom. Or you can behave yourself and it can be a non-event.”

It’s too late. The battle of wills has begun. In some strange way, it feels almost out of your control. You almost can’t help but resist her.

“Terra is the only one who can tell me to cut my hair,” you say. “Terra is my commanding officer. And she’s never said a thing about it.”

“She’s let you get away with a lot, I can tell,” Grisham says grimly. “You know this is going to end painfully for you, don’t you.”

“Nope, it isn’t.” You step away from her and glance toward the door.

“Don’t even think about running from me,” she says, her tone dropping low.

You cast your eyes back at her, and can’t help the smile that brims on your lips. There’s something about how strict and physically powerful she is that makes you want to test her.

“Not now, cadet,” she says, shaking her head at you. “You don’t want to start today crying, do you?”

“I won’t cry,” you say, brattily.

Grisham grabs you and pulls you off your feet. Her hand sweeps through the air and lands across your butt with a thunderous clap which is followed by your high pitched squeal. There are paddles that don’t hurt as much as her hand does at full force.

“Ow! Fuck!”

“Remember, you won’t cry,” she says, sitting on the bed. She pins your cursing, squirming body over her lap and starts spanking you hard and fast, her palm meeting your bottom with a sound like gun fire.

It hurts a lot. The ache is intense and the heat and the sting are just as bad, even over your uniform pants. Your boast about not crying lasts about thirty seconds before the tears start to well. You draw in deep sniffing breaths between cries as Grisham spanks you mercilessly.

“Cut it out! Stop it!”

She ignores your orders and if anything, spanks you harder. Your toes drum against the floor as you start to wail, your responses out of control as Grisham painfully calls your bluff. Her palm is going from cheek to cheek, whacking your bottom with enough force to make it numb for a moment, then burst into an explosion of heat and hurt.

Tears start to run down your cheeks as you give way to sobs. It hasn’t been two minutes since the spanking started and you can’t take it. You writhe and squirm and beg and plead for her to let you go, but she keeps spanking you until she’s satisfied.

Sixty seconds later, you scramble from her lap, crying and clutching at your bottom, but she’s not done with you yet. Her large, hot hand grips your wrist and she pulls you back toward her. Capturing your chin between her thumb and forefinger, she looks into your eyes with a stern gaze.

“Don’t test me,” she says firmly. “And don’t fight me. You will lose.”

A bolt of excitement zips through your body and finds its target low in your belly. You’re sore as hell, your face is wet with your tears and the notion of sitting at all is remote, but dammit, there’s some part of you that likes this. No. More than that, actually. There’s some part of you that loves it. Most of your superiors have either ignored your teasing and misbehavior, or believed your excuses whenever you made them up. None of that is going to work with Grisham, you can tell. And maybe you should hate her for lighting your bottom up like she just did, but you don’t. She gave you fair warning, you challenged her, and you got what she promised to give you.

“It hurts,” you say in a small voice.

“Mhm. It’s meant to,” she says, not unkindly. “And it will hurt next time too.”

“Next time?” You squeak the question.

“We both know there’s going to be a next time,” she says, smoothing her palms down her thighs as she stands up and looks down at you with a look which is equal parts affectionate and stern. “Don’t we?”