I now return you to your narrative of misbehavior and its consequences…
Whipping girl for everyone on the island? Goddamn. As sore and miserable as you are, that paints a hell of a picture. Grisham’s harsh words echo in your ears as she stands over you, casting a shadow over your red bottomed form.
“Toxic dump? It makes this place sound bad when you say it that way,” you mumble.
There’s a pause and you risk a glance over your shoulder. Grisham is trying not to laugh, you can see it in the way her cheek twitches.
“You’re a fucking smart ass,” she snorts. “But it’s only going to get you in a world of hurt. Now get your nose back in that corner already before I start over with you.”
You do as you are told. Your butt can’t cash any more checks for your mouth, and you are officially done testing Grisham. For the moment, at least.
She leaves you standing there for what feels like an hour, your arms and butt aching. If you do more than shift your weight from foot to foot, she snaps at you to stand still. This is embarrassing as hell, and your butt still hurts. You can’t help but feel sorry for yourself, even though you know you practically begged her to do this to you.
Another sneaky glance over your shoulder reveals her sitting in the arm chair, keeping an eye on you. She is sternness personified and you feel a clenching sensation low in your belly as you look at her in her perfectly pressed uniform, her brows rising over slightly narrowed eyes. You make eye contact with her and she lifts her hand and swirls her finger in the air in a silent ‘turn around’ gesture.
You whimper and return your gaze to the corner. This part of the punishment is almost worse than the first part. You can’t talk, can’t move, can’t rub your aching bottom, can’t do anything besides stand there with a hot, sore ass and a growing sense of… regret?