After what seems like another small eternity, you hear Grisham clear her throat.

“Alright,” she says. “Turn around and face me.”

You do so slowly, keeping your hands on your head. Facing her is worse than facing the wall. The wall doesn’t sit there looking at you with an expression that makes you want to melt into the floor. Looking at the wall doesn’t remind you that you’re at risk of being taken over its hard lamp and spanked to tears. The wall doesn’t make you feel seven kinds of squirmy and embarrassed.

“You can put your hands down,” she says. “By your sides. No rubbing.”

It’s a relief to finally put them down, though the ache in them is nothing compared to the sting and ache in your bottom – which seems worse now you’re looking at the cause of it.

“Do you know why I did that to you?”

“Because…” you trail off.

“Because when you mouthed off to me, you filled out the form for a thrashing, signed it in triplicate and lodged it with the postmaster,” Grisham says. “You put that spanking on order.”

“Yeah, with extra wedgie,” you mutter under your breath. Your panties are still sitting high, your bottom and hot cheeks exposed.

“Still a smart mouth,” Grisham says, shaking her head. “You’re resistant to learning, aren’t you.”

“No ma’am,” you say, your hands instinctively reaching back to cover your butt.

She’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite read. She doesn’t seem like she’s annoyed with you, and you don’t feel like you’re in more trouble.

“I’m trying to figure out what to do with you,” she says. “How does that bottom feel?”

“It hurts,” you admit, somewhat reluctantly. “I think you might have broken Terra’s rule about leaving marks.”

“Come here and let me check,” Grisham says, patting her lap.

After what she just did, her lap is about the last place you want to be, but you know disobedience isn’t going to be tolerated. You shuffle forward, and when she takes you by the wrist and turns you around, you close your eyes, bracing yourself for what might be another slap.

Instead, her fingers run gently over your bare cheeks as you stand there in front of her. She’s inspecting one of the more intimate parts of your body with a freedom which makes you feel very vulnerable, especially when she hooks a finger in the upper hem of your panties and pulls them from the crack of your butt, settling them over your flushed, sore skin.

“There’s no marks,” she says. “You’ve got a good, soundly spanked bottom. That’s all.”

Her palm cups your rear gently in a pat, then she stands up and uses her grip to walk you over to the bed. You end up laying face down on it, your bottom in the air, spared the pain of any weight being put on it. You don’t know what’s coming next, but this ordeal doesn’t feel over to you, not yet.

“When I used to get my butt whipped, I never wanted to talk to anyone for about a day,” Grisham says. “I can try and soothe some of that sting for you, or you can get some good sulking time in.”

You turn your head and look at her to see if she’s mocking you, but she actually seems to be genuinely asking you what you want from her.

“It’s no fun being reined in, even when you know you need it,” she says with a kind of stern humor. “And I reckon you know you deserved that, and needed it too, but that doesn’t mean it was any easier to take.”

When you don’t answer right away, she sits on the bed next to you and runs her hand up your thigh, her palm cupping your bottom as she briefly massages your poor, sore cheeks. It does make you feel better to have her show some kind of care, but your pride is about as sore as your butt too.

“What do you say, girl?” Her hand stills in the middle of your cheeks as she waits for your answer.