I’d been standing outside the hotel for nearly ten minutes. After leaving ten minutes earlier I’d high-tailed it to the nearest convenience store in order to obtain a tub of ice-cream. My theory being that if she didn’t have the appetite to eat it she could always lather it onto her butt to douse the fire. But now I’d brought it, my mind was caught up in a seemingly endless cycle of self-doubt; had I spanked her too hard? Did she hate me now? What if I’d gone too far? Would she still be in the hotel? What had I done? It was so bad that – despite half a dozen hastily smoked cigarettes – nothing was calming my nerves. Part of me wanted to disappear and not have to deal with the inevitable fall-out of our actions, whereas another part just wanted to run upstairs and do whatever I could to make up for my insensitivity.
Eventually, after maybe another five minutes, I swung open the hotel’s front door and made my way to the room we were staying in. I have no idea how long I stood at the door for, but I ended up slowly opening the room door and closing it with barely a sound.
What I saw when I entered the room was Samantha, standing naked from the waist down in front of the full length mirror on the cupboard door. She had her back to the reflective surface, her head craning over one shoulder to assess the damage that had been inflicted on her posterior. From her lack of reaction it appeared that she hadn’t heard me return, instead staring at the bulging, crimson mounds of flesh as if hypnotized.
If it were possible they looked worse than they had when I’d left. Courtesy of the swelling, her bottom appeared to be twice the size of what it had been an hour ago, and it now looked far more purple and black than it had twenty-odd minutes ago. Seeing such devastation simply confirmed all the doubts and fears that had crept into my mind during my cigarette smoking ice-cream run.
For nearly five minutes I stood in the doorway, transfixed on the woman before me as she slowly caressed her swollen cheeks as gently and thoroughly as she could. Every now and then her hand rose to wipe away what appeared to be a tear before returning to her backside.
Slowly, and without warning, she looked in my direction and our eyes met. We said nothing. We did nothing. We just looked at each other. Through eye-movement alone I tried to convey my sorrow, I tried to apologise for spanking her too hard, for causing so much pain, but it didn’t appear to be working. Instead, she just stared at me for what seemed an absolute eternity.
I don’t know how long it took for her to start moving, but out of nowhere she began taking slow, cautious steps across the faded carpet. From her movements it appeared she was in pain as she walked and I feared that when she reached me, courtesy of a right hook or knee to the groin, I would be in pain too, but all that happened was she slowly wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me into the tightest, closest most suffocating hug of my life.
Taken aback, I dropped the ice-cream and wrapped my arms around her back, squeezing her tighter, an action and elicited the first sound from Samantha since I’d re-entered the room; a blissful, near end-less sigh of utter contentment. She squeezed tighter, pressing her head close against my chest, squashing her breasts against my torso, rubbing her hands in gentle up-down movements on my lower back. I couldn’t help myself. I gently kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer, fighting every urge my body thrust at me to caress my hands over her buttocks.
Sensing my hesitancy she guided my right hand until it was gently touching her cheek. It didn’t surprise me how hot her flesh felt. Anything as red and swollen as her posterior was going to be a little warm to the touch. What did surprise me was how hard her skin felt. What had been soft and malleable before the spanking now seemed to be covered in a roughness, somewhat similar to the skin of a snake.
With my hand resting on her butt she pulled her head from my chest, eased herself onto tip-toes and kissed me softly on the lips. Breaking the hug she lingered on me for several seconds before waddling across the room to the bed. She eased herself down, placing a pillow between her legs, and lay on her side, staring at the laptop which had magically appeared on a chair beside the bed.
Saying nothing she patted the bed beside her in invitation. Perhaps she didn’t hate me after all.
Twenty minutes later we were spooning in front of My Neighbour Totoro. Our feet were intertwined, our knees tight together, my hand draped around her front and hugging her stomach tightly. I could feel the warmth in her posterior on my groin and did everything I could not to press tightly against it, not only out of sympathy for her pain, but because I didn’t want to spoil the moment with my all too expected reaction.
Out of nowhere she lifted my hand from her stomach, kissed it softly and replaced it. “Thank you,”
They were the first words she’d spoken since I’d finished spanking her. And they weren’t what I’d expected. “I’m sorry,”
She lifted her hand and thwacked me on the side of the head. “Don’t you fucking dare!”
And that was that; the extent of our conversation for nearly an hour and a half. Moments after her four line warning I delved into the ice-cream, feeding her the cool treat with a spoon as she gazed at the screen in a blissful, almost catatonic daze. Occasionally there was a giggle; occasionally a grunt of discomfort, but no more conversation.
We’d said all we needed say.