Darling Dixie by Sabrina Luna, D/s Spanking
Prices must be paid for being
tardy, and this is one Dixie won't forget
Copyright (c)
2004 by The Author, all rights reserved, not for sale
Dixie
awoke to the soft pattering of rain outside her bedroom window.
She wanted to linger, to savor the grayness of the silvery
morning and drift back to sleep, but she couldn’t—she was
expected promptly downstairs for breakfast. Closing her eyes
for another moment longer, she recalled the previous evening.
Still wrapped in the satiny sheets, a bittersweet wave of mixed
emotions made her naked body tremble with reverberation.
Mitchell Wilcox hadn’t said a word about her
tardiness for dinner, but she saw it reflected in his eyes as
she entered the downstairs dining room. His manservant,
Nicholas, pulled back her chair. She sank down into the seat
humbly uttering a sincere apology. Mitchell had only nodded,
but didn’t saying anything. She saw an obvious disapproving
look on his finely chiseled features throughout their dinner.
Her stomach coiled in anticipation as she forced herself to eat,
finishing the soup, main course and half of her dessert in the
chilled silence of his gaze.
As Nicholas cleared the table, Mitchell sipped his
after dinner wine and fixed his sky blue eyes firmly upon her
anxious features. Dixie, in return, studied his handsome face.
A man just past forty, physically fit and in his prime. His
gingerbread colored hair was shorn short, highlighting his
finely chiseled features and cleft chin. Mitchell’s thick
moustache accented the sensual curve of his lips with a
charismatic charm that made her body desire to respond to his
every move, his every gaze and his every command.
The
tenseness in the air hung heavy and thick between the opposite
ends of the large, finely-crafted wooden table. Nicholas bowed
low, then withdrew, quiet as a church mouse, closing the doors
to the dining room with a soft click.
A smug
smile tugged at Mitchell’s lips from under his thick moustache.
Dixie blushed, her body taunt with apprehension and folded her
hands into her lap.
“So, my little protégé, what is my rule about meal
times?” he asked softly, smoothly arching an eyebrow to her end
of the table.
“Breakfast is at seven. Lunch is at noon and dinner
is at seven o’clock sharp, unless you decide otherwise,
Mitchell, sir.”
“Good. I thought I hadn’t made myself clear enough,
my dear. You’ve been my protégé for only a month and you’re
doing well,” he flashed her a faint smile that disappeared
quickly and added somberly, “but you still have a lot to
learn.”
Dixie’s
skin prickled hotly under the silky folds of her dress as
Mitchell rose, walking over to her side. Fervent heat radiated
from his body as he leaned down close, his warm breath upon the
light pink contours of her ear.
“From now
on, I want you to be on time for meals in my house. Do I make
myself clear, Dixie, darling?” His low, lusty whisper washed
from her ears to the soft, feminine folds between her legs.
She
nodded, lowering her chin, her face flushing with a rosy hue of
disgrace and embarrassment.
“Now, get
up and roll your skirt above your waist,” he commanded in a rich
voice that sent a chill of apprehension down her spine.
Mitchell placed his hands on the top of the chair smoothly
drawing it away as she rose, trembling, to her feet.
Dixie
drew a ragged breath, her heart hammering in her chest as she
reached down and rolled the hem of her dress slowly up her legs
until she reached her thin, delicate undergarments.
“Good
girl. Now, bend down over the table with your hands above your
head and legs apart, please.” The politeness of his tone stoked
the flickers of Dixie’s inner fire, adding an unique edginess to
Mitchell’s bidding.
A soft
whimper of protest escaped from her lips as Dixie bent over,
stretching across the wooden table as Mitchell had instructed.
The cool, hard table offered little comfort, except for the
faint scent of lemon, which played with Dixie’s senses. She
waited silently, filled with a wicked mixture of awkwardness and
arousal. Dixie gasped, instinctively squirming as Mitchell’s
hand caressed the cheeks of her buttocks through the sheer
panties.
“Lie
still, love.” His voice was laced with firm authority.
A tiny
flicker of fear shot through her, but, Dixie knew he wouldn’t
truly hurt her. Mitchell Wilcox was a man who would honor their
agreement and be both safe and fair. Dixie exhaled a deep
breath and let the unsettling emotion drift far away.
His
fingers hooked the elastic waistband of her panties, sliding the
silky material down until it pooled on the floor at her ankles.
Dixie flushed at the intensity of the heated feelings raging
within her. Distress and disgrace filled every part of her
being as she realized just how venerable and exposed she was to
Mitchell’s strong, dominating presence.
“Are you
ready, Dixie?”
Her reply
was knotted in her throat. Dixie meekly nodded.
Dixie’s
stomach tightened as she braced herself for the first swat. The
warm pressure of a firm hand on the small of her back held her
securely upon the tabletop. The air swished, his palm meeting
its mark upon the soft cushion of her delicate globes with a
sharp smack.
“Ow!”
Her stunned utterance slipped from her lips before she could
control herself.
“Be
quiet,” Mitchell warned firmly, but gently. “This is for your
own good, Dixie.”
For your
own good.
His words
echoed in her head as Mitchell resumed administering his flat
palm to her delicate derrière with sharp, swift strokes. Each
swat intensified the stings and the stings quickly spread into
fiery markings of warm, delicious pain across the exposed
expanse of her bottom. Salty tears trickled down the flushed
cheeks of her face. Dixie attempted to stifle her sobs, her
chest rising and falling with quickened breaths as her fleshy
buttocks quivered under Mitchell’s steady rhythm.
“Stop
please,” she weakly pleaded, through the continued torture upon
her behind , “I won’t be late again—ever. Oh, please!”
Dixie thought her words had fallen upon deaf ears. Mitchell
continued to swat her red hot derrière with a couple of more
swift strokes, then, mercifully, stopped.
The steady
pressure eased from the small of her back as the room was eerily
silent, except for her unbridled sniffles. The hard wood of the
table was a vast contrast to the burning sensation still
lingering in her bottom as
Dixie remained on the table, still shivering from Mitchell’s
administering touch.
“Dixie,
darling, you may get off the table now.”
Dixie struggled to stand up, a slow burn still lingered in her
lower extremities. A guiding hand took hold of her elbow,
steadying her balance as she rose from the tabletop.
Mitchell
gazed down at her and, despite the sensations on her derrière,
his sky blue eyes made her heart flutter. He leaned forward,
planting a gentle kiss upon her moist brow as his hand tenderly
brushed against her bared, reddened bottom. Dixie winced, a low
groan escaping from her lips as the contact recreated the
reverberation of discomfort.
“You’re
very fortunate tonight, my dear,” Mitchell said gently. “I went
easy on you tonight because I want you to get a good night’s
rest. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
“What’s
tomorrow?”
Mitchell’s
brow furrowed in annoyance, then let it slip away.
“You’re as
curious as a cat,
Dixie.” His face crinkled with a good-natured smile. A ripple of
relaxation spread over
Dixie as
she noted that it was the first time this evening he had
smiled. She returned Mitchell’s smile, enjoying the
lightheartedness of the change in his mood.
“I’ll tell
you in the morning,” he continued with a nod of his head, “but
now it’s way past your bedtime.”
“Alright.
Good night, Mitchell, sir.”
“Good
night, Dixie, darling,” he replied. He leaned forward once more
and placed a soft, lingering kiss upon her lips.
Dixie stretched, rising from her bed and let the coverlets
cascade from her naked body to the floor. She slid into the
confines of her powdery blue bathroom with a soft groan.
Normally the simple gesture of enveloping her naked body in the
folds of the robe would have been comforting, but this morning,
Dixie winced as the terry cloth material brushed over the tender
globes of her derrière. A delicate reminder of Mitchell Wilcox
and the previous evening’s reprimand.
After washing her face and brushing her teeth, Dixie
gingerly sat down in front of the mirrored dressing table. She
stroked the brush through her shoulder length red hair until it
was smooth with a glossy sheen and silently mused on what
Mitchell had planned for today.
You’re as
curious as a cat, Dixie.
Mitchell’s comment drifted through her mind. She smiled,
reflecting over the irony of his remark. Yes,
Dixie was
curious, mischievous and, also, adventurous, otherwise she’d
never agreed to be Mitchell’s protégé for a year and one day.
Dixie
glanced at the clock beside the mirror. It was five minutes to
seven. She quickly rose from the table, rubbing a hand over her
sore bottom concealed by the material of her terry cloth robe.
This morning Dixie had no intention of being late for breakfast
with Mitchell Wilcox.
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