Arrested By Love

By: Kathryn R. Blake


"That, sweetheart, was a love tap compared to what I'm about to give you. Now, answer the question, please."

"Truthfully, I think the number is more than a little harsh," she admitted, putting her head back down again.

Though Tiffany was no longer crying now, Kyle knew that wasn't going to last long. "Perhaps you do think it's harsh, but as I said earlier, the number is not negotiable."

She turned back to look at him again. "Yeah? Then what, in your opinion, is negotiable about this, Officer Sinclair?"

"From your point of view, absolutely nothing . However, since you seem to have trouble grasping this, I will outline my reasons again. You deliberately sped twenty-five miles per hour over the limit in a school zone on ice covered streets. And you did this solely in the hopes of gaining my attention. Once you got it, you brazenly attempted to bribe me with sexual services in order to avoid getting a ticket. Just considering those things alone, sixty-eight swats on your bottom with my hand is light compared to what I ought to be doing."

He stopped and took a deep breath. Getting riled with her now was not going to help the situation at all. After a moment, he added, "No doubt you'll have a little trouble sitting for a few days, but given the alternative consequences of your action, if you had lost control of your car for even a second, I believe a sore bottom is a small price for you to pay." He waited for a beat, then added, "Now, I await your humble request for me to begin your well-deserved spanking"

She let out a small groan, then said, "I regret my childish behavior and reckless driving, Officer Sinclair. And ask that you please proceed with my punishment."

It wasn't begging exactly, but Kyle took it as permission to commence. Holding her firmly in place with his left hand, he began to count out each swat he delivered at a steady, firm pace. Though he took care not to hit her too hard or in the same place too often, his swats were heavy-handed enough that by the county of thirty his palm stung and her butt cheeks were bright pink.

Though she cried out in protest with every stroke, and squirmed and bucked a few times during the first twenty, she refrained from calling him any names out loud. However, he suspected she still did it between her gritted teeth.

He'd carefully laid out the rules of this particular punishment before, and she knew if she made any attempt to block his swats or insult him, he'd add one stroke as a penalty. However, when he called out thirty-one she sobbingly begged him to stop, and threw her hand back to protect her sore rear end.

With a shake of his head, he simply drew her arm up and out of the way, then repositioned her so that her legs were firmly restrained by his thigh.

"No!" she cried out, once she realized what he intended.

"You know the rules, Tiffany. You are being restrained more firmly now because you broke them, and you will receive one extra swat for moving your hand in my way." Then he grimly continued carrying out her punishment.

At forty she was crying so hard that her pleas for him to stop emerged as little more than sobbing burbles. A part of him felt bad for causing her this much pain while another part of him knew if he stopped now she'd think she could weasel herself out of trouble every time with just a few tears. He had to see this through to the end, though he did lighten the intensity of his strokes quite a bit. He knew they still smarted since his hand still hurt with every stroke he delivered, just not as badly.

At fifty she stopped begging for him to stop and just gasped for breath as she continued to sob, and he figured she was crying too hard now to form intelligible words.

By the time he reached sixty, her bottom was bright red and she lay totally limp across his left knee. She wasn't sobbing, crying or making any sound at all. Worried he'd been too harsh with her, he lightened the intensity of his swats so much, the last nine swats he gave her were little more than pats on her terribly inflamed butt.

The moment he delivered the sixty-ninth stroke he heard her give a water-logged sob of relief, which filled him with no little amount of relief in return.

She lay like a wilted flower on his lap with no strength left to move. Her butt was almost purple it was such a deep red by now and his hand was smarting pretty badly, too. So he suspected her nerves had shut down. When they reawakened, she would be in for a lot of pain. A lot. Unfortunately, the lotion he liked to use was going to awaken those sleeping nerve endings with the effect of an electric shock.

He vacillated for just about a second whether or not he should use it, except he didn't like the way her flesh was turning an even deeper maroon as he watched.

Knowing she was too weak to protest anything he did, he drew the bottle from his pocket, flipped its cap and poured a good-sized dollop of the lotion at the base of her spine, which he hadn't touched. She gave a small jerk and he knew it was due to the coldness of the liquid. He could have warmed it first with his hands to lessen the shock, but the cool temperature of the balm helped to ease the pain. Like an ice pack. After her brief movement, she tried to pull away as though she suddenly realized what he intended.

"No!" she cried. "Oh, God, please no! That stuff will kill me."