Chapter 6: The Crop’s Kiss
The feather lay discarded on the crumpled cream sofa, its softness a stark, mocking contrast to the rigid black leather of the riding crop now in Mary’s hand. Her knuckles were white around the grip, the faint scent of saddle soap clinging to it, mixing oddly with the vanilla candle burning low on the mantelpiece. Robert stood rigidly bent over the sturdy arm of the sofa, his trousers and underwear pooled around his ankles, the skin of his backside a livid map of welts from Mary’s earlier fury. His breathing was shallow, hitched. Every muscle in his exposed legs and clenched shoulders trembled.
"Since you like watching women move," Mary repeated, her voice a low purr that carried easily in the taut silence, "let’s see how you move under this." The tip of the crop traced a light, almost ticklish path down the crest of one welt, making Robert jerk violently. A choked gasp escaped him.
Ginny clapped her hands together, a gleeful, sharp sound. "Oh, this is better than reality TV! Go on, Mary, make him dance!"
Nancy sat perched on the very edge of the overstuffed armchair, her spine unnaturally straight. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, but her knuckles pressed white against the dark fabric of her tailored slacks. She watched, unblinking, the flush high on her cheekbones the only betrayal. Her breathing felt constricted, shallow.
Ava held her phone steady, the red recording light a tiny, accusing eye. Her expression was a mix of fascinated disgust and a twisted sense of vindication. "Say cheese, Dad," she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or maybe... ouch?"
Lilly stood slightly apart, near the doorway leading to the kitchen. She hugged herself, her wide eyes darting between her father’s exposed humiliation, Mary’s fierce intensity, and Ava’s cold recording. Her lip was raw where she’d been worrying it. She shifted her weight, wanting to look away, unable to.
Thwack!
The sound was startlingly crisp, a quick, sharp report. It landed low, across the tops of Robert’s thighs. He yelped, a high-pitched sound of pure shock and pain, his body convulsing upwards involuntarily before slumping back over the armrest. A fresh, thin red line bloomed instantly against the mottled background.
"Christ, Mary!" Robert choked out, his voice thick.
"Posture, Robert," Mary commanded, her tone cool, analytical. She tapped the crop lightly against his trembling flank. "Bend over. Properly. Or the next one finds a softer target."
He whimpered, low and desperate, but obeyed, arching his back further, presenting himself. The submissive instinct warring with the burning humiliation was a visible current under his skin.
Thwack! Thwack!
Two rapid strikes, higher this time, crossing the existing welts. Robert cried out again, his whole body flinching, his feet shuffling awkwardly on the rug. He couldn’t help it; a small, pained hop escaped him.
"There it is!" Ginny crowed, leaning forward eagerly. "He is dancing! Do it again, Mary!"
Nancy’s breath hitched audibly this time. Her carefully composed facade slipped for a fraction of a second; her eyes widened, glassy, and she pressed her thighs together tightly under her skirt. She quickly smoothed her expression, but her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her wine glass.
"See that, girls?" Mary said, her gaze flicking towards Ava and Lilly, though her focus remained on the trembling landscape before her. "That’s what happens. That’s the cost of lies. Of sneaking around." She tapped the crop lightly against Robert’s bottom again, making him flinch in anticipation. "Of disrespecting trust."
"Seems like a fitting punishment," Ava stated flatly, zooming in slightly on the fresh marks. "Maybe he'll think twice next time he wants to jerk off to strangers."
"Ava!" Lilly whispered, horrified, her face flaming.
"What? It’s true!"
Thwack!
Another precise stroke, landing just where thigh met buttock. Robert gasped, tears springing to his eyes now, not just from the pain but the sheer, overwhelming exposure. His body twisted again, a clumsy, involuntary sidestep. His movements were stiff, humiliating, a grotesque parody of the graceful aerobics he’d watched.
"Keep moving, Robert," Mary instructed, her voice devoid of sympathy. She circled him slowly, the crop held loosely like an artist assessing their canvas. "Show Ginny what you’ve got. Since you appreciate physical performance so much." The underlying threat was palpable.
He tried to hold still, bracing himself, but the anticipation was its own torture. His muscles quivered with the effort.
Thwack!
The blow landed squarely on the fullest part. Robert yelped, his knees buckling slightly, forcing another small, pained shuffle. A tear escaped, tracing a wet path down his cheek onto the worn brocade of the sofa arm.
Ginny laughed, a bright, brittle sound. "Look at him go! Like a puppet!"
Nancy suddenly stood up, her movement abrupt. Her wine glass, clutched too tightly, slipped from her hand. It hit the rug with a dull thud, spilling dark red liquid that immediately soaked into the pale wool. "Oh! Clumsy me," she breathed, her voice higher than usual. She knelt quickly, fumbling for the glass, avoiding everyone’s eyes, using the distraction to hide the tremor in her hands and the intense heat flooding her face. The spill mirrored the chaos inside her.
Mary gave Nancy a sharp, knowing glance, a flicker of something unreadable in her green eyes before turning her focus back to Robert. She ignored the spill for now. "You enjoying the show, Robert?" she asked, her voice dropping lower, almost intimate in its cruelty. The crop traced the curve of his hip bone. "Because we're not done. Not nearly."
Robert could only manage a shuddering sob. The sharp sting radiated through him, warring with the strange, unwelcome thrum of adrenaline, the perverse relief of being seen, known, even in his degradation. His daughters were witnesses. Nancy was watching. Ginny was practically cheering. And Mary… Mary was in complete control.
Lilly couldn’t take it anymore. "Stop!" she cried out, the word tearing from her throat. She wasn’t shouting at Mary, exactly, but at the entire unbearable scene. "Just… stop! This is…" She trailed off, looking wildly from her exposed, weeping father to Mary’s implacable expression to Ava’s cold phone lens. Shame for him, disgust at the spectacle, and a confusing flicker of something else warred within her. "I need air." She turned and fled into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft click that felt deafening.
Ava lowered her phone slightly, watching Lilly go. Her usual bravado faltered for a moment, replaced by something like troubled uncertainty. She looked back at her father, bent and trembling, then at Mary. "Guess the audience is thinning," she said, trying to sound dismissive but lacking her earlier conviction.
Mary didn’t acknowledge Lilly’s departure. Her gaze remained locked on Robert. The interruption seemed only to deepen her focus. She raised the crop again, its tip poised. Robert braced, every nerve ending screaming. The silence stretched, thick with the smell of wine, leather, sweat, and the low hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. Mary tilted her head, studying the pattern of punishment she’d created. Her lips curved in a smile that held no warmth, only the sharp edge of anticipation.
"On your toes, Robert," she murmured, the command slicing through the quiet. "Let’s really see what you can do."