The Dominant by Tara Sue Me

looked to the floor. “I got only seven hours of sleep on Sunday night.”
    I closed my eyes.
    Damn Jackson for dating Felicia.
    Damn Abigail for breaking a rule.
    Damn me for stating that twenty strokes for a lost hour of sleep was appropriate.
    And damn me straight to hell for ever thinking being Abigail’s dominant was a good idea.
    But . . .
    I had given her the rules, I had written down the punishment, and damn it all, I was her dom.
    I straightened my shoulders. “Look at me when you speak.”
    “I got only seven hours of sleep on Sunday night,” she said, clearly this time. Abigail was a woman who owned up to her mistakes.
    “Seven hours?” I stepped toward her. “Do you think I put together a plan for your well-being because I’m bored and have nothing
     better to do? Answer me.” Maybe that was it. Maybe this was all a joke to her. She would never take us seriously if I didn’t
     punish her.
    “No, Master.”
    Apologize for breaking one of my rules.
    But she just stood there, flushed and fearful.
    “I had plans for this evening, Abigail,” I said. “Things I wanted to show you.” And now the library would have to wait. “Instead
     we’ll have to spend the evening in my room, working on your punishment.” I wanted her to know this was not how the weekend
     should have gone. Her disobedience changed everything.
    Would she apologize?
    “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Master.”
    Yes. Thank you
. That’s what she’d done. She’d disappointed me.
    “You’ll be sorrier still when I finish with you. My room. Now.”
    I watched as she climbed the stairs and headed to my bedroom. Then I checked myself to make sure I wouldn’t act rashly or
     out of anger and gathered myself together. Abigail would be frightened enough—I needed to be in control.
    I rolled my sleeves up and headed for the stairs.
    She waited, naked, on the whipping bench. The prior weekend, the sight of her bare ass had fueled my fantasies. This weekend
     it reminded me that as nice as fantasies were, our relationship had rules and Abigail had broken one. Broken rules led to
     consequences.As the rule maker, I enforced the rules and handed out the consequences.
    I ran a hand through my hair. I didn’t have to like it and I didn’t have to enjoy it, but I had to do it.
    I went to the bench and gently brushed Abigail’s ass. She jumped.
    Nerves.
    That made two of us.
    “I use three different types of spankings,” I said, wanting to explain my methods. “The first is an erotic spanking. It’s
     used to heighten your pleasure, to excite you. The riding crop, for example.” I trailed my fingers over her buttocks to her
     warm sex, all the while measuring her bottom, planning how and where to strike when the time came. As bad as tonight would
     be, I wanted her to know that spankings could feel good, that I could excite her with a spanking as well as punish her.
    My touch grew rougher, and I watched her skin for any change of color. I pinched to see how red her skin would become. I didn’t
     know her body well enough yet, and doing this would help me judge how her skin reacted. “The second spanking is for chastisement.
     You won’t feel any pleasure. The purpose is to remind you of the consequences of disobedience. I make rules for your well-being,
     Abigail. How many hours of sleep are you supposed to get Sunday through Thursday? Answer me.”
    “Eight,” she sputtered.
    “Yes, eight. Not seven.” Disrespecting my rules meant disrespecting me. “You obviously forgot, so perhaps a sore backside
     will help you remember in the future.”
    Perhaps we have both forgotten a few things and this will help us both.
    “The third spanking is a warm-up spanking. It’s used before a chastisement spanking.” I bent down and picked up the strap
     from the floor. “Do you know why I have to use a warm-up spanking?”
    Silence.
    I put the strap on the bench, right next to her face. She needed to see it.
    “Because your ass can’t