Note: This strapping takes place before Sadie Saves the Dinner, Part I.
Sadie leafed through her girlfriend’s November issue of Scientific American as a television newscaster droned on about death, despair, and traffic delays. The 26-year-old furrowed her brow and wondered how many more times she’d manage to sabotage her life before Abby left her for a woman who had at least some of her shit together.
Sadie had enough self awareness to understand why she did the things she did (having dead parents and a drug-addicted brother were huge factors in her poor decision-making skills), but she wanted so desperately to change—and fast—for herself, for her future, and for the love of her life. Abby’s magazine hit the floor with a thud as the tall blonde crossed her arms and re-positioned her body on the tattered leather couch. Sadie quickly slipped into a restless slumber wearing nothing but her hoodie and striped boxer briefs.
Sadie awakened to her brunette girlfriend gently stroking the tangles out of her short golden locks. Eyelids half-opened, she looked up at Abby and felt salty wet droplets fall onto her face and chest. The older woman was kneeling over Sadie, but her chocolate-colored eyes were overflowing with tears. Sadie hated to see her love so distraught, especially when she knew that her actions (or rather, inaction) were the reason behind the crying.
Awkwardly, Sadie wiped Abby’s cheeks with the sleeve of her heather grey hoodie. Clad in a lace purple skirt and flowing black silk blouse, Abby looked undeniably stunning. She was also undeniably pissed off.
“Sadie, I am so disappointed in you,” Abby scolded as she tugged on her own opaque black tights, her nail snagging a hole in the material over her right calf.
As Abby ran her fingers across the hole’s opening, her eyes cast downward, Sadie replied, “I fucked up…again. I’m sorry. It’s a thing I do a lot, apparently.”
Sadie knew she was going to be punished and wished that Abby would just get on with it already. She hated the moments leading up to a thorough spanking—she’d take double the strikes if she didn’t have to deal with feeling so guilty beforehand.
“Up,” Abby finally responded, and Sadie knew what that meant from experience.
Sadie stood to face her long-haired girlfriend, who harshly unzipped her hoodie and yanked her boyshorts down to her ankles. Abby glared at her blonde lover, sat, and threw the exposed brat over her lap.
Abby teased Sadie’s pulsating pink clit mercilessly as her free hand struck her round bottom with a loud SMACK. She raised her hand a second time and planted a series of twenty swift slaps on her bare buttocks. Sadie grunted and winced at the growing intensity of her punishment.
“No wincing yet, love,” Abby replied, sensing that the stinging sensation was rapidly progressing into a deep burning. “We haven’t even gotten started.”
She stroked Sadie’s reddening bottom with the tips of her fingers, then delivered a dozen sharp slaps to her right cheek before applying the same count to her left. As Sadie’s tender posterior deepened into a rosy shade of red, Abby asked, “Now, dear, do you remember when my parents got me that lovely embroidered leather belt a few weeks after we started dating?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sadie muttered, understanding what was in store. Abby had only used the strap on her once, a few months back, when she skipped work to smoke all afternoon. She wouldn’t have been caught if she hadn’t fallen asleep with her lit cigarette in hand, which burned a gaping hole in their old sofa, rendering it unusable. Sadie shuddered as she thought of just how sore her bottom was after that punishment—she couldn’t sit comfortably for an entire 24 hours!
“Good girl. Remember how you admired the butterflies?” Abby asked, mercilessly raining slaps upon Sadie’s throbbing ass.
“Mhh,” Sadie replied.
“What was that, you irresponsible little brat?” Abby asked, slapping each cheek with a harsh stroke.
“Yes. Yes, I remember, Abby,” Sadie cried out, more from embarrassment than pain. By now, her face was almost as red as her posterior. “There were all different kinds of butterflies on the belt. And I admired how strong the leather was. God, can we just get this over with? This is torture.”
“I’m sorry, dear, but I wish you’d thought of that when you left me at my parents’ house for three hours tonight and didn’t show up for dinner. Get up and lean over the couch,” Abby commanded.
As Sadie bent over to receive her impending strapping, she heard the older woman rustling around their bedroom for the belt. As Abby’s footsteps came closer, Sadie took a deep breath.
The belt-wielding brunette walked up behind her, her composure masking a deep anger, grabbed Sadie’s hips, and started massaging the naked woman’s shoulders. Sadie looked back and saw the belt wrapped across Abby’s skirt, a painful reminder of what was to come. As Abby’s long fingers rubbed the knots out of Sadie’s upper back, the blonde girl panted in pain and ecstasy.
“This is going to be pretty harsh, okay?” Abby reminded her lover. “But I think you can handle it.”
“Abby, I’m sorry,” Sadie responded, feeling more vulnerable than she had in quite some time.
“I know. That’s how I know you’re ready for this.”
Abby carefully unbuckled her belt and pushed Sadie’s smooth back downward, causing her defenseless bottom to jut high into the air.
“I’m going to slap you 50 times,” Abby said definitively. “And I want you to count each stroke.” She had never demanded that Sadie count out each stroke before, but tonight, Abby was intent on driving her message home.
“Ready?” Abby asked. Before Sadie could respond, she struck—hard.
“Owww! One,” Sadie said, her eyes glued to the scratches on the sofa, courtesy of Zane, their mischievous Persian cat. “Two, three, four, argh! Oww! Geez, Abby!”
Abby expertly unleashed her implement of choice upon her lover’s bruised bottom, pausing here and there to let Sadie take a few breaths. As the belt thrashed Sadie’s plump ass cheeks, the girl cried “35, 36, 37! God damn it! Who are you, Xena Warrior Princess?”
Abby paused to chuckle. She was still pissed off and confused, but her mischievous brat could make her laugh at even the most inappropriate of occasions.
“Nope, just a woman you completely fucked over tonight,” Abby replied with a crack of her belt.
“30…8. Urgh!” Sadie cried, kicking her long legs.
“What have I told you about moving those legs?” Abby asked. “Let’s try this again.”
“38,” Sadie said, rolling her brilliant green eyes but not daring to move. She thanked the gods that Abby couldn’t see her face.
“And don’t think I don’t know when you roll your eyes at me, brat,” Abby said with a half smile as she whipped Sadie’s defenseless bottom five times. The blonde whimpered, but her brunette lover was feeling anything but merciful tonight.
“39, 40, 41, 42, 43,” she said, her bottom throbbing from the assault.
Abby cracked her belt again and again until Sadie called “50! 50! Abby, stop. Pleeeease.”
The blonde collapsed onto the couch, yet neither of them felt the usual sense of post-punishment relief. Abby was upset and Sadie still felt like every bit the fuck up—but that didn’t stop the older woman from squeezing onto the couch next to Sadie and holding the slimmer girl in her arms.
Silently, the naked blonde clutched at Abby’s silk top, half worried she’d tear it to shreds but too sorry and sore to care. The brunette kissed the top of her lover’s head silently.
She hated how Sadie broke her promises. How she drank like a fish. How she shirked responsibility and found it so easy to walk away from the people who mattered most. It scared—no, terrified—her. And yet, here they were. Abby knew Sadie was good and kind and smart and funny.
But would Sadie ever see that in herself?