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He got his, now she gets hers.
Joan's face burned as her underwear were exposed. She had always had a bottom-heavy figure, even when she was young and thin. Nowadays, what awaited her captor's merciless eyes was vastly wider than her waist, like a pair of chubby, wobbly watermellons barely restrained by her panties. She just prayed he wouldn't comment on them.
"I can tell you've been sitting around on that fat ass all day long, you lazy bitch. Disgusting."
And then, just as Joan felt like she couldn't be any more exposed, he grabbed the elastic of her panties and tore them roughly down to her thighs. Her twin jello mountains wobbled and bounced free. She wimpered and clutched her hands to her face, gritting her teeth and shutting her eyes, humiliated beyond all measure.
SMACK! He slapped the underside of her left buttock so hard she could feel it bounce upward, his hand like a hot iron against her tender flesh. She gasped, and he repeated the slap, on the exact same spot.
"You're not going to be sitting on this fat ass for a long, LONG time, you worthless fucking whore!" He punctuated every other word with another slap, burning deeper into her cheek each time, so that by the time he said "whore" she was squealing like one. She prayed that he would just spank her a little bit more, that he would give her a chance to apologize, but she knew it was hopeless. He was never understanding, and never, ever merciful.
She felt him yank her hair again in his left hand, making her yowl in pain and snap her head up as his right began descended all over her naked bottom. It felt like sandpaper being rubbed against her ass, hornets swarming, his hard hand and bulging arm hitting her as hard and fast as he could, over and over again, fire on top of fire on top of fire. She started blubbering, wriggling against him, but he thrusted her head painfully down into the couch and dug his elbow into her back, jabbing her, making her lift her bottom even higher so he could slap her sit spots with full force. She was on the brink of tears when he finally stopped.
"Th..thank you...thank you..." she stammered pitifully, gasping, "please no more. I learned my lesson-"
"Shut your mouth, bitch!" he lnaded two more hard swats on each cheek and smashed her face back into the couch cushions, muffling her, "I didn't say we were finished, and we're not. Understand?"
He leaned in over her shoulder, so she felt his head and hardness all across her back. Half her age, but she was helpless to him. Whimpering, she nodded her head yes.
"Good," he straightened back up, releasing her hair and giving her bottom a few firm pats that just brought out the sting, "then go get your hairbrush and get back over my lap."
The pit fell out of her stomach. She looked up at him, mouth hanging open. "No, please no, I'll-"
He slapped her across the face, knocking her head aside and making her screech. His dark brown eyes regarded her smugly, his statue-like face wearing a cruel grin. "If I'm not holding that brush in ten seconds," he hissed, "then you're getting my belt and THEN the brush."
Joan gasped in fear. Pushing herself heavily off of his lap, she strumbled to her feet, nearly collapsing onto the floor as she put both hands to her sizzling rump. She ran as fast as she could to the bedroom, her panties being bunched under her tush with each stride. It wasn't her house anymore. She was a slave in it. She picked up the hairbrush off her nightstand; it was black ebony, the blade as long and wide as her hand and almost twice as thick. She almost started crying right then, when she felt its weight and lethal hardness.
Feeling like she was about to choke, she ran back to the living room, holding out the deadly implement without making eye contact.
"Ohhh, look, you did something right for once." He snatched it out of her hand. "Now get that big butt back over my lap where it belongs."
Slowly, she minced up to his side, forcing herself to move every centimeter f