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water. I took down my shorts and walked to him with feet that suddenly weighed thousands of pounds each. He took my hand, touched my belly button through my Stones tee. My stomach muscles clamored at his touch. “How many do you think you should get for being so rude and embarrassing me?”
    “I...how many what?”
    His finger traced an invisible zipper up from my belly button to the hollow between my breasts. “You know, I'm still not at peace with myself over you. Sometimes I get angry at me. Once in a great while at you. You shouldn't feed that fire by being such a brat to the neighbors. They'll start to talk.” That zipper went back down south, from breast bone to belly button, past it. Over the small swell of my lower abdomen to the top of my mound. Scorching cold blips of pleasure. Heat, chill, want, madness, all could be found in that single finger tracing a line on my body. “How many spanks do you think, Fiona?”
    Flabbergasted, I opened my mouth, closed it. Opened it, closed it. “I don't...um, six?”
    He laughed, a good deep belly laugh at that. “Oh, six? You think six will cover that atrocious behavior?”
    My face burned with blush and I shifted on my toes. God, I wanted to cross my legs to quell the beating pulse in my wet entrance. But I didn't, because I knew deep down that would not tamp it down, it would only stir it up. “Eight?”
    “We'll meet halfway,” he said. “Twelve.”
    “Twelve! But that's not meeting half—”
    “Want to go for thirteen?” He pulled me over his lap and smoothed his hands over my bottom. I arched into the touch instinctively until his hand came down on my ass. Hard. The crack of the blow hit my ears before I felt the blood rising in my skin. I jumped, letting out a howl.
    “Take it like a man, Fiona,” he said softly.
    Blow two and three rained down and I jittered over his knee like a broken puppet. “I'm not a man!” I sobbed.
    “No, but you can be stoic if you try.” His hands were back to smoothing and one finger wormed under the cotton and elastic of my panties to slide inside of my pussy, swirl in my gushing wetness, flex against my pussy walls until I saw spots because I was holding my breath. My pelvis was warmed with urges and needs, but I waited. Then they came. Four, five, six, seven, like fire dropping from Heaven to land on my skin.
    “Ow, ow, ow,” I chanted, bucking like the horses we always saw at the fair.
    “Behave!”
    “I am behaving,” I shouted, crying for real now. Dripping tears off my nose, down my face, tasting them with my tongue before they could drop.
    “No. You're not. And because you're not, we're going bareback.”
    “Bare—”
    But then I understood because he was pulling off my panties. My thin, cheap panties! But thin or cheap, no matter, they were in fact my only barrier. And now they were gone.
    Two fingers this time dipped into the well of my pussy. Stroked me until I let out little sighs like I was dying or slowly deflating. One or the other. “Oh, god, yes, just like that. Just like tha—”
    Blow eight, rocked my spine. Teeth of pain sinking into my buttock where bare flesh now met bare flesh. He let it register. Let the pain really rev up and then he landed nine. I didn't caterwaul this time. This pain was too real, too toothy, instead I bit my tongue and fell backwards into the white hot agony blossoming on my bottom.
    Nine, ten, eleven. He had gone from scolding to crooning as my body shook with his blows. My head would toss back and I'd make a small sound in my throat, half grunt, half moan, but I didn't carry on. “Such a good, brave girl. Good, brave, strong girl.” He sighed out the words. Dropped them on the smooth skin of my back like kisses. He gave me everything I wanted from him. Approval, love, kindness. “Final one, Fiona. Twelve,” he whispered.
    Twelve , I said in my head. Only to myself. I refused to say anything out loud because I did not trust my voice at all.
    Uncle Ed pushed me on the