The 11th Hour: Used to describe the final moments of a given event or situation where change is still a possibility.
Perhaps...perhaps tonight, for the first time ever, he will relent.
Yes, she's been told to wait for him. Yes, he had that determined tone in his voice, the one he uses to steel himself against her pleas. And yes, he told her to get in position on the bed, her bottom a white flag announcing surrender.
But maybe tonight will be different.
How dare he, anyway? This was her mistake. She does not need a tender, hot bottom added to the growing list of consequences. Just who does he think he is?
She does not need this spanking.
He must know that. He must know that she is truly sorry, so sorry that the words tripped across her tongue and twisted from her lips in a sentence that was not a sentence: verb, noun, regret, verb, regret.
There must be some other solution.
She'll apologize, tearing up in disappointment with herself. She'll promise never, ever to do it again. She'll distract him with her caressing hands, her grateful mouth and her remorseful tears, making him forget his original intent.
He will take her in a flurry of forgiveness and together they will fold.
And then, he is there, his hand settling on the lowest valley of her back and her battle is over. She repeats her apologies, calmer now, resigned.
Her hand curls around his forearm and squeezes it, assuring him that she will not try to bargain even though this is difficult. As planned, she promises that she will not do it again, but her words are not an effort to avoid what will come next.
Their 11th hour reprieve is not escaping from discomfort, but rather embracing it. Their 11th hour reprieve is with her, over his knee, his hand forging forgiveness between them.
Perhaps...perhaps tonight, for the first time ever, he will relent.
Yes, she's been told to wait for him. Yes, he had that determined tone in his voice, the one he uses to steel himself against her pleas. And yes, he told her to get in position on the bed, her bottom a white flag announcing surrender.
But maybe tonight will be different.
How dare he, anyway? This was her mistake. She does not need a tender, hot bottom added to the growing list of consequences. Just who does he think he is?
She does not need this spanking.
He must know that. He must know that she is truly sorry, so sorry that the words tripped across her tongue and twisted from her lips in a sentence that was not a sentence: verb, noun, regret, verb, regret.
There must be some other solution.
She'll apologize, tearing up in disappointment with herself. She'll promise never, ever to do it again. She'll distract him with her caressing hands, her grateful mouth and her remorseful tears, making him forget his original intent.
He will take her in a flurry of forgiveness and together they will fold.
And then, he is there, his hand settling on the lowest valley of her back and her battle is over. She repeats her apologies, calmer now, resigned.
Her hand curls around his forearm and squeezes it, assuring him that she will not try to bargain even though this is difficult. As planned, she promises that she will not do it again, but her words are not an effort to avoid what will come next.
Their 11th hour reprieve is not escaping from discomfort, but rather embracing it. Their 11th hour reprieve is with her, over his knee, his hand forging forgiveness between them.
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