2 | Defiance Discipline Dream Repeat

100 Instead of Spankings - Sophia's POV

Sebastian agreeing to Oliver's deal in detention led us to go home with smiles on our faces. Dinner has been served and eaten up, and it's time for one of the loveliest times of the day. Together with Sebastian, I am about to wallow on my swing and re-watch an old favourite TV show until bedtime.

I walk ahead of him, readying to vault over the sofa to the living room. Yes, the sofa is still barring the doorway to the living room, even though the grand Christmas tree has been packed and put away in the storage room until next time. We were surprisingly both insistent on keeping the sofa there. It gives me a thrill every time I clamber or jump over it, and Sebastian thinks it's convenient for spankings, which I suppose is accurate.

But there won't be any of that within the near future, as I have unhealed tattoos. My thoughts and feelings about the matter are mixed. I'm happy about not being a fit target for the cane, but then there are the playful occasions at home that may not be as good.

Sebastian enters the living room with a calmer and more graceful technique than me and ensconces himself behind me. One time he spilt a cup of tea on the sofa, which almost made him change his mind about the placement of it. That night, I bratted out a little, and he recalled the convenient benefits of having the sofa there.

I rest against his chest, sighing, ''Are we gonna fuck each other every other night like normal couples now, or what?''

''What do you mean? Do you want that?''

''No, but what else is there to do while the tattoo is healing?''

''That's a good point,'' he muses. ''Well, maybe we will have to resort to the traditional coupling for a while.''

''Are you joking?'' I ask, unamused.

''Yes, I am joking. It's not our thing, but there are other things we do, which can be done despite the unhealed tattoos,'' he says in a tone more optimistic than mine.

''Yeah,'' I nod subtly.  ''But still - it feels like something is missing.''

''It's not forever, little Soph. And I promise you that you will complain when I can spank and pad you again,'' he chuckles and wraps me tighter in his arms.

I tuck my chin in, even though he can't see my face reddening when he sits behind me. ''I don't regret the tattoo. I think it looks good, and it's fun, but the healing period is boring.''

I'm being honest when I say this. I really don't regret the sister-tattoo. I'm just not a very patient person, and tattoos take time to heal.

''I think we can make the healing period endurable..." Not many minutes pass until the tight, warm hug I relaxed in loosens. Instead, I begin to cringe violently inward at his shift in manner - becoming randier as his hands fondle my body while his lips tickle my neck with kisses. ''...Perhaps you could try on that lingerie you bought in London and show me,'' he murmurs in my ear.

''On a Monday evening after you gave me three weeks detention?'' I scoff. ''I don't think so. You have to earn it.''

''Why did you buy it if you're not going to wear it?''

''I wear it underneath my uniform at school, where you can't take my clothes off,'' I tease.

''Very clever,'' he articulates, not quite pleased. ''What do I need to do to get a sight of them at home?''

I giggle, "Do my laundry.''

''On you.''

''Be nice and not selfish.''

''How am I selfish?''

''I complained about boredom, and you suggested I dress up for your male gaze's pleasure."

''Don't tell me you don't enjoy dressing immodestly around the house to draw my attention and then be ridiculed for lacking dignity and being desperate,'' he ripostes.

I blush deeply. ''You're so mean," I huff. "You will never get to see me in the lingerie.''

''You are an attention-seeking brat who constantly desires to be reminded of her place. You love it when you go speechless and feel your face boil up out of embarrassment, and you love hiding your bright red face in my chest or in a pillow. You love it when you can't stop yourself from squealing out pleas, realising that you're powerless against me, and begging is the only thing that may bring you mercy. Underneath the bratty facade, you love to obey even if it feels humiliating. And you love it when I take care of you because you find it embarrassing as a grown woman who's very well capable of doing it herself...''

It feels as if his sardonic voice never ceases, and that face will set on fire before he shuts his mouth.

''...Am I right, little Soph?''

''You're a delusional sadist,'' I whisper almost inaudibly, too abashed to speak up properly.

''How am I a sadist when that is what you desire and enjoy?''

''You're a bully who loves overpowering and humiliating people."

''You,'' he emphasises. ''I love watching you become more and more bashful while your pretty face shines brighter in pink. And I, especially, love how calm you become when you finally surrender.''

''I loved it when you splashed cold water on your face when you were tinkering with the showerhead, and you shrieked like a little girl–'' I emit a shriek myself as his hands suddenly grab my waist, flipping me around and pushing me down underneath his wicked gaze.

My blushing face has been exposed.

He caresses my left cheek with the back of his hand. ''Just as I thought. Rosy and glowing,'' he hums, a smirk on his face that he would threaten to slap off if it was on the boys' faces. Fucking hypocrite.

The bashfulness I was mocked for earlier kicks in, and my eyes frantically search for a view beyond his smug face. "No, you're seeing wrong,'' I mumble, and he slides his hand off my warm face, raking it down over my torso until his fingers hook to the waistband of my joggers–

The damnable doorbell rings and it abruptly kills the moment.

"Tell the bastard at the door to piss off," I grumble.

''Oh, so you do love this and want it to carry on,'' he chuckles.

I sigh, "Hurry up then!"