He marched her into the house without speaking, where he wasted no time whatsoever in sitting down and taking her over his knee. Sarah tumbled over his lap with a wail of complaint, limbs flailing, but it didn’t do her any good. She was still wearing the sweatpants he’d gotten for her, which made it easy to bare her bottom and start spanking her deserving cheeks with hard slaps that left bright pink palm prints across her pale skin.
Sarah put up quite a fight, squirming and cursing and kicking out until he had to put one of his legs over hers and clamp her thighs between his. That left her in a much more precarious position, her butt raised higher than before, her hands supporting her on the carpet, her hair falling into her face as John set about really tanning her hide, his palm finding her bare bottom over and over again with unerring accuracy, which made her voice rise in feminine protest.