Chapter 35: "You've Been Such a Naughty Boy...

Continued from chapter 34:

"Now," Belle says. "Show me. SPANK! Like SPANK! THAT! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!"

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The command hits like a physical blow. The repetition, the escalating volume, the sheer authority in Belle's voice leaves no room for hesitation.

I sob, fully ugly crying, as I wait for Amy to bring her hand down on me.

The room erupts. Brielle leans forward on the couch, her voice sharp and commanding.

"Do it, Amy!" Brielle calls out.

Chapter 35:

Brielle leads her sorority sisters, and eventually Jenna and Rose, who join in, their voices joining in a rhythmic chant that builds with terrifying momentum.

"Spank! His bottom! Spank! Ero's bottom! Spank! His bottom! SPANK! SPANK! His bottom!"

Gretchen and Nancy clap along, their hands striking together in time with the words, creating a percussion of expectation.

The chanting rises in a crescendo of madness, a rhythmic, tribal roar that drowns out everything else in the room. It's not just cheering anymore; it's a command, a force that strips away the last vestiges of sanity.

Amy's breath comes in short, panicked hitches. She looks down at me, seeing the way my shoulders heave with every ugly, sobbing gasp, the way my entire form shudders under the weight of my humiliation. Her hand hovers above my reddened skin, suspended in the air. It shakes visibly, a frail thing caught between the instinct to soothe and the demand to punish.

She can feel the heat radiating from my bottom, a warmth that promises the sting of the next strike. Her fingers flutter against my already-pinkened cheeks, tentative brushes that send jolts of electricity through me—terrifying previews of the force she is expected to exert.

Nothing exists in this fever dream except the chanting and clapping of the girls witnessing my humiliation, except Amy's hand resting on my bottom, fluttering against my heated skin.

Will she do it? Will she spank me?

The chanting reaches a deafening peak, a wall of noise that demands action, that demands submission to this ritual. It's a sound that has weight and presence, that fills every corner of the room and crushes everything in its path.

Amy bites her lip so hard she tastes copper, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. She cannot bear to hurt me, yet she is more terrified of failing me—of failing the women who hold both our lives in their hands.

With a sudden, choked sob that mirrors my own, Amy pulls her hand back slightly, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. Her face contorts with the internal war she's fighting. Then, driven by a desperate, manic need to prove she is worthy of staying by my side, she brings her hand down.

The impact is searing, a sharp CRACK that echoes through the room.

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I cry out, the sting blooming across my skin like fire, and the women's chanting reaches a fever pitch.

The first strike lands like a thunderclap. I yelp, my whole body tensing as Amy's hand connects with my backside—a sharp, stinging smack that sends heat radiating across my skin. My cheating wife. She does it again.

The girls erupt. Their voices rise in a chant, synchronized and hungry.

"Spank! His bottom!" they cry out.

"Spank! Ero's bottom!"

"Spank! His bottom!"

"Spank! SPANK! His bottom!"

I go limp, surrendering to her, my mind reeling. This is happening. This is really happening.

Amy's hand trembles as it rises for the second strike. The first had been an accident—a reflexive jerk born of pure panic—but when Ero's yelp pierced the air, something shifted inside her. Guilt and adrenaline collided in her chest, a sickening jolt that threatened to buckle her knees. But then the chant began again, louder and faster, more demanding, and the dam inside her finally broke.

She becomes a machine. Belle's instructions guide her movements with terrifying precision, and Amy follows them with single-minded focus. Her small hand descends again and again.

CRACK.

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Each strike is accompanied by fresh tears from her own eyes—falling onto Ero's back, mixing with his sobs. She is both the instrument of punishment and the one being punished, caught in a desperate loop of her own making.

I feel the humiliation wash over me in waves. She's the one who cheated. Jenna and Rose—they were both involved. And yet I'm the one draped across her lap, feminized in pink satin, my bottom exposed and reddening under her relentless hand. The injustice of it burns almost as much as the stinging impacts.

And then she begins to scold me.

"That's it, Ero," Amy murmurs, her tone saccharine and condescending. "Hush now."

Her voice has transformed. The guilt hasn't vanished—it's metastasized into something darker: a desperate need to perform this role perfectly, to reclaim some semblance of control over the chaos consuming her. She watches his reddened skin, darting her gaze between his suffering and the expectant, grinning faces of the girls watching from the couch.

"You've been such a naughty boy, haven't you?" she continues, her hand descending with increasing force.

To be continued in chapter 36...