Clothes off

Shark's breath hitched as Aunt Margot's rough palm cracked down again, the sting blooming hot across the seat of her shorts. She gritted her teeth, willing herself not to whimper, but another sharp smack **** a gasp from her lips.

"Still think you're tough?" Margot taunted, her countryside accent thick with satisfaction. Her fingers dug into shark's hip, keeping her pinned against the kitchen table. The smell of old coffee and fried onions clung to the air, mixing with the sharp scent of shark's sweat as she squirmed.

Shark's glasses had slid completely askew, by the absence of them and the tears that started to forming in her green eyes the world beyond the table a blur of faded yellow wallpaper and Elaine’s horrified silhouette. "F-fuck you—!" she spat, kicking backward blindly. Her sneaker connected with nothing but air.

Margot snorted. "Oh, we’re far from done, girl."

Before shark could retort, she felt the cold rush of air as Margot’s fingers hooked into the waistband of her hoodie. With one sharp yank, the fabric peeled away, leaving shark’s torso exposed in nothing but the snug sports bra that contained her large breasts. The sudden vulnerability made her freeze—her skin prickling under the kitchen’s fluorescent light, her silver dyed hair tangled over her shoulders.

Elaine’s voice wavered. "Margot, please—"

"Quit your fussing," Margot snapped, her grip shifting to the hem of shark’s shorts. The button popped open with a flick of her thumb, the thin and breathable fabric put no resistance. Shark’s stomach lurched.

"N-no—!" She twisted violently, but Margot was relentless. The shorts slid down her thighs, pooling around her ankles with a soft thump.

Silence.

Shark’s face burned hotter than the spanking had. The pink thong she’d thrown on that morning—tight, flimsy, stupid—felt like a neon sign pointing straight to her humiliation. Her black pubic hair peeked shamelessly at the edges, and she squeezed her thighs together instinctively, her breath coming in shallow bursts.

Margot’s laugh was a dry rasp. "Well, ain’t that a sight."

Shak’s fists clenched against the tabletop. "You—you bitch—"

The next smack landed squarely on her big bare ass, the sound cracking through the kitchen. Shark jerked forward with a strangled cry, her sports bra straining as her back arched. The pain was brighter now, sharper—no fabric to dull it.

Margot didn’t let up. "This what you wanted?" Smack. "Hm?" Smack. "All that big talk—" Smack. "—and here you are—" Smack. "—bare-assed and bawling!"

Shark wasn’t bawling. She wasn’t. But her eyes stung, her throat tight with something too close to shame. Elaine had turned away, her hands pressed over her mouth. The fridge hummed loudly in the silence between spanks other family members had come to see too, shark's cousins Sophie and Tim were among them.

Margot paused, her hand resting heavy on shark’s reddening skin. "You gonna apologize?"

Shakr swallowed. Her pulse roared in her ears.

"...Go to hell," she whispered.

Margot’s sigh was almost fond. "Stubborn little brat."

The next volley of smacks came harder, faster—each one a fresh jolt of fire. Shark’s knees buckled, her braced arms trembling. She bit her lip until she tasted copper, determined not to beg.

But god, she hated this.

Hated the heat, the helplessness, how small she felt.