Jenny whimpered and glanced around the room at our group of friends. “No, Gloria,” she murmured quietly. “Please. I didn’t mean what I said.”
I shook my head at Jenny. Her apology was too little and far too late. I paid no attention to the other women in the room with us; they had gathered at our home for a Sunday brunch. This little interaction was between Jenny and me. I pursed my lips and said nothing, simply pointed at my girlfriend’s skirt. Jenny visibly blanched. She knew what the gesture meant.
“Please.” Jenny’s voice was a soft cry, and she met my brown eyes squarely. I saw the shimmer of tears in her dark eyes, but I was unmoved. Jenny knew the rules, and she had broken them. Eventually her shaking hand moved to the zipper of her skirt, and she pulled it down slowly.
The sharp intake of breath behind me caught my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our group of friends staring wide-eyed, glancing at each other. One girl was giggling nervously. None could believe what was happening, though they all knew about our special relationship.
Moment’s later, Jenny’s skirt was on the floor in a crumpled heap. She held her hands clasped in front of her breasts. Her head was down.
“Bend over the couch.” There was no forgiveness in my voice.
Shuffling, Jenny kicked free of the skirt at her feet and bent over the arm of the couch. Her bottom was high in the air. I flipped up the tail of her shirt, but decided to let her keep her panties.
“Please, Gloria,” Jenny whispered, so that only I could hear. “Don’t do this.”
I put my left hand in the small of her back and raised the right hand high above my shoulder. “Next time,” I said. “You’ll think before you speak.”