“Warmup!” She squealed, half demand, half question.
He didn’t pause, but held her more firmly as his hand rained down. “This IS your warmup,” he informed her calmly, and she grimaced, trying to be still. She breathed deeply through her nose, clutching her ears against both the onslaught of sound and the mental crash that came with each smack. Xen held herself stiffly against the spanking, twitching when his hand caught her lower, or in a spot that was already starting to get sorer than the rest.
Jareth paused briefly, and the next swing brought a new level of searing focused sting. Warm up over, he’d switched to the brush. She gasped, then yelped, and writhed around, instinctively trying to move her bottom out of range. Her efforts were rewarded with harder strikes as Jareth wrestled her. Squealing and groaning, Xen simultaneously fought him, and fought herself to keep her body from wiggling. The brush continued its unyielding fire, and she clenched her body into a quivering line of rigid energy, knowing he wouldn’t stop while she continued to thrash around. When the pain built up too much she screamed into the mattress.