"Say that yer sorry." he repeated, his tone low, delivering another smack to your rear mercilessly as you're shaking, bent over his thighs, his hand occasionally laying on your lower back to soothe your nerves.

You whimpered for what must've been the hundredth time tonight, here in his locked barracks, with your cries soundproofed, and muttered another apology.

"What've I told ye, aye? No breaking the rule. No PDA. And you held my bloody hand, woman." he growled, yet another slap following, then softly massaging the flushed skin, before smacking it again.

"What'dye have to say for yerself?"