“Good. So when I spank you, from now on, Ana, you should remember to tell yourself that it’s your fault. You didn’t have to do whatever earned you that spanking. You chose your behaviour, and so you chose to get spanked.” 

“Yes.” She made the word into two syllables, and packed an impressive amount of sarcasm into those syllables. So she felt my hand lift from her ass. “No! Please!”

This time she got sixteen hard spanks on her lower buttocks. She was very energetic while I spanked her, arms flailing, ass bouncing and legs kicking. And she was vocal: “Ow! Ow! No! Ow! Shit! Ouch! Owowow!” And so on. She was having a wonderful time.  

I stopped and waited, hand still poised, wondering if she was going to say something like, “Is that all you’ve got?” or, “Huh! Didn’t even hurt!” Somehow that seemed likely to be her style.

But for the moment she was subdued. Her lower bottom glowed a beautiful dark pink, and was deliciously warm when I lowered my hand (Ana shivered at that movement), and rubbed her gently.

“Good. You don’t get to be a brat any more, Ana. What happens to brats?”

Her voice was tiny. “Brats. Get. Spanked?” The last word was pronounced so quietly and so high in pitch that I didn’t actually hear it, though I knew what it was.