Belt Whipping

There’s just something about belt whipping when it comes to writing punishment scenes. They seem super-intense, and they evoke certain memories and feelings for a lot of Americans.

Here’s one that I wrote, which will be part of one of my holiday stories:

Shonda did not fuck around when it came to punishing Fred. She belted his ass hard and fast, crack! after crack! landing in loud, sharp crack! blasts, painting his backside crack! with bright red crack! stripes. He was quiet at first, but after crack! several crack! more crack! licks with the belt, he started to yell in pain.

“Learning your lesson, Fred?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

“Good.” She lashed crack! his bare bottom crack! over and over, the belt crack! tearing across his crack! bare skin, making him glow. “Don’t–” Crack! “Touch–” Crack! “My–” Crack! “Tree!” Crack! 

“I won’t! I won’t!”

“And don’t–” Crack! “Help–” Crack! “Without–” Crack! “Asking!” Crack! 

“I won’t! I’ll be good! I’m sorry, Shonda, I’m sorry!”

“Damn right you are!”

Shonda landed crack! a few more crack! hard licks, until she heard crack! Fred whimpering crack! from the pain. She didn’t want him to cry this time, though she certainly could push him there if she wanted to.

But this was enough.

Shonda tossed the belt onto the couch and rubbed Fred’s hot, red ass. “You ready to make it up to me?” she asked him.

“Anything,” he promised.

“Good. Get your ass on the couch.”

The main character of this story, Shonda, is a Black woman, and Fred is a white man. I tried to use Neil Gaiman’s method from when he wrote Anansi Boys: only describe the skin color of non-Black people. Hopefully I succeeded, and treated my Black character with respect. I’ll probably want to find a sensitivity reader just to be sure, if I can find one.

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