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Maybe I should have talked to Nyla before I’d done this.
Too late now.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Please will you spank me for my bad attitude and disrespect, Daddy?”
“Good girl. It will be my pleasure.”
As soon as he finished speaking, he lifted his hand from its resting place on my bottom. I felt bereft as the warmth disappeared, and my body tensed with a twinge of fear when it crashed back down again, across the center of my ass. I didn't have time to process the shock of pain before he began a steady and even cadence, spanking all over the top of my skirt. It was surprising how little it hurt, but I could tell he was holding back. Behind this man’s suit was a strength that could likely break me without much effort.
With my body pressed tight up against his, I could feel the muscles shift and adjust with his movements. I began to get lost in the sensations of our bodies pressed together and his hand across my ass. The tightness in my own muscles began to ebb as I found myself relaxing more than protesting.
“Does that feel good, little one?” Bain asked.
“Yes, Daddy,” I murmured, not even bothered by the endearment, even though my brain was screaming that I should be. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, or why it feels good, but it does.”
“This is called a warm-up and if you like it, we can incorporate good girl spankings into your regimen.”
“Good girl spankings?” I questioned.
Spoken out loud, the idea was so absurd, but I was feeling too floaty to react the way I normally would have. If someone would have told me ten minutes ago that there was something called a good girl spanking, or that I would find myself wanting one, I would have laughed in their face.
“There are a lot of nerves and muscles back here, and it can act as almost a massage. But this is not a good girl spanking,” he reminded me. “You are, in fact, in trouble for being disrespectful.”
I wasn't sure when it had happened, but somehow my viewpoint had shifted, and I felt ashamed of the way I’d treated him. I didn’t fight at all when he lifted my skirt.
“Your bottom is nice and warm and pink,” he mused, his tone almost reverent, his voice entrancing. “I think you’re ready for the real thing now.”
When his hand fell harder than before and the sting of skin-to-skin hit me like a ton of bricks, I came to the conclusion that I was indeed not ready for the real thing.
“Ouch!” I cried, reaching back to rub the sting away. He caught my hand and held it tightly at the center of my back.
“No hands, ever,” he scolded firmly. “If I’m using an implement and you reach back, it could seriously hurt you.”
He spanked my upper thighs twice on each side. The sting was unbelievable. I tried to throw myself off his lap, but he held me tight. “That hurts too much down there!” I protested.
“Those are penalty swats. If you’re naughty during a spanking, then your sensitive thighs will pay the price.”
“I won’t do it again,” I promised, sure I was telling the truth. I’d do anything to avoid that. The sting was sharp and intense and it hurt a lot. I didn’t like it one bit.
“I’m glad to hear you say that. Just know that if you do, you know what the penalty will be, and if I have an implement in my hand I will not set it down to swat you with my hand. Keep that in mind.”
I shuddered at the declaration. His hand hurt plenty. I didn't want to know what an implement felt like.
“Now be a good girl and take the rest of your spanking.”
He began again, but I didn’t think it was as hard as that first swat. It hurt, a lot, but it was much easier to accept. Was he not hitting quite as hard, or had I become desensitized to the pain? I tried to be still and quiet, but as the heat built I lost the battle.
I whimpered as I tried to keep count of the swats, tried to focus on something—anything—other than the sting.
“Naughty girls who disrespect their Daddies will be dealt with, every single time. Do you understand me?” Bain spanked harder as he began to lecture.
“Okay!” I yelled out.
He paused. “When I ask you a question, I expect a correct response. Try that again.”
Shit. Shit. Shit
“Yes, Daddy.” I quickly corrected, hoping beyond hope he wasn’t going to go after my thighs again.
