Page 102 of Merciless Daddy

Her fingers touched my shin.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I rested my palm over her right cheek. She went still.

The first contact was not a strike. I let my hand learn her. Warm skin. Soft flesh over firm muscle. The faint tremor that moved through her when my thumb traced the crease beneath her ass.

Her thighs shifted.

“Stay still, young lady.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I rubbed once across both cheeks. Slowly. My palm covered nearly half of her at a time. Her skin warmed beneath it before I had delivered a single smack.

“This is for deliberate disobedience,” I said. “Not because you made a mistake.”

I lifted my hand.

The first smack landed across the center of her right cheek.

A flat, hard crack filled the quiet room.

Her body jolted.

I put my palm back over the spot at once. Heat rose under my hand. The mark was barely visible, a pale pink bloom spreading outward.

“One,” I said.

“One,” she repeated.

The second landed on the left.

Same force. Same placement.

Her breath left in a soft rush.

“Two.”

“Two.”

I alternated sides.

Three landed lower, near the curve where ass became thigh. Her hips jerked. Four crossed the fuller upper portion. Five returned to the right.

Each strike had space around it.

Lift. Impact. Pause.

I watched the color develop. Felt her muscles tighten before each smack, then slowly release under my palm afterward. I never struck before she had taken another breath.

At six, her count shook.

“Six.”

“Remind me of the rule you broke,” I said.

“Bed at eleven-thirty.”