I twisted my hips as much as the chains would allow, but that didn’t stop him. His palm turned even more punishing after that. If I hadn’t known that it was his hand, I would have thought it was something else. A block of wood maybe. I didn’t know. All I knew was that this was more painful than I ever could have imagined.
“Please stop,” I begged.
“You were a bad little girl, weren’t you?” he asked. “Daddy has to take you in hand when you’re naughty,” he scolded and for some reason the insanity of his words touched me far more than I wanted. Deep down, I hated my work and I hated that I had to hurt people to do it, but it was a job, and I did what I had to do.
“Please don’t,” I pleaded.
“Daddy’s got you, little girl,” he murmured gently even though his hand was the exact opposite. His palm was cruel and harsh as it cracked against my flesh over and over no matter how much I wanted it to stop.
The true extent of my loss of control really settled over me. All my life, I’d been independent. I hadn’t needed anyone. Never needed anyone and now that my bottom was bare and stinging so much that I wondered if he’d make me cry, I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t know if there was anything I could do.
My bottom was on fire and there was no end in sight. For a moment, he paused, tracing his roughened palm over top of my scalded flesh.
The pain lessened, but it was still there. I’d be sore for some time. I knew that, yet something else hurtled forward that caught me by complete surprise.
My desire surged forward like a slingshot, like it had been waiting for him to stop so that it could surface and take over every last inch of me. My core swirled with need and nothing I could do would make it stop.
My thighs slid against one another and I came to another mortifying conclusion.
I was so much wetter than before.
Not just by a little bit either. I was soaking wet. My inner thighs were covered with it and that’s when he decided to slowly trace his fingers along the lower curve of my bottom until he traced part of my inner leg.
“You think you can keep secrets from me, don’t you, little girl?” he asked.
I pressed my legs even more firmly together.
“I won’t tell you anything,” I whispered hoarsely.
“Let me tell you something, little girl. Your bare little bottom is propped up for a reason. Sure, it makes it easier for Daddy to make sure that you’re thoroughly punished, but it also serves another purpose, doesn’t it?”
I almost didn’t want to know but I couldn’t stop myself from asking anyway.
“What do you mean?”
“Your thighs are strong and extraordinarily well-shaped, little girl. You work hard for the body you have, and it shows,” he said.
I could feel myself blush. With my bottom bare and thoroughly punished, I hadn’t expected his praise and it caught me off guard.
“What are you getting at?”
“Your thighs curve in beautifully right here,” he added, sliding his fingers upward until they took a precipitous turn toward my pussy. “When you’re on display like this, I can see everything. I can see the arousal glistening on your bare little pussy. You’ve never been this wet for me, little girl. Ever.”
Every single smart-assed retort died on my lips. There was nothing I could say. I had thought the evidence of my traitorous body had been hidden, but he’d been able to see it the entire time.
The gravity of that was heavy and it left me reeling.
“Please,” I pleaded.
What was I even asking for?
I don’t know. None of this made sense.
“Would it make you blush to know that Daddy always thought you needed to be given a hard spanking over his knee to remind you of your place, little girl? Would it make you blush even harder to know that he thought about doing exactly that on our wedding night?”
I could do nothing but whimper in response.
His palm cracked firmly against my backside.
“It makes Daddy’s cock very hard to see this bare little bottom bright red, but it makes him even harder to see that it makes you so incredibly wet even when you’ve got so much more coming, little girl,” he continued.
I had no words, but it turned out that I didn’t need to say anything at all.
It was then that the real spanking truly began. What I thought had been hard had just been a gentle introduction to the terrible punishment to come.
His palm turned harsher still. More punishing until I couldn’t speak or think. The only thing that mattered was that cruel hand smacking my bottom and thighs so firmly that I could only cry out with how much they hurt.
Daddy wanted to punish me. He’d called me a bad little girl. I deserved this.
Oh, please. Let this end soon.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean it.
I only did it because I had to.
His palm was ruthless. I couldn’t get away and it wouldn’t stop. Before long, I was blubbering and begging for him to stop. My cries increased in desperation. I wanted nothing more than my spanking to stop.
“It hurts,” I wailed.
“I know it does. It’s supposed to, little girl,” he scolded.
I felt nothing more like a naughty little girl in that moment. I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point, the pet name turned to something that felt endearing, like something to hold onto, something special between us that tied us together even as he was spanking me harder than I could have ever been prepared for.
“What do you want?”
“I want for you to refer to me properly, little girl. Say the words Daddy wants to hear,” he pressed.
He wanted me to call him Daddy.
I…
I couldn’t.
I wasn’t ready.
“No,” I spat, baring my teeth against the sheets.
He punished my thighs then exclusively and the screams and wails escaping
