“Daddy, please take it out,” I begged.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Daddy. It hurts a lot,” I whimpered.
“It’s supposed to. Daddy took some extra time to score the surface of the ginger root for you. That releases the juices even more efficiently and will make this that much more memorable for you, little girl,” he scolded, and I moaned as my bottom burned even hotter.
“Oh, please,” I pleaded.
He gripped the end of the ginger and I hoped he was going to remove it, but he started thrusting it in and out of my bottom roughly. Within seconds, it felt like my bottom hole was ablaze.
This kind of pain was so much different than the sharpness of a spanking. Each strike of his palm was hard, and the sting was concentrated into a tiny little area, but this…
This was so much worse.
This was endless. This went so much deeper, and it only seemed to be intensifying with each passing second. No amount of repositioning could make this any better. This just went on and on.
I keened quietly, feeling helpless and punished and so very sorry for what I’d done.
“Please forgive me, Daddy,” I pleaded.
“Daddy’s already forgiven you, little girl.”
“I’m sorry,” I begged.
“I know. It’s alright, little girl,” he said soothingly.
I struggled under that constant burn, trying not to tighten around the root and making it worse for myself, but I failed. I couldn’t keep from tensing over and over even though it just made the burn that much worse.
Oh. Please. Make it stop.
It didn’t though. I felt him reach forward again and my asshole clenched of its own accord. There was only one thing on that table that he could be reaching for.
That terribly heavy wooden spoon.
I waited apprehensively, expecting him to take the ginger out before he paddled me, but he made no moves to do so.
“Take it out,” I demanded, my voice breaking as I pleaded for mercy.
“Oh, no, little girl. The ginger is staying in that naughty little hole until your punishment is over,” he explained, and I gasped in horror.
“You can’t mean to,” I screeched, and he cleared his throat firmly. I stopped speaking immediately as soon as the thick wooden implement only just touched my backside.
“Little girl,” he warned.
I bit my lip. I regretted my outburst immediately.
Instead of paddling me right away, he dragged the smooth cool surface over my bare bottom. He took his time, and I pulled my hands beneath my chest. My fingers curled around my shoulders and I quietly hugged myself as his legs tightened over mine even more firmly. He grasped my hip with his other hand, effectively locking me into place.
That should have worried me, but I was too focused on the burning in my bottom hole to think of anything else. He even pushed it in a bit further, ensuring that it was as deep in my bottom as it would allow.
I was already sore and sorry. I pouted just the slightest bit at his rough handling and then he struck my backside for the first time with the wooden spoon.
I had told myself I would take what he gave me. I had told myself I would be graceful and not kick or scream or anything like that. He’d asked me if I needed this and I’d agreed to it, so I should take it like a good girl.
I failed. Spectacularly.
From the very first smack, I jerked hard. The pain of the wooden spoon was so focused and so cruelly intense that I cried out from the start. Combined with the ongoing deep burn from the ginger, I didn’t know how it could get any worse.
The spoon fell hard and fast, peppering my backside with a horrid swiftness that left me writhing and gasping for air.
I started begging. I knew my words were falling on deaf ears, but I said them anyway because there was a tiny part of me that hoped he would hear them. Maybe if I sounded pitiful enough, he would be merciful, but the longer the spoon terrorized my backside, the more that slight hope began to fade away.
“Daddy. Daddy, please,” I pleaded.
My bottom felt so swollen, and I was sure that I wouldn’t be able to sit for days. It had to be bright red by now, maybe even purple.
This was so much worse than the belt. The leather had been more forgiving. The spoon was focused in an area that was so much smaller and I sucked in a breath, trying to keep ahold of myself and quickly losing control.
Daddy had taken it. Daddy was in charge. Not me.
“Are you going to hide anything from Daddy anymore?” he asked firmly, and I wailed as I answered.
“No, Daddy!”
“Are you going to run from Daddy ever again?”
“No, Daddy,” I cried.
“Are you going to let Daddy keep you safe even when you’re scared?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered.
My voice was hoarse, and I squeezed my eyes shut. The spoon never stopped falling and I never stopped whimpering.
I didn’t want to cry.
The spoon was so hard, so firm, and so terrible that I knew it was inevitable though. I tried to blink my tears back. I tried to tell myself to stay strong.
I started to fight back. I rolled my hips, but they only rocked maybe half an inch. He had me thoroughly pinned against him. My fingertips dug into my shoulders as I tried to hold on, but then my breath caught in the back of my throat.
I couldn’t pull myself forward or go backwards. I was trapped.
The first tear dripped down my cheek. I sniffed, attempting to draw it back, but another fell. And then another. My body slumped forward, and I gasped for air.
Everything hurt. My bottom hole still blazed hot from the ginger and every square inch of my bottom and thighs was scalded from the cruel bite of the wooden spoon.
I started to sob. I was hardly even aware of the
