How am I meant to reply when I’m gagged? I give an angry nod, though I know he’s going to spank me again. Not being able to see or curse or move away means I can only focus on the pain and the anticipation of it.
“Good girl. Now, do you know why you’re being punished?”
Because you’re an asshole, is my automatic thought. But then I remember how good it felt, having him overpower me, and here I am, tied to a chair. That’ll be it, then. I mutter some angry words into my gag that I’m sure he doesn’t understand. He pulls it out from between my teeth.
“What was that, princess?” His hand lands on my ass, very warm and firm, not to spank me but to squeeze. A thrill runs through me, and I remember what he told me about being able to endure more pain when I’m turned on. Should I make him aware that it feels good? To wiggle against his hand, or not to wiggle against his hand? What the hell, I might as well enjoy myself while I’m here.
“Well?” he asks, squeezing my behind in response to my movement.
Oh, yes, he asked me a question. Why I’m being punished. I’m about to tell him I was feeling annoyed and I knew this would help, but it’s not as simple as that. Why was I angry in the first place?
I remember, and I wince. Someone upset me at school, so I picked a fight with Dieter. I threw a tantrum because I couldn’t express my emotions properly, even after I told him I thought it made me ugly and selfish. “I was angry and I wanted to lash out at someone. You were there so I chose you, daddy.”
“Oh, kitten,” he says, and there’s so much feeling in his voice. He pulls the blindfold off me and crouches down, his face very close to mine. He cups my cheek and says, “I thought it was going to take a lot longer for us to get there.”
“You mean you knew?”
His smile is rueful. “Of course I knew. It’s my job as your dom to know. And do you think I would punish you if I didn’t already know what was wrong?”
I feel tears come into my eyes. “I’ve done it again. I’m sorry, daddy.”
“Now, princess,” he says, stern. “No tears. I haven’t even spanked you yet. What do you think is a fair punishment?”
I look at him in surprise. “You’re asking me?”
“Of course. This is for you. Once I’ve disciplined you you’ll feel like we’ve addressed this and we can put it behind us.”
Like it never happened and I’m forgiven? I want that so badly, and also to swear that I’ll never do this again. But can I honestly promise that? “Whatever you think I need,” I mutter, not meeting his eyes.
He puts a forefinger under my chin and raises it. “Where’s my brave girl I like so much?”
There’s understanding in his eyes, but what if one day I look into them and it’s not there? “She’s scared she’ll just do this again next time she gets angry.”
“Well, if she does, I’ll discipline her and then comfort her.”
I want to believe him, but in my experience that’s not how things work. “You make it sound so simple.”
“Sweetheart, it is. Now, I want my brave girl to tell me what she needs so I can give it to her. Ten spanks? Five? None?”
He’d really give me none if I asked? Looking at him, I believe he would. But I don’t want none, I want to feel like we’ve gotten through this together. I was rude to my dom, and I want to make it up to him. What’s more, I was rude to Dieter, whom I like very much and want to be proud of me. “Six, daddy?”
He stands up. “Six it is.”
The first spank makes me gasp. By the third the heat and stinging has started, but I feel my body lean into it. It’s vivid, clarifying, burning away everything else in its wake. The heat is cleansing and so is the smacking sound of it hitting my behind. I feel my tears washing away the hurt and shame.
After six, Dieter stops, and I feel his hand on my behind, his skin cool against my heated flesh. “Princess, you took that like such a good girl.”
He unties me and helps me up. We sit together on the floor, me cradled in his arms and my cheek pillowed against his chest. His hand strokes my hair back from my sweaty face.
“Tell me about what upset you, sweetheart.”
I nibble the side of my nails, feeling
too small, too worn out to talk. He waits, running his fingers through my hair. After a few minutes I take a shuddering breath. “I overhead someone say something nasty in the cafeteria. They think I’m organizing the exhibition because I like the attention.”
“And are they right? Do you think your classmates agree with this person?”
I shake my head. It seems stupid now, but for a while there I was flooded with my worst fears, unable to control them. So I lashed out at Dieter, the person who told me he’d protect me from these fears. “No. I think they were just gossiping.”