I cried out. I struggled. I yelled.
“No… Papa… please!”
But Papa yanked the paddle out of my hand and he put me over his knee. I tried to twist out his grasp, using all my strength. He pinned me over his left knee with his left hand and brought his right leg across the backs of my upper thighs.
“Papa… wait…” I tried. In that moment every deep, logical thought about our relationship fled away from my mind: I became my papa’s naughty girl. I had done a terrible thing, but my papa still loved me. I had started off the life we both wanted to have together with something that would be there between us always. We could get past it, but it posed a problem.
My papa knew how to solve the problem, though. All he needed to do was to take his bad girl in hand and to teach her the lesson she needed.
“No… please… Papa… I’m sorry!” I wailed as I felt myself completely restrained there over Papa Georg’s knee. His left hand moved down my back to take the skirt of the sheer red nightgown into his fingers and pull it up, so that I felt the air in my quarters moving on my bare bottom.
“I’m glad you feel sorry, sweetheart,” he said in his deep, steady voice, “but you know we have to make sure you don’t forget how serious a mistake you made. I know it was because you wanted us to be together, and I love you for that, but what you did was very selfish.”
He tapped the paddle against my backside once, twice, three times.
“Wasn’t it, little Briana?”
I bit my lip and hung my head even lower, feeling my hair brush against the floor as I shook it in a wordless lie.
“Are you shaking your head, sweetheart?” Papa Georg asked. For the first time since he had come into my quarters, I heard a real warning tone in his voice and it sent a thrill of fear through my chest.
“No,” I said, hearing how sullen my voice was and feeling suddenly unsure whether I wanted to take that tone.
Papa Georg increased that fear. “No, what, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice now very stern.
“No, Papa,” I tried, but my voice still sounded defiant.
I thought he would give me more time… to take it back, maybe—to admit that, yes, I knew I had done a selfish thing.
My papa, it turned out, didn’t have that kind of patience. I felt his left hand press down hard, to keep me in place, and I let out a little cry of fear right before I felt the paddle’s hard leather blade come down with a gunshot-like crack across both my cheeks. I barely had time to feel the pain, and I had just started to gather breath to let out another cry, a louder one, in response to how hard he had spanked me, when I felt the air move again and the paddle came down a second time.
“Papa!” I shouted. Papa Georg paddled me again. My body tried to writhe, but his grip held me firmly in place. I threw my right arm back behind me but he instantly imprisoned my wrist in his left hand and held it down atop my back, hardly stopping the rhythm of my terrible lesson. “Papa! It hurts… please!”
But he kept spanking me. He slowed the hard swats though, so he could speak to me as he punished me.
“We both know… this kind of lesson… is the only one… that works… for a girl like you.”
I cried out with each crack of the leather across my bottom, squirming my terribly hot cheeks as much as I could to try to ease the pain.
I threw my head back as my body made one last attempt to twist out of my papa’s grasp. I felt him ease the pressure on my arm and move my wrist a little. For a moment I thought I would actually manage to get away from the horrible paddle, but then I understood. My new papa knew that I might actually hurt myself—pull a muscle or even dislocate my shoulder. He understood how the human body worked, clearly from having had to fight so often hand-to-hand as well as from long experience of giving naughty girls what they had coming. He didn’t want me to get hurt while he taught me my painful lesson, and he knew precisely how to keep my bottom right where it belonged, offered for my paddle’s mortifying ministrations—while also keeping me safe.
The realization sent a shudder through my whole body. I felt my limbs relax over his solid thigh, my head hanging down, and then I felt the tension on my arm return, and the paddle come down again. I sobbed from the very bottom of my chest as my back arched at the pain, but then my body relaxed again to drape itself over my papa’s knee.
I felt myself push out my bottom, and I realized that I had started to float again, as I did during my most intense experiences of submission. But I also knew that I had never done that before… I had never actually offered my punished backside to my daddy or my papa for more paddling. And the floating had never felt like this, either… not just rising above my body but also feeling embraced there, hugged, cozy, despite the outward appearance of a bad girl pinned down atop the thigh of her firm-handed, dominant papa.
The paddle came down again, and the whole process repeated itself: I floated higher as my body gave a wrenching sob, tensing involuntarily at the fiery pain in my whole backside, then, instead of struggling further at all, relaxed and raised my punished cheeks again, as if pleading with my papa to do whatever he wanted… whatever would make it better, would win his forgiveness.
The next swat from the paddle didn’t come.
“Briana, sweetheart,” Papa Georg said, his voice a soft growl, “why did you blow my cover?”
I felt my face contort into a mask of woe.
The paddle came down again, hard. I cried out with the echo of the spank off the concrete walls of my quarters.
“Please…” I sobbed. “Please, Papa. Please…” I could hardly understand the reason for my next words at first, but I knew they came from deep inside me. “Please, make me?”
“With the voice?” Papa Georg asked, his voice sounding less stern, and even a little amused.
“Please?” I asked, understanding now. I wanted it all: I wanted to be a bad girl and a good girl too. A bad girl would never admit her infraction: her papa would have to make her.