CHAPTER22
Georg
I almost took pity on my sweet little bad girl. If I used the voice of authority it would let her hold onto the idea of herself that she had grown so comfortable with: the bad girl who didn’t have to confess that deep down she really just wanted love.
The same way we all do, I thought, looking down at her gorgeous little ass. I allowed myself a smile of satisfaction at the even red glow I had imparted to it with the paddle.
Briana wouldn’t sit comfortably for the rest of the day, but her backside would feel fine tomorrow. That would help greatly with getting all the paperwork filed about the Garonov incident: we could have fun today—my CO had said we’d earned it—but we had a lot of work to do tomorrow, among the Lumberjacks, me as special liaison, and Briana as our coordinator. She had a lot of time on her butt, at her desk, coming.
Now, though.
I couldn’t let her get away with making me use the voice of authority. Briana’s time in Advanced Guidance and with the Lumberjacks had let her grow into the young woman she had always had the potential to be: mischievous, maybe, but highly intelligent and highly capable and no longer getting in her own way with her need to act out. Firm-handed daddies, making her confront her own needs, had accomplished that.
The daddies in bad girl prison and the ones here in country had left one part untouched, though: Briana’s natural defenses around real attachment. I had the same defenses, in my own way: I had fought against my growing love for her even as I tried to protect her, knowing she could unintentionally put us both in terrible danger and that if necessary I had to be ready to act with a mind unclouded by affection.
We had made it, though, and the last few minutes had made it clear that Briana felt the same way about me as I did for her. I hadn’t really doubted: I had seen her eyes when she blew my cover. But just as Briana didn’t want to give in fully to her need for my real authority—my responsibility to discipline not just her body but her mind—here over my knee, I hadn’t wanted to let myself believe fully in her love.
I brought my hand down very lightly on her well-warmed bottom. Briana let out another heart-wrenching sob. I squeezed very, very gently, letting my middle finger press between her thighs. Her body responded with a thrilling spasm of need that told me how to meet this little challenge. From her mouth, hidden from my eyes by her surrendered position atop my lap, came a longing whimper. Her beautiful bottom squirmed under my covering hand.
I didn’t have to use the voice of authority—the mechanism that revealed Briana’s true submissive needs while allowing her to believe she hadn’t consciously given in. I could make her much, much more ready to admit the error of her ways and to plead—as she needed to do for her good, and our good as daddy and little girl—for the forgiveness I had already given.
I pressed the tip of my middle finger deeper between her thighs, and felt the warm wetness gathering there.
“Why did you blow my cover, sweetheart?” I asked softly.
* * *
Briana
“Oh, no,” I sobbed. “Please…”
I had said please so many times that the word had started to lose its meaning. This time, though, it came from a place so different and yet so related to what had gone before that I could almost feel my mind expanding as I finally, really, got what Papa Georg wanted to teach me.
I had to let go… I had to let go completely… not just of the idea of being a bad girl but of the idea that I could find happiness without being honest about what I wanted. I knew I could live without Papa Georg if I had to—my whole life seemed to me a lesson in emotional independence and self-reliance. It wouldn’t be the life I truly wanted, though—the one I should have, now that we had found each other.
If I had fully understood my growing love for him, I would have trusted him enough to let him decide for himself how to escape. He would have done it… maybe it would have taken a few days, or maybe a month—or maybe a year. But he would have come for me, and I should have known that.
Instead, my blindness to how much I needed him had made me betray him. I hadn’t trusted him, and I had spoken without really thinking, just wanting him not to go the way a child might. But my new papa had finally taught me that my selfishness in Garonov’s bunker had come from not wanting to admit I really, truly wanted him as my daddy.
I closed my eyes tightly and felt the tears leak from them, the final release of emotion from my punishment. Something about the terribly arousing, utterly soothing touch of his hand in my most private places let the release happen. I heaved a sob, not from the pain in my thoroughly paddled bottom, but from the remorse Papa Georg had brought me to feel, as I knew only he could.
He kept stroking me down there, on the hot cheeks he had punished, working his middle finger gently between them, down from my warm pussy, touching me everywhere as if to remind me about what I had admitted a few minutes before—that my bottom, my pussy, my anus… they all belong to my papa. Softly he made sure I knew he would do with those parts of me, and with all of me, body and soul, precisely what he wanted and exactly what he knew I needed.
“I’m so sorry, Papa,” I sobbed. “I… didn’t understand.”
“Shh,” Papa Georg said, the soothing sound seeming to come down from above me like a warm mist of happiness. “Shh, Briana. I know. If you had understood what we have here, and still done what you did… well, I don’t think it could have happened that way. You’re not that kind of bad girl.”
“No,” I said. “No… I just…”
“It had only been a few hours,” Papa Georg said, still soothing me with his hand. “It’s still only been a few hours.”
“But…” I replied, suddenly taking my papa’s words in a very different way than the one he meant, and remembering that only a few hours ago Garonov and his men had gangbanged me in the warlord’s bunker, and yet my pussy seemed much too ready to have my papa claim me there.
My bottom squirmed against his hand, my hips thrusting out in a shameful sign of need.
My papa chuckled. He squeezed a little more firmly. I whimpered as I felt my body tense. My right arm, still captured behind my back in his big left hand, flexed a little, and the sensation of my papa restraining me over his lap sent a shiver of arousal straight to my clit.
“Are you ready to admit what you did?” he asked in his low growl.
“Oh, Papa… I…” I swallowed hard, as the rhythm of his stroking fingers resumed. “I… I…”
“Yes, sweetheart?” he asked. I could hear his smile in his voice. He took his hand away.
I didn’t need any further discipline: the simple withdrawal of the exquisite pleasure my papa knew how to give me proved enough.
“I was selfish!” I cried. “I’m so sorry!”