Twyla sucked air through her teeth and pulled at her wrists. That sounded like a lot—the most she’d ever taken from his belt was five and that hadhurt.
“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he soothed. “You’re going to be a brave girl and take your punishment and then it’s all over. All done. You never have to think about it again. Now remember to breathe, and remember your word if you really need me to stop. Don’t be afraid to use it if this gets to be too much for you. Promise me.”
“I promise, Daddy.”
“Good girl. Now let’s get this over with because I want to be inside you and then cuddle the fuck out of you. Sound good?”
Twyla laughed. It was a muffled, gurgly thing, but she loved it when her daddy was silly. “Yes, Daddy.”
Then Mr. Fox backed away from her. At first she braced for the impact except she knew that it would hurt worse if she tensed so she tried to breathe, bend her knees a little and loosen her muscles. It worked.
Well, it worked until the first crack of the belt snapped against her ass and she cried out because it stung and burned across her flesh. Twenty? There was no way she could do it.
“Count for me, little girl.”
“One, Daddy.”
“That’s a good girl. What percent is that?”
She laughed and whined at the same time, rubbed her face against her arm. Math was hard, especially when her bottom was being punished. “Five percent.”
“Perfect, you’re perfect babygirl.”
Then Mr. Fox proceeded to stripe her ass eighteen more times. It was around thirteen that she’d started to cry for real but she didn’t say her word. Thought it, sure, because thishurt, a lot, but she wanted this to be done, wanted to make her daddy proud so she held on. Curled her fingers over the edge of the changing table and sought comfort by rolling her forehead and cheeks against the cool surface.
The last stroke was the hardest, feeling like a stripe of fire across her backside. Her shoulders heaved and she cried.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you again. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I’m sorry I didn’t let you help. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know you are. And you’re almost done. What was that?”
“Twenty. One hundred percent.”
“That’s right,” he said as he leaned over beside her and pushed her sweat-matted hair back from her forehead. Kissed her there and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You’re being so brave and I’m so proud of you. You only have six with the cane to go and then you’ll be done. Are you ready now or do you need a minute?”
“Now, please, Daddy.”
She wanted this over with, didn’t want to think about it anymore. It would hurt, but waiting wouldn’t make it hurt any less, she knew that for sure.
Usually she’d be super attuned to Mr. Fox’s every movement, where he was at all times, but she was still trying to process the pain and that took all of her concentration. She was almost surprised when he came back and laid his hands on her backside—it felt even hotter with his comparatively cool hands fondling her than it had before. Like flame on top of fire.
“Six, baby. That’s all you have to take, and I’m not going to make you count. Then you’re all done.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
The tears had stopped but her voice still came out as a squeaky hiccup. She’d be in tears again soon though, she was sure of it.
There was a tapping against her bottom and she knew it was her daddy, finding his aim, practicing his stroke. She buried her head between her arms but tried to relax, will herself to accept the pain, let it pass through her.
Of course it didn’t work.
The first stroke hit her and she screamed. Almost swore but managed to bite her tongue before she could. That would only buy more trouble and she had plenty already.
The second stroke was hard and fast, the pain deeper than the belt but with a similar feeling of burning in the aftermath. Just more…intense. It had a staying power that she hated. And she hated the next four, crying out with each one as he laid them down in a column down her ass. She broke down into convulsive sobs at the fifth.
“Twyla, sweetheart, can you still talk?”
She nodded, then realized that was foolish. She made herself croak out, “Yes, Daddy.”
“Do you need to stop?”
“No. Finish, please. Please, Daddy, I want it to be done.”
“Last one. You’re such a good, brave girl and I love you very much.”
His praise and his love definitely didn't lessen the hurt of the last stroke, placed at the crease between ass and thigh, a deep burning pain that made her kick her feet up and cry. It did however, make her heart glow. Made her smile, however briefly. She was home.