Plum didn’t turn when she heard him enter the room, though she did straighten her back and bend her knees slightly. She had not, however, she noted proudly, rested her elbows on the walls, not even for a second.
Her reward for that was Gideon standing behind her, pressing his thick erection into her lower back and dropping kisses along the yoke of her shoulders.
“Arms down, darling, you’ve held that for long enough,” he said as he took her wrists and guided them to her sides.
Then he was kissing her neck, rubbing her biceps and slipping his hands down to her hips where he gripped the bones and pulled her against him as if wanting to show her how badly he wanted her. That was nice to know. She wanted him too.
Before she could distract him by grinding her ass against his cock, he held her where she was and stepped back, muttering, “Temptress.”
Well, she wouldn’t argue with that. He huffed a laugh when she shrugged.
She didn’t argue either when he guided her back to the bed even though she saw the hairbrush there. The beautiful but loathsome hairbrush. Well, fuck. She was definitely not getting out of this without crying. She hated that thing. It stung so much, and she hated sting.
“Don’t look like that. This is supposed to be a punishment, you know.”
Plum dared a pout over her shoulder and she saw the way he fought to keep the corner of his mouth from turning up. She really was trying her best to be less bratty, but sometimes Gideon didn’t seem to mind. Kept things interesting perhaps.
She thought he’d sit and have her drape herself over his lap again, but he didn’t. No, he picked up the hairbrush, slapped his palm with it a few times, and then pointed to the bed.
“Feet on the floor, forearms on the bed. You’d best present that pretty little backside to me and not make me ask twice.”
Sore as she was and her nipples still smarting in the clamps, she bent over knowing the angle would make it hurt more.
“You’re going to get spanked until you’ve had fifty strokes or until you cry, whichever comes first and then I’ll finish you off with my belt.”
Oh, Daddy’s belt. She loved the sound it made as he pulled it from his belt loops, it made her wet just thinking about Gideon holding the doubled-over leather taut between his hands. She also hated it because it fucking hurt. And he knew it was hard for her to cry—she sometimes had to safe out before she cried. What a wicked man.
“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered.
“Say it louder, and this time you’re going to ask me. No,begme, to punish you.”
Plum closed her eyes, squeezed them tight shut, and wrinkled her nose. She would say it, she would, but it was a difficult pill to swallow. Then again, the best medicine often was.
“Yes, Daddy,” she said louder, staring into the quilt folded at the end of Gideon’s big bed. “Please, please punish me for being a naughty girl. I want to be good for you so badly but I don’t always remember how or have enough patience to do it. Please teach me, show me, discipline me. Make me into the best girl. I want to be the best girl for you, Daddy. Please.”
“You’re getting quite good at this, my little plum blossom.”
And then there was a hand in her hair, turning her face to the side and pinning her head to the quilt. A quilt that had no doubt been hand sewn for him by some old lady in his congregation who would be shocked,shocked, by what he was doing to her. What he had done to her. And surely what he was going to do.
Which was spank her, very hard, with that fucking hairbrush.
She cried out as the first stroke landed and went up on her toes. Not that that would help, but she needed to dosomething.
“Ah, don’t be a squirmy girl. That was only one. You have forty-nine left to go. And knowing you, my stubborn little darling, you’ll take all of them before you cry.”
At least he wasn’t making her count. When she was trying to manage getting through these things, she found it almost impossible to hang onto math. Self-preservation and all the good chemicals swirling around in her brain didn’t leave any room for numbers.
The stinging slaps of the hairbrush rained down on her bottom and she tried to keep count for her own sake, to know when she was close to done, but it was impossible. She was focusing too much on breathing, not locking her knees, keeping her position, and yes, managing the pain of it all, and she lost count.
Why was she trying to manage this, anyway? If she cried it would be over sooner. But it was that damn stubbornness that always got her in so much trouble that wouldn’t let her. If he forced it from her, she would, but not until then.
She wanted him to be proud of her, to be impressed with how strong and tough she was, she wanted him to know she would take anything he would want to give her. It was probably fucked up but she wanted to earn his affection, prove that she was worthy of warmth and tenderness.
Plum bit her lip as another stroke landed with a sharp sting on her backside, but it didn’t stop the pathetic noise from being forced from her throat.
“Ten more, little girl. You’re almost there and you’re doing so well. Such a good girl for Daddy.”
If she wasn’t mistaken—and in her pain and endorphin-laced haze she certainly could be—his voice was low and raspy with strain.