Page 22

"You know how." His hand dropped from my face. "You've been asking for it without words for two days. Testing boundaries, breaking rules, lying to my face. What do you think happens to little girls who deliberately disobey?"

Heat flooded through me at his words. Little girl. The way he said it made me feel small and safe and seen all at once.

"They get spanked," I whispered, face burning.

"That's right." He shifted on the bed, creating more space. "They get their bottom warmed until they remember why rules exist. Until they let go of all that guilt they're carrying. Until they feel clean again."

My whole body trembled, but not with fear. This was what I'd been pushing toward, what some deep part of me had been craving since he'd first made rules about bedtime and lunch. The proof that someone cared enough to follow through.

“Need a safeword first,” he said, his voice low and rumbly. “Something that you wouldn’t normally say while getting spanked.”

“Sausages?”

He gave a smile, just for a moment. “That’s where your mind went?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sausages is perfect. You say that, and it all stops, okay?”

I nodded.

"Now, over my lap," he said, voice dropping into that command tone that short-circuited my higher brain functions. "We're going to take care of this right now."

I moved without conscious thought, draping myself across his thighs with shaking hands. The position was vulnerable, intimate, my face pressed into the comforter while my backside presented itself for correction. He adjusted me slightly, one hand on my lower back to hold me steady.

"Why are you being spanked?" he asked, other hand resting on my bottom over my sleep shorts.

"Because I stayed up past bedtime," I mumbled into the bedding. "And skipped meals. And lied."

"Because you deliberately broke rules to test me," he corrected. "Because you put your health at risk to prove a point. Because you need to learn that consequences are real and consistent."

The first swat landed before I was ready, sharp and startling even through fabric. Not cruel—he wasn't trying to hurt me. But firm enough that I felt it, understood it was real.

"This is what happens when you don't take care of yourself," he said, settling into a rhythm. Left side, right side, covering every inch with measured strikes. "When you use destructive behavior to test whether someone cares."

Each swat bloomed warm across my skin, building a heat that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with being seen. Being held accountable. Being worth the effort of correction.

"I care enough to stop you from hurting yourself," he continued, never breaking rhythm. "To make sure you eat. To enforce bedtime. To give you the structure you need even when you fight it."

Tears came then, but not from physical pain. From relief. From the overwhelming realization that he meant every word. That I could push and test and be difficult, and instead of leaving, he'd just pull me over his lap and remind me why rules mattered.

"That's it," he murmured when I started to sob. "Let it go. All that guilt, all that fear. You're safe here."

The spanking continued until I was limp across his lap, tears soaking the comforter, every muscle released from the tension I'd been carrying for days. Weeks. Years. When he finally stopped, his hand rubbed gentle circles over the warm skin, soothing the sting he'd created.

"All done," he said softly. "You're forgiven. We start fresh from here."

He helped me up carefully, pulling me into his lap properly. I buried my face in his neck and cried harder, but these were different tears. Clean tears. The kind that washed away guilt and left something better in its place.

His arms wrapped around me, solid and sure, holding me together while I shook apart. One hand stroked my hair while the other rubbed my back, patient with my messy breakdown. He murmured soft reassurances—good girl, you did so well, I've got you—until the storm passed and I could breathe again.

"Better?" he asked when I finally pulled back enough to see his face.

"Yeah," I whispered, voice wrecked. "Thank you."

"Always," he said simply. "Whenever you need it. That's what I'm here for."

He helped me stand on shaky legs, then pulled back the covers on the bed. "Time for an actual nap. In bed, at an appropriate time."

I crawled under the blankets, feeling wrung out and clean and cared for in a way I'd never experienced. He tucked the covers around me, then settled into the chair beside the bed with his book.

"You're staying?" I asked, surprised.

"Until you fall asleep." Matter-of-fact, like it was obvious. "You've had a big emotional release. You need to know someone's watching over you."

Fresh tears pricked at my eyes, but these were grateful ones. I clutched Mr. Friendly and let my body sink into the mattress, feeling truly safe for the first time in memory.

"Thank you, Daddy," I whispered, the word slipping out natural as breathing.

I felt him go still in the chair, heard his sharp intake of breath. But he didn't correct me. Didn't pull away.

"Sleep now, little one," he said softly. "Daddy's got you."

And wrapped in blankets and safety and the knowledge that someone finally, actually gave a damn, I did.