Page 118 of Double Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #8)
Chapter Five
Clay
Punishing Littles wasn’t his favorite activity.
It felt too much like stripping a layer of innocence off them.
Unfortunately for Avery, she’d earned this. She’d been in a bad mood before she walked into the kitchen; her mistake was taking it out on him, even if he was a cookie thief.
The swearing he could’ve forgiven; the shove and kick, not so much.
She did look adorable with her short legs kicking feebly six inches off the ground, he mused. Add in some black Mary Janes, a pair of white knee-high socks, and a skirt rucked up around her waist, she’d be a shoo-in for a pornography centerfold.
Soft, wet, pretty pink pussy on display.
Reddened ass with the vaguest outline of his fingers in a slightly darker shade.
Beautiful dark curls.
Pale, creamy skin and curves that drew a man’s eye.
None of that mattered, at least not today. This was a balancing of the scales, a reminder that her manners came into play at all times even if her mood was blacker than an Angus bull. Serenity had rules for a reason and everyone—Masters, employees, guests—abided by them or faced the consequences.
What Avery didn’t realize yet was that if she didn’t start giving her Little some freedom and attention, outbursts like this were going to cost her more than a spanking.
“Round two.”
He deliberately hadn’t given her a safeword.
Not because he was planning on beating her ass until she couldn’t sit down and didn’t want her to have a way out.
The fact of the matter was, she was a brat and, in his experience, brats squirmed out of punishment by any means possible.
He didn’t want to be put in a position of adding more to her total because she couldn’t resist using her safeword under false pretenses.
All she needed to do was say no or stop; he’d listen and act accordingly.
Any signs of true pain or fear would bring the punishment to an immediate halt.
Smack. Smack. Smack .
Clay laid a series of blows down her right cheek in quick succession, starting at the uppermost curve of her ass and finishing where it met her thigh. His hand made an efficient spanking tool—it covered a lot of area per spank, and he wasn’t being particularly gentle this time.
Avery struggled to keep her cries under wraps. She’d done well at trying to hide them at first, but now her ass was tender and sensitive, hiding them and attempting to control her Little and her emotions at the same time… something was going to have to give.
The quiet sob as his stinging palm connected five times down her left cheek was just beautiful.
He waited patiently for the expected apology, then gave her plump, needy pussy a light warning pat when nothing was forthcoming.
Her hips jumped, then she choked out, “I’m sorry for being a bad girl, Daddy Clay.”
That sounded more genuine, he thought. “Good girl. Last ten.”
She moaned pitifully. “I hate you.”
“That’s a shame, but it’s not going to change your punishment. Last ten,” he reiterated. “Next time, think before you kick someone.”
“It hurt me more than it hurt you!”
Clay grinned but kept his voice firm, his tone strict. “So will this.”
He dragged the last set out, adding an extra whomp to each blow. He was nowhere near maximum strength, not using even half of what he could in terms of power through the swing, but he’d bet that Avery thought he was whaling on her ass with everything he had at his disposal.
Her fingers squeaked on the counter as she tried to find something to anchor herself with, but the smooth top offered no help. She shuddered with each loud smack , her body tensing and releasing as pain flared and ebbed. “D-Daddy Clay, please .”
Not quite there yet, he mused. The words were right, the begging sweet, even the Little quality of her voice was almost what he wanted, but she needed to break before she could heal, and both parts of her were in dire need of healing.
Smack . “Please what, Avery?”
“I can’t… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for shoving you.” Her breath hitched brokenly, jerking her body. “I-I’m sorry for swearing at you.” Tears slid down the side of her nose. “I’m so, so sorry for kicking you, Daddy Clay.”
“That’s a pretty apology, sweetling, thank you.
” Rubbing light circles over her red, heated flesh, Clay let approval color his words.
When she shivered and relaxed, surrendering as though she thought he’d forgiven the remaining four strikes of her reprimand, he tapped his fingers on the side of her ass where her skin was untouched.
“Just four more to go, Avery, then it’s all over. ”
It was the straw that broke her. Before his hand connected again, she started sobbing as though her world was ripping apart at the seams. He doubted she felt the final four spanks land on her ass, she was crying so hard.
He let her cry as he inspected the result of his labor—hot flesh, slightly swollen where her ass had taken a higher percentage of the punishment, an incredibly appealing shade of dusky red.
There was no obvious bruising, but sitting down over the next day or two would be a stark reminder not to piss off a Daddy Dom.
“I’m sorry for being a bad girl, Daddy Clay.” It was barely a whisper through the sobs, yet it meant more to him because it came without prompting.
In that soft, broken, childlike whisper, it dug deep into his heart.
Carefully, Clay eased her panties back into position, tsking under his breath. It really was a shame to cover that glorious pussy up, especially when it was visibly yearning for some attention. Her labia were swollen and plump, glistening with her juices.
Bad girls, even repentant ones, didn’t get a reward.
When her pants were secured around her hips, he gently helped her down off the counter. Before she could shove him away and regroup, locking her Little back into the dark, he hefted her up onto his hip.
She was small enough to make him feel protective, heavy enough to satisfy his craving to hold a woman. Her yelp of pain when her ass settled on his supporting arm made him smile—yes, she was going to remember this the next time she tried to declare war. “No! Put me down!”
“Shush, sweetling. We’re going to find somewhere nice and quiet where you can finish getting those tears out.
Don’t argue,” he said gently, feeling a surge of victory when she went limp, pressing her wet face to the side of his neck as her body jerked with more sobs.
“There we go. Cry it out, Avery. I’ve got you, every step of the way. Trust me.”
A low, mournful keen was her reply. “Can’t trust anyone anymore.”
Being a Daddy wasn’t his natural milieu, Clay could admit, but right now…
hell, it felt more natural than wearing his own damn skin.
Rubbing his cheek over her hair, he murmured, “Feels that way now, Avery. The hurt is still raw, your emotions are open and bruised. There are so many people you can trust here when you’re ready. ”
He found himself rocking side to side, his hips swaying as he comforted her. It was oddly therapeutic, the rhythm slow and easy. If he didn’t move, he’d stand here all damn afternoon doing just this.
Pressing a kiss to her hair, sniffing the cinnamon and vanilla scent of her shampoo, Clay carried her out of the kitchen, exchanging a silent, knowing look with Allan. He jerked his chin up, indicating they were going upstairs, and Allan nodded in reply.
A couple were waiting by the reception desk when he pushed through the doors from the empty dining room; he could hear Jennifer rummaging around in the tiny office behind the welcome area.
A tall blond man exited the bar, staring at Avery as though he’d never seen a woman carried in such a way before. Strangely mercurial eyes weighed her up, then measured Clay a lot like a pedigree stud getting the down-low on a stray hound.
He didn’t say anything, but Clay felt those eyes drilling into his back as he ascended the stairs with Avery still crying into his neck. Ignoring the itch on the back of his nape, he knocked on the clinic door and waited for Doc Isaac to answer.
The gray-haired doctor was the temporary replacement for Doc Linnie, who’d apparently had a personal emergency several weeks before Clay’s arrival and taken leave from the club to deal with it.
When she was due to return, no one knew—or was telling, if they did.
The door swung open and Isaac, dressed in a blue sweater and beige slacks, filled the doorway looking like someone’s grandfather. His smile was warm and welcoming even as his light-blue eyes filled with concern. “My goodness. Come on in, Master Clay. How can I help?”
“It’s not an emergency, Isaac.”
“Nevertheless, you’re here.” He stepped back, gesturing them in with his hand. “Does the young lady require an examination?”
Clay laughed and stepped inside. “Eager, Isaac?”
The door closed quietly. “Bored would be the operative word. Since the construction work began, it’s been quieter than anticipated.
I’ve almost conned myself into believing I’m retired,” he joked, ushering Clay toward the table.
“Only a few more weeks though and we’ll be back to full capacity, I imagine.
It can’t come too soon—there are only so many times I can take inventory when I’m hardly using the stock. ”
“Then we’ll be complaining how busy it is.”
“True, true. Now, what seems to be the problem?”
Crying down to sniffles now, Avery snuffled softly against Clay’s throat.
“A bad case of spanked ass-itis following a nasty bout of temper tantrum,” Clay answered somberly. “I need some ibuprofen and aloe gel.”
Steel-gray eyebrows formed a shallow vee on his wrinkled forehead. “Most Masters keep their own personal supply of both in their cabins.”