Page 10 of Daddy's Lesson

My stoic resolve faded and I scrambled to dodge the blows, but Lennon held me firmly in place. “It’s a punishment. It's supposed to hurt.”

His calm voice flowed over my nerves like a waterfall, reminding me. This felt different because it was different. It was harsher because I had something to learn. My body relaxed and I settled into the pain. As much as I could, anyway.

“Naughty girls who lie to their Daddies get their bare bottoms paddled.” Lennon was lecturing again, his words pointed and accusing, but in a way that clawed at my lingering control, as if prying it out of my grasp.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered thickly.

“Good. You should be sorry. And hopefully, you’ll remember not to do it again. Because this will be the outcome every time.” He paused and pulled me closer. “Do you like this? Do you like being helpless over Daddy’s lap, being spanked like the naughty girl you are?”

In my entire life, nobody had spoken to me the way Lennon did, and his words released a dam of pent-up emotion that burst from me in strangled cries and gulping sobs. Every doubt I’d ever had and every feeling of worthlessness seemed to culminate, bursting from my core all at once. “I’m sorry,” I wailed, my cries louder than the smack of the paddle against my skin. “I won’t do it again. I want to be better. I want… I want to thrive!” I used his words from earlier, the ones I’d had to keep myself from rolling my eyes at. They didn’t seem silly now. They felt like a promise that only he and I, working together, could fulfill. One I wanted with every breath I took.

“Daddy will help you. Daddy will make sure you thrive. If you want it.” His hesitation, however slight, reminded me that in a way, this spanking was a one-off. Beyond it, I had yet to commit to anything. My hesitation seemed silly now. The control I’d held so tightly with Archer, too, was nothing more than a hindrance, keeping me from all I could really be.

I wanted it now. At that moment, I felt fearless. Hopeful. Sexy even, though Lennon had been nothing more than a perfect gentleman. There was something about his touch and the way he spoke to me that made me feel beautiful, even if he didn’t say it. I knew he believed it, and that made all the difference.

“I want it! I want it!” The words repeated with desperation, bubbling from my lips with each smack of the paddle across my burning ass and thighs. Each wave of pain brought release and hope. New horizons. Though the paddle hurt like the dickens, and I was crying so hard I could barely breathe, I felt better than I could remember feeling in ages.

Lennon’s hand rested on my aching bottom, rubbing small circles across my heated flesh, and I realized he had stopped spanking. The paddle was resting on the couch beside my thigh. Last time he’d paused there’d been a feeling of emptiness. I hadn’t been ready for him to stop. This time there was no such bereftness, and I hoped he was done. My sobs were wracking my shoulders, but without the constant impact of the paddle, I finally felt as if I could catch my breath. The cries started to settle into shaky whimpers. Lennon released my hands, and I used them to push my hair from my face and wipe the drying tears from my cheeks. Strong hands pulled up my panties and skirt. The cool satin felt good against my burning skin.

“I’m going to help you up now. You have a choice. You can sit beside me, or I can hold you.”

With Archer, I’d never had a choice. Sitting beside him hadn’t even been an option. He’d always helped me straight to my feet before offering a brief hug. Of course, his spankings had never had quite the same effect as Lennon’s, either.

“Hold me,” I whimpered, and when he helped me into a sitting position in his lap, I latched my arms around his neck and buried my face in the fabric of his shirt, no longer caring about propriety, the age difference, or the history between us. Lennon was no longer a former student. Just like that, he’d become my Daddy.

His arms wrapped tightly around me, holding me as my cries died down to shuddering sighs. I was thankful for the silence. I was sure he had questions, but I wasn’t ready to have answers.

Finally, he pushed my body away from his, putting just enough distance between us to force me to look up into his eyes. “That was a lot of tears,” he said. It was a statement, but with a hint of a question in it.

I responded with a shaky laugh, and opened my mouth to explain, but no words came out. I didn’t know what to say or where to start. The experience, and my reaction to it, had been overwhelming. “Thank you, for that,” was what I finally settled on.

Thankfully, he seemed to understand. “You’re welcome. Should I assume that you want to continue with this arrangement?”

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

“And you’re going to let me take control? No more lies, no more walls, no more keeping the status quo?”

I nodded eagerly. With that one spanking, Lennon had opened up a world I hadn’t dreamed existed. My ass throbbed with pain, my pussy with pleasure. When was the last time I had been so aroused? I couldn’t remember. Certainly not any time during the last decade of my marriage.

And just as suddenly as I was enlightened, I was ashamed. I remembered who it was making me feel this way, and guilt and disgust knotted my gut. Not that Lennon was disgusting—he certainly wasn’t. He was just… young. Younger than me, anyway. By a lot.

“Zoe?” His soft tenor broke through my shameful feelings, heating my core. God, I was a hussy, turned on simply by the sound of his voice. “Penny for your thoughts.”

God, no. Anything but that. How could I share the things I was feeling? Emphatically, and on autopilot, I shook my head from side to side.

Lennon grabbed my chin, stilling me, and looked deep into my eyes. “I think you misunderstood. It wasn’t a request.”

Oh. Oh. I swallowed past the lump in my throat as I processed the enormity of the differences between him and his counterpart. Archer had never pushed. He’d never cared enough to, if I was being honest.

The fact that Lennon did… it should be a good thing. I knew eventually I might actually see it that way, but now was not that time. “I… I…” I stuttered, not having an answer for him. I wasn’t ready to communicate quite so honestly. At least not out loud. “Can I see the questionnaire?” I asked instead. “I think I need to make some changes.”

Lennon’s brows furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned into a frown as he regarded me warily, but he stood, and without a word crossed the room, retrieving the papers in question from his bag and handing them to me, with a pen.

I leaned forward before I realized that Lennon’s artsy decor did not include a coffee table, and I had no hard surface to write on. He seemed to understand my predicament, and walked over to the built-in bookshelf, retrieving a large hardback coffee table book from the shelves.

I stared down at the cover. Frida Kahlo, one of my all-time favorite authors. She was a feminist, and revolutionary—famous for her love affairs with both men and women. It said a lot to me that a man would love her work enough to have her book displayed in his home.

“Thank you.”

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