Page 20 of Daddy Christmas

"Tell me what's weighing on your heart," he prompted gently.

I hesitated, the words sticking in my throat. Admitting these feelings out loud seemed impossible, but I forced myself to speak.

"I feel . . . worthless," I finally whispered. "Like I don't deserve happiness or kindness."

My voice quavered, and I felt tears pricking at my eyes. Saying it aloud made the pain feel fresh and raw.

Without warning, Nicholas's hand came down firmly on my bottom. The sharp sting made me gasp.

"That's not true, baby girl," he said softly but firmly.

As the initial shock faded, I felt a strange sense of lightness. Like some of the heaviness in my chest had lifted.

Nicholas's hand returned to my back, rubbing gentle circles. "Why do you feel that way?" he asked.

I swallowed hard. "Because I've never been good enough," I admitted. "I didn't have a family who wanted me. I don't deserve safety or security."

The words hurt to say, but once I started, they came pouring out. Years of pent-up pain and loneliness spilled from my lips.

Nicholas listened intently, his touch a constant anchor. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath me, steady and calming.

I took a shaky breath, more confessions bubbling up. "I'm . . . I'm unlovable," I whispered.

Nicholas's hand came down again, sharper this time. I gasped, the sting blooming across my skin.

"That is absolutely not true," he said firmly. "You are deserving of love, Gemma. Very deserving."

His words sent a shiver through me. The pain faded quickly, replaced by a tingling warmth.

"I'm a burden," I continued, my voice barely audible.

Another spank, followed by his soothing touch. "You are not a burden. You bring light to those around you."

With each admission, the rhythm continued. Sharp pain, then comfort. My body responded in ways I didn't expect. Heat pooled low in my belly, and I found myself pressing down against Nicholas's lap.

"I don't deserve good things," I moaned, the words mingling with pleasure.

The next spank drew a cry from my lips—part pain, part something else entirely.

"You deserve all the good things life has to offer," Nicholas murmured.

I was trembling now, overwhelmed by the storm of sensations. The pain blurred with pleasure, making my head spin. Instinctively, I ground my hips down, seeking more friction.

Nicholas's free hand stroked my hair. "Let it out, little one," he encouraged. "You're doing so well."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. They weren't from pain, but from something deeper—a release I hadn't known I needed. As each confession left my lips, I felt lighter, like I was shedding years of built-up shame.

"I'm . . . I'm not worthless," I whispered tentatively.

Nicholas's hand paused, then stroked my heated skin gently. "That's right," he said softly. "You're not worthless at all."

I swallowed hard, amazed at how different those words felt coming from my own mouth.

"Maybe . . . maybe I do deserve happiness," I breathed out.

His fingers traced soothing circles on my lower back. "Yes, you do," Nicholas affirmed, his voice warm with pride. "You deserve all the happiness in the world."

I shivered at his touch, acutely aware of how exposed I was. But for the first time, that vulnerability didn't feel like weakness. It felt like strength.

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