Page 134 of Giddy Up, Daddy

He leans back, slowly and when I’ve milked every drop of salty cum from his tip, his cock softens and drops from my mouth.

Bo looks at me, and I can see the love shining in his eyes. It’s mixed with a feral sort of dominance. He reaches down and helps me up and when I’m on my feet, he pulls me close to him and leans in, kissing me softly. I love kissing in the shower almost as much as I love kissing in the rain. There’s something so romantic about it all, and I don’t let him go. My tongue pushes past his lips, begging for more. He gives it to me, kissing me deeper, more hungrily, claiming my mouth with his. And then, when he finally pulls back, his eyes twinkle, as he reaches behind me and lifts our wooden bath brush from its hook. “Turn around, babyboy. You said you needed a spanking, and you said I needed to give you one.”

For a split second, I think about whining, about arguing, about making him work for it. But that’s not who I am.

So I turn and brace myself, my hands flat against the tile wall, my ass pushed out before he can tell me to push it out. My heart hammers against my breastbone. My cock twitches and hardens. My knees get a little jello-ish. If they weren't wet, my hands would be clammy. The rush of anticipation before a spanking always has these physical effects.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can still see the bath brush in his hand, dangling at his side when the first smack lands acrossmy wet ass. Whoever said a spanking on a wet bottom hurts more wasn’t lying. The wetness adds an extra sting, and I dance in place. It doesn't hurt that bad. It’s not more than I can take. It’s just an instinctual reaction to try to move away from the pain.

But I stop, and brace myself a split second before his hand falls again. “We need to talk to each other.”

I’m not in trouble, not really, but Bo lectures anyway. He can’t help himself. In his brain, the two things just go together. At least he says ‘we’, taking some of the responsibility himself.

But he picks up the pace, his hand raining mercilessly down across my ass cheeks, alternating between them. I pant and press my front side flat against the cold tile. The sting is so unbearable, but so delicious.

And then I see his hand movement at his side, and watch as the bath brush goes from dangling between his fingers to having his fist closed around it.

“You said we need to reconnect, isn’t that right?” Bo’s voice is a husky whisper in my ear, the threat lacing itself between his words.

I swallow hard. “Yes, Daddy.” No use denying it. Though the last twenty minutes have helped, we need to reconnect desperately. And then we need to talk, and decide what to do from here. I have a feeling we’re both going to have very different opinions of what that might be.

But that doesn’t matter right now. Right now, what matters is the implement in his hand, the one that is going to be marking me very soon—as Daddy’s. I have a good pain tolerance and tend to get spanked quite regularly just because I like it, and though I love to wear Daddy’s marks across my ass, I rarely do. Unless he uses his belt or the bath brush. I lick my lips picturing the purple mottled circles that I’ll see in the mirror come tomorrow. Thehard spots under the skin that won’t be visible to my naked eye, but they’ll be there when I sit.

I can’t wait. As luck would have it, I don’t have to. The first blow from the bath brush across my wet, naked skin takes my breath away and I can’t help but yell. “Holy!” I puff out a breath and question my own sanity. Why do I like this? Not always when it's happening, but before it starts and after it’s over, my brain tricks me into thinking it’s the best thing ever.

Behind me as if he can read my thoughts, Daddy chuckles. “Not liking this idea so much now?”

There is no good answer, so I don’t offer one, and as I expect, the bath brush hits again, this time across the opposite cheek. The thuddiness combined with the stinginess from the water makes it a whole new kind of hell but I kind of still love it.

Especially when he stops going so damn slow. Some implements are better when there’s no time between swats to process the pain.

But the bath brush is flying now, smacking first one cheek then the other with almost no pause. The pain is present, but I don’t have the ability to focus on it. I flatten myself against the tile wall, and push my ass out because I know that’s what’s expected.

The bath brush smacks across my tender skin and I swear I can feel it heating, can feel bruises and knots forming. I salivate at the thought.

I’m letting go, feeling floaty, wondering how much longer my legs will even hold me when Daddy’s voice breaks through my blissful nothingness.

“We’re gonna be okay, babyboy. Whatever happens, we’re gonna be okay, but we need to communicate better.” The bath brush emphasizes his point for him.

He grunts. “Notice I said ‘we’ there. I know I’m not blameless in this. We can both stand to do some things better.”

He just can’t stop himself from lecturing, but I don’t usually mind. Generally his words are what grounds me, what makes it feel real. Today they seem to float above me, abstract ideas I can’t quite make sense of.

“Daddy,” I whimper as his aim moves to my sit spots, and the bath brush assaults the tender crease between my ass and thighs.

“You doing okay there, babyboy?” Daddy knows how to take me right up to my limit and bring me over the edge. As he smacks away, tears start to well and I don’t even know why. But soon they are free falling down my face. Soon my brain is racing, thinking about Daddy, thinking about Amelia… thinking about Elle, and as Daddy hangs the bath brush back on the hook and turns me into his arms, I can’t seem to stop crying. My whole body heaves with the weight of tears I don't even understand. When I look up at Bo, his eyes are wet too.

“Ah, babyboy, it’s gonna be okay.” He holds me tightly for a minute, then pulls open the shower door and helps me out. A fluffy towel goes around his waist and another around my shoulders as he dries me off from head to toe.

When we’re both dry, we somehow make it to our bed. Bo pulls back the covers, and gestures for me to climb in bed. I look at him questioningly, because it’s still early and Amelia could wake up soon.

“I just want to cuddle you. Climb on in.”

He doesn’t have to say more than that. Daddy isn’t always a big cuddler, so if he’s offering, I’m jumping at the chance.

Literally. I practically leap into bed, and scoot over to my side. Bo climbs in behind me, and curves his body around mine, playing big spoon to my little spoon.

His arms wrap tight around me and he pulls me in close. His breath tickles my ear.

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