Page 94 of Giddy Up, Daddy

The thought of it gave her something to cling to as his arm swung up and down, peppering her skin with hard spanks, until she was sure that every inch of her exposed backside had to be bright red. Intense heat throbbed and pulsed in the center of each cheek.

Silently counting each spank helped, in a weird way. It gave her something to focus on, but as the numbers continued to rise, his arm moved faster. She could barely think of the number before the next landed and she finally stopped trying.

Punishment spankings were always fast in their household. It was part of what made them so unbearable. Sam didn’t want her to enjoy what he was doing. He didn’t want her body to turn the heat and sting into arousal, which it so often did with the long, slow spankings they had for fun.

Sometimes it happened anyway, she couldn’t control her body, and she was a masochist, but when it did, he made sure it didn’t last long. She was definitely not turned on at the moment.

“Daddy! Daddy, I’m sorry,” she blurted as he shifted his aim, and the next spank landed on the back of one leg. The skin was more tender there, and his hand felt as hard as a paddle.

“Sorry for what, Charlie?” He didn’t stop, or even slow as he waited for her answer. His palm cracked down on the right thigh, and then the left without pause.

Don’t kick. Don’t put your hands back.The internal reminders barely helped. She’d begun a kind of rocking from side to side, as she tried to avoid his hand.

“For the attitude, Daddy! I shouldn’t have been sassy.” The confession was high-pitched, full of pain, and very nearly wailed. It was so hard to answer his questions when it felt like her ass was sitting in a brush fire.

“What happens to sassy subs, Charlie girl?”

She bit her lip to hold back what she wanted to say. If she answered him, her mouth would ruin any chance of fun afterwards. Being sassy, while being spanked for being sassy, was always a mistake.

But Sam wanted and expected an answer. He gave her a minute to respond and then suddenly shifted her forward until her head touched the carpet. His knee lifted, putting her ass further on display.

She knew what was coming next and desperately tried to fold her legs up to cover her sit spot. How many times had she tried that over the years they’d been together? Too many.

Sam was expecting it and prepared for it. He pushed her legs right back down. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. In that position they wouldn’t have covered all the vulnerable areas.

“The question wasn’t optional, Charlie.” With no further warning, his hand found the undercurve of her cheeks and began to sear the tender skin of her sit spot with a flurry of punishing slaps designed to be felt long after the spanking ended.

She hissed in a breath between clenched teeth and a second later let it out in a loud wail of pain. “Nooooo. Not there, Sam! Pleaseeee!”

He stopped abruptly and she almost burst into tears from shear relief.

“What did you call me, Charlie?”

The cool warning in his voice wiped away her relief immediately. Whathadshe called him? She thought back desperately and then winced. “I meant Daddy!”

“But that’s not what you said.” One hand came down on her back to hold her in place and she heard a rustling as he shifted and fumbled for something. The clink of the buckle, followed by the hiss of leather whisking through belt loops warned her.

“Daddy, I’m sorry! It just slipped out.”

“Uh-huh. You know better than to call me by name when you’re being punished. It’s Daddy when you’re in trouble and you know it.” He didn’t sound angry, and probably wasn’t.

Things like this didn’t upset him, they just meant she’d earned a little extra. And it wouldn’t be too terrible. Charlie usually liked the belt. There was something sexy about leather and just the thought of him using it on her made her wet, but it was still going to hurt on already spanked skin.

It could have been worse. If he’d actually been angry, he would have gotten up and gotten a paddle. They had far too many of those around for her taste, and each was mean in its own way.

“Since I’m being lenient… I’ll do the penalty over my lap, but you’re going to count them.”

Over his lap meant he wouldn’t be able to get a full-arm swing, which meant it wouldn’t be too bad. She hated counting out loud, but given the circumstances, she wasn’t going to complain. “Yes, Daddy. Um, how many?”

“You’ll find out when I stop.”

“Yes, Daddy.” She did her best to keep the sigh out of her voice, in case it made him change his mind about being nice.

The first stroke landed right across the center of her ass, and she was so surprised she almost forgot to count, only belatedly spitting out “One!” before he could say anything. It hurt, sure, but not in a punishing way. It was more on the level of what they did for fun.

The second one was just a little harder and a little lower across her seat. She hissed in a breath, but had no trouble saying, “Two!” In fact, as he continued to rain down the leather slaps, she realized she wasn’t having any trouble counting at all. That wasn’t normal for punishment.

Punishment was meant to be really hard to bear, counting was supposed to be a struggle, and maybe earn her extra if she didn’t try really hard to focus. This… this was barely worse than his hand.

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