Page 25 of Tame Me Daddy

"Partially," he corrected. "What else?"

I forced myself to think beyond the sting blooming across my backside. "For not taking responsibility when I make mistakes."

"Good girl."

His hand came down again, on the other side this time. The sound cracked in the quiet office. I felt a rush of blood to my center, and I had to bite my lip to stop myself groaning.

"Two," I said, my voice steadier. "For hiding parts of myself instead of integrating them."

His hand rubbed gently where he'd just spanked, a soothing gesture that somehow made the next one more bearable. A rhythm established itself—the firm contact of his hand, the sting that followed, my counting and reflection, then his gentle touch smoothing over the spot. The pattern created a peculiar intimacy between us.

"Three. For retreating into little space when work gets hard."

"Four. For not asking for help when I'm overwhelmed."

"Five. For being afraid to be seen."

With each number, Grant's free hand stroked my back or squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. The dual sensations—the sharp impact followed by gentle touch—created a complex cocktail of feelings.

By the tenth spank, something shifted inside me. The initial sting had built into a steady warmth that spread across my skin. My embarrassment hadn't disappeared, but it had transformed into something else—a vulnerability that felt strangely freeing. I wasn't fighting to hide anymore. I was simply present, experiencing each moment with startling clarity.

"Eleven," I counted, my voice catching. "For pretending to be someone I'm not."

The words unlocked something deep inside. Tears welled up, spilling over before I could stop them. They weren't from pain—the discipline was firm but measured, nothing I couldn't handle physically. These tears came from somewhere deeper, years of shame and hiding bubbling to the surface.

Grant must have heard the change in my voice. His hand paused, resting gently on my lower back.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," I managed through my tears. "It's just... a lot."

"I know, Baby Girl," he murmured, the endearment slipping out naturally. "You're doing so well. We can take a moment if you need it."

I shook my head. "No. I want to continue."

His hand resumed its work, but I noticed his touch had softened slightly. Not patronizing, just responsive to my emotional state. The fact that he could read me so well, adjust to what I needed without me having to explain—it created instant trust between us.

"Twelve," I counted through my tears. "For being afraid of what I need."

The tears flowed freely now, not in gasping sobs but in a steady release. Years of carrying the weight of my secret, of being rejected by my family, of never feeling fully seen or accepted—it all poured out of me with each counted number.

By fifteen, something unexpected began to happen. The vulnerability, the surrender, the careful way Grant balanced discipline with care—it awoke something in me I hadn't anticipated. A warmth that had nothing to do with the spanking spread through my lower belly. My breath caught for entirely different reasons.

The realization both frightened and exhilarated me. This wasn't supposed to happen during discipline. But the intimacy of the moment, the trust between us, the way he held me safe while challenging me to grow—it all combined into something that transcended simple punishment.

"Sixteen," I whispered, my voice husky with tears and this new awareness. "For not believing I deserve to be accepted."

Grant's hand paused again, resting on the curve of my hip. His thumb moved in small, soothing circles. I wondered if he could sense the change in me, the shift from simple emotional release to something more complicated. Something that made my skin hyper-sensitive and my breath shallow.

"We're almost done," he said, his voice a low rumble that I felt through his thighs. "Four more. Can you handle that?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded despite the tears still tracking down my cheeks.

The last four came with more space between them, giving me time to process each one. Grant's touch lingered longer after each spank, his calloused fingers gentle as they soothed the heated skin through my jeans. Each touch sent sparks along my nerves that had nothing to do with pain.

"Twenty," I finally counted, my voice thick with emotion. "For forgetting that I'm stronger than I think I am."

The words surprised me—they hadn't been planned or rehearsed. They'd risen from somewhere deep inside, a truth I hadn't known I knew until it passed my lips.

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