Page 23 of Daddy Next Door

I nodded. “Rose.”

“If at any point you want to stop, just say 'rose.' I’ll stop immediately."

"Okay."

"Do you need a moment, or are you ready now?"

I appreciated that he asked, that he didn't assume my verbal consent meant immediate readiness. "I'm ready now."

Ethan positioned himself beside the bench, then gestured for me to approach. "I'm going to guide you into position," he explained. "You'll bend over the bench, with your stomach supported by the padding."

I moved to stand beside him, hyperaware of the few inches separating our bodies. He placed a gentle hand on my upper back.

"Bend forward," he instructed softly.

I complied, leaning over until my torso rested against the padded surface. The leather felt cool through my thin shirt. The position was surprisingly comfortable—the bench's curve supporting my body perfectly, my feet flat on the floor.

"Place your hands flat on the bench, on either side of your head," Ethan continued.

I did as he asked, noticing how the position made me feel both vulnerable and strangely secure. I turned my head to the side, resting my cheek against the leather.

Ethan's left hand settled on the small of my back—warm, steady, grounding. The weight of it was comforting rather than restraining.

"Do you understand why you're being disciplined?" he asked, his voice taking on a different quality—deeper, more authoritative, yet still gentle.

The question sent an unexpected shiver through me. "Yes, Daddy," I answered, my voice sounding small even to my own ears. "I invaded your privacy."

"That's right," he confirmed. There was a note of something in his voice. Was that pleasure? "Privacy and boundaries are important. They keep us both safe."

I felt him shift slightly behind me, and tension coiled in my belly—not fear exactly, but anticipation so acute it bordered on discomfort.

The first spank caught me by surprise despite my preparation. The sound came first—a sharp crack in the quiet room—followed an instant later by the sensation. Firm enough to make me gasp but calibrated to sting without truly hurting. The impact bloomed across my right cheek, transforming from sharp to warm as the second followed on the left.

"Two," Ethan counted quietly.

The third landed at the sensitive junction where bottom met thigh, sending a jolt of sensation up my spine. I inhaled sharply, my fingers curling against the leather. The fourth followed quickly after, back on the right cheek, slightly lower than the first.

"Four," he said, his voice steady.

I braced for the final spank, but Ethan paused. His hand on my back moved in a small, soothing circle.

"Last one," he said softly. "You're doing very well."

The fifth spank was the firmest, landing precisely in the center. I made a sound I'd never heard from myself before—part gasp, part moan—as heat radiated outward from the point of impact.

"Five," Ethan concluded. "All done."

I lay there, breathing heavily, aware of a constellation of sensations—the lingering heat across my bottom, the solid pressure of Ethan's hand still resting on my back, and something else, something unexpected. A liquid warmth that pooled low in my belly, a heaviness between my thighs that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with arousal.

But beyond the physical responses was something deeper—a peculiar emotional clarity, as though something cluttered had been swept clean. My awareness had narrowed to just this moment: the bench beneath me, Ethan's steadying hand, the rhythmic sound of our breathing. The constant background noise of anxiety that accompanied me through most days had fallen silent.

I felt tears prick at my eyes, not from pain but from the strange emotional release washing through me. One escaped, sliding across the bridge of my nose to dampen the leather beneath my cheek.

Immediately, Ethan's touch transformed to soothing, his large hand gently rubbing where he'd just delivered punishment. The tenderness of the gesture after the controlled sting of the spanking undid something in me. Another tear followed the first, then another.

"There you go," he murmured, his voice warm with approval. "Let it out. You did so well."

His hand continued its gentle motion, easing the lingering heat. I felt myself melting into the touch, my body relaxing completely against the bench.

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