Page 34 of Hero Daddy

The first strike landed with a sharp crack that seemed to echo in the quiet room. The sting bloomed across my skin, surprising in its intensity despite my anticipation.

"One," I gasped.

The second followed quickly, slightly lower, overlapping the first.

"Two."

By five, the individual stings had merged into a general heat that spread across my entire backside. By ten, that heat had deepened to a throbbing that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. Chad's hand fell in a steady rhythm, each stroke delivered with precise control—firm enough to sting sharply but never cruel, never wild or unpredictable.

"Eleven," I counted, my voice breaking slightly as tears began to gather in my eyes. Not from the pain, which remained within manageable limits, but from the profound vulnerability of the position, the exposure, the surrender.

"Remember why we're here," Chad said, his voice still calm but deeper now. "You chose to ignore safety-critical instructions. You put your progress at risk. You tested boundaries that exist for your protection." Each statement was punctuated by another firm stroke, making me gasp out the numbers.

"Fourteen, fifteen . . ."

"Your focus during training isn't optional, Daliah. It's essential."

His hand connected again, slightly harder this time. I jolted forward, gripping the crossbar tighter.

"Sixteen!"

"I will not allow you to endanger yourself through willful disobedience."

Another stroke. "Seventeen."

By twenty, my bottom felt hot and swollen, each nerve ending awake and singing with sensation. Tears tracked freely down my cheeks now, not from pain alone but from a complex emotional release I couldn't have named if I tried. My body had responded in ways I hadn't expected – the heat from my punished flesh had spread, pooling between my legs in a slick warmth I couldn't deny or hide.

There was a pause after the twentieth strike, a moment of stillness in which I could hear Chad's breathing – still controlled but noticeably deeper than before. Then came the sound of him retrieving the paddle from the side table.

"Ten more, Little One," he said, his voice rougher now. "These will be harder. They need to leave an impression—a reminder you'll feel tomorrow during your day."

The first stroke of the paddle was a shock—broader, thicker than his hand, covering more surface area with a different quality of sting. I cried out before remembering to count.

"One!"

The paddle created a deeper impact, one that reverberated through my flesh down to the muscle beneath. Each stroke pushed my hips forward against the bench, creating friction that sent jolts of unexpected pleasure through my core. By the fifth stroke, my body had betrayed me completely—each impact drove my hips to grind unconsciously against the leather padding, seeking pressure against the throb of arousal that had built between my legs.

"Six," I gasped, the word half-sob, half-moan.

Behind me, Chad's breathing had grown heavier. During a brief pause between strokes, I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw that his disciplined composure was cracking at the edges. A flush had spread across his cheekbones, and the front of his training pants did nothing to conceal the thick ridge of his erection.

The knowledge that he was aroused too—that my discipline affected him physically even as he maintained control—sent a fresh flood of wetness between my thighs. Each breath I took seemed thunderous in my ears, matching the hammer of my pulse.

"Eyes forward," Chad commanded, his voice strained. "Two more."

The final strokes were delivered with the same controlled precision as the first, despite the evidence of his arousal. When the last one landed – a firm stroke directly across the fullest part of my bottom – I sobbed out "Ten!" with a mixture of relief and loss.

I remained draped over the bench, trembling slightly, my skin aflame and my core throbbing with desire. Behind me, Chad'sbreathing was the only sound in the room—deep, controlled inhalations that told me he was fighting for restraint.

Chad's warm hand came to rest on my flaming skin, still sensitized from the spanking. The touch wasn't disciplinary anymore but assessing, his palm absorbing the heat he'd created. I remained draped over the bench, my breath coming in shallow gasps, my body humming with a confused mixture of lingering pain and insistent arousal. The moment hung suspended between us, discipline completed but something else—something hungrier—building in its place.

"Your punishment is complete," Chad said, his voice rougher than I'd ever heard it, the controlled authority fraying at its edges. His hand remained on my bottom, a gentle pressure that seemed reluctant to break contact.

I closed my eyes, intensely aware of the evidence of my arousal—the slick wetness between my thighs that I couldn't hide in this position. Chad must have known too; it was impossible he hadn't noticed. The knowledge that my body had responded so strongly to his discipline created a curious boldness in me, a recklessness born of desire.

Behind me, I heard his controlled breathing, felt the radiating heat of his body standing close. Earlier, I'd glimpsed the thick ridge of his erection straining against his training pants. He was affected too – maintaining his control, his authority, but physically responding to what was happening between us.

A wild, impulsive idea seized me, fueled by the endorphins flooding my system and the throbbing need pulsing through my core. Without allowing myself time to reconsider, I reached my right hand back, twisting at the waist to extend my arm behind me.

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