Page 30 of Daddy's Little Mafia Princess
“Yes, what?”
“Daddy,” I leap again. “Yes, Daddy.”
“That’s incorrect,” he counters, as calm and in control as ever. “You’ll always be free to express your opinions, fears, and concerns, whenever and wherever you have them. I will never punish you, ever, for voicing what scares you. But you took this beyond arguing, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, silently pleading for him not to ask for specifics. I’m so rattled, I can’t remember anything beyondmy father’s angry presence. Everything after that is just a vague blur.
“What did you do?” he asks.
My left knee almost buckles out from under me as tears rush to my eyes, filling up the back of my throat and making it almost impossible to speak.
“I don’t know.”
The confession broke me. Refusing to be blinked back, my tears overwhelm me. I can see Daddy sitting right here on the foot of the bed in front of me, but every well-trained nerve in my body expects the worst now.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I beg, but I know it’s going to happen. I’ve just given him every excuse he needs to punish me. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, so obviously, I think my infraction is acceptable behavior—Fail. I can’t remember what I said, so obviously, I’m not paying attention—Fail. If I pick his hand—Fail. If I pick his belt—Double fail. Everything I’m doing is a failure, and each one carries a price.
I want to go home. At least there, I’ll know what the penalties are.
Taking my elbow, Viktor slides his gentle grip down my arm until I have no choice but to remove it from behind my back. I try to go over his knee when he pulls me, but he turns me around, putting my back to the belt, and draws me to sit on his thighs.
“It wasn’t that you argued with me, Princess,” he says, pressing my head down onto his shoulder and blessing me with a kiss. Was this another trap, or was it real? Unable to tell, I cry harder. “It’s that you disregard everything I’ve told you. You put yourself in a panic downstairs, insisting I couldn’t protect you. This was a test, Clara. I want you to think. Daddy will spank your bottom when you’re naughty, but will he ever deliberately hurt you?”
“N-No?” I whisper hopefully. He’d said more than once now that he wouldn’t.
“No,” he agrees. “Why not, Clara? What have I told you?”
His soft, gentle tone is dismantling the panic knotting me up inside. I can feel it ebbing away, loosening the tension in my gut, slowing the frantic beat of my heart, and releasing the cold grip squeezing my heart.
“That you would protect me?” I look at his neck rather than his face. I don’t think I can bear it if he’s playing with me. I don’t want to see his expression change if this turns out to be like the games my father plays.
“Daddies always protect their little girls. Say it.”
“Daddies always protect their little girls,” I repeat obediently. The calmer he was, the more I relaxed.
“Apart from the spankings, have I hurt you?”
“No, Daddy,” I whisper, relieved. He’s holding me loosely. If I want, I could probably get away, but I don’t move. He isn’t backing me into a corner. He’s trying to calm me, not amplify my fear. He rocks me in the comforting embrace of his arms, and I can’t stop the warmth from blooming again. Its tentative erotic heat spreads in a slow wave that chases away the lingering cold.
“I gave you the choice of my hand or my belt because I wanted to see if you could discern what a rational, appropriate punishment ought to be. You’ve shown me you can’t. Yet. So, we’ll work on that. In the meantime, I don’t think the belt is an appropriate implement for you. You responded nicely to the paddle, but that will be saved for your absolute naughtiest behavior. I think instead, a nice sturdy hairbrush or even a wooden spoon might be best for you right now. Does that scare you?”
I wait for the same cold terror that had engulfed me from the moment he said ‘belt,’ but it doesn’t come. The heat between my legs flares hotter, turning into a molten throb. I shake my head.
“No, Daddy.”
“I’m going to put you over my knee now and will give you what I think you earned when you looked me in the eye and told Daddy he was incompetent.”
I flinch. That wasn’t at all what I meant to do.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“So am I.” He pats my hip, and obediently, I stand. My hands still fidget, but the worst of my shaking has already eased. “Over my knee, little girl.”
Taking his hand, I let him draw me across his lap. Is it possible to smell your own budding arousal? I swear, as I settle into position with my bottom propped high and my face within inches of the carpet, I smell myself.
I clamp my legs tightly together and pray he won’t notice, knowing there’s something for him to see. I can feel the cool air kissing the wetness gathering along the seam of my sex.
“Open your legs, Princess. Show Daddy what’s his.”
