Page 29 of Sereis
The anticipation was killing me. Every nerve in my body was firing, sending mixed signals of fear and arousal that made my head spin. My core clenched around nothing, desperate for stimulation even as I dreaded the punishment about to begin. The frost patterns on my skin pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, broadcasting my state to him through visual and mystical means.
"Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was begging for. Mercy? Severity? For him to start? To never start?
"Please, what?" His voice carried dark amusement now, though the underlying anger still remained.
The word came without thought, pulled from somewhere deep in my transformed nature: "Please, Daddy."
"Good girl," he said, and I felt his satisfaction through the bond like honey poured over hot coals. "Now, let's begin your lesson about obedience."
The first slap cracked through the quiet room like lightning splitting a winter sky, the sound arriving a heartbeat before the sensation bloomed across my flesh. The impact was harder than I'd expected—not cruel, but definitely meant to make a point. Heat spread immediately across my right cheek, sharp and stinging, making me gasp against the soft carpet.
Sereis didn't pause.
The second strike landed on my left cheek with matching force, establishing a symmetry that somehow made it worse. Or better. My confused nervous system couldn't quite decide, interpreting the pain through the lens of our bond, transforming it into something that made my core clench with shameful need.
"You will not," slap, "leave this wing," slap, "without my permission."
Each word was punctuated by his palm meeting my increasingly heated flesh. The rhythm was methodical, calculated—right cheek, left cheek, the tender spot where thigh met bottom. He wasn't holding back, and each impact forced small sounds from my throat that I couldn't quite suppress.
"You will not," another series of strikes, harder now, "endanger yourself," the pace increasing, "for any reason."
My fingers clawed at the carpet, seeking anchor as the punishment continued. The pain was building, layer upon layer, transforming my bottom into a canvas of heat and sensation. Through the bond, I felt his determination, his absolute commitment to making this lesson stick. But underneath that, threading through like silver through ice, was his arousal at having me like this—vulnerable, submitting, taking my punishment even as my body betrayed how much it affected me.
"When I tell you something is dangerous," his hand came down particularly hard, making me cry out, "you will believe me. My experience spans millennia, little one. My knowledge of threats is absolute."
The lecture continued, but I was losing the ability to focus on words. The pain was transforming, each strike sending dual signals—the sharp sting of impact and a deeper pulse of need that went straight to my core. My thighs were wet, embarrassingly so, and I knew he could see everything from his position.
Then everything changed.
His hand came down again, but this time it carried winter itself. The impact felt like being struck with a palm made of ice, sharp and burning cold, making my muscles seize. I screamed, the sound muffled by the carpet, my entire body going rigid at the shocking sensation.
"You nearly fell into the void," he said, and his voice had gone darker, more dragon than man. Another strike of that frozenhand, this time on my left cheek, the cold so intense it felt like burning. "Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?"
I was sobbing now, the tears coming freely as he alternated ice-cold strikes across my punished flesh. The cold was worse than the simple spanking—it made every nerve ending shriek, made my skin feel like it might shatter. But even through that, my traitorous body responded, interpreting his control over temperature as just another display of his dominance.
Then, without warning, he switched.
The next strike burned with actual heat, not enough to damage but enough to make me wail. After the freezing cold, the heat felt like being branded, even though I knew he'd never truly hurt me. My bottom felt like it was on fire, the sudden temperature change making my head spin.
"Three thousand years," he said, punctuating each word with alternating temperatures—ice, fire, ice, fire. "Three thousand years of waiting, only to find you and lose you?"
I was beyond coherent thought now, my world reduced to sensation and response. The alternating temperatures overwhelmed my nervous system completely, sending confused signals that my body interpreted as the most intense arousal I'd ever experienced. Pain and pleasure had blurred into something else entirely, something that made me rock my hips despite the punishment, seeking friction against his thigh.
"Please," I sobbed, the word barely intelligible. "Please, Daddy, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"
"Sorry for what?" Another strike, this one carrying both temperatures somehow, making me see stars. "Be specific, little one."
"For disobeying," I gasped. "For risking myself. For almost leaving you." The words poured out between sobs. "I didn't think—didn't understand—"
"No," he agreed, his hand coming down again with enough force to lift me slightly forward. "You didn't think. You let curiosity override safety, let defiance overcome wisdom."
The spanking continued, though he'd returned to using just his hand without the temperature play. But by now, my bottom was so sensitized that even normal strikes felt like explosions of sensation. I was crying freely, all dignity abandoned, my hips grinding shamelessly against his thigh as each impact pushed me forward.
"But you're learning now, aren't you?" His voice had shifted, carrying satisfaction alongside the stern discipline. "Learning that your Daddy knows best. That my rules exist for reasons. That disobedience has consequences."
"Yes," I sobbed. "Yes, Daddy, I'm learning, I promise, I'll be good—"
"Will you?" Another strike, precise and devastating. "Will you obey when I tell you to stay safe?"
