Page 112 of Santa Daddies
“Shhh, it’s okay, babygirl. I understand.” Tucking the now prepared switch back under my arm, I returned the stool to where it belonged and after some consideration, decided that while a kitchen chair would allow her to remain on her feet, I wasn’t positive she’d not upend it if she wiggled a bit overzealously.
“Drape yourself over the table. Grab onto the opposite edge.”
I didn’t blame her for the dubious look as I’d never positioned her across a table before, much less one where she took her meals on a daily basis. Personally, I thought that would be a new incentive for her to watch her “Ps” and “Qs”. If she happened to look up from her bowl of Cheerios and think of how her glass of orange juice was pretty much positioned where her bare butt had been recently writhing in an effort to avoid another stripe left by her naughty switch, it just might save her a burning behind,
Did other Daddy Doms feel a mixture of amusement and pity when their naughty Littles moved at the pace of a snail the three feet required to walk to the table’s edge. Did they have to fight back a smile when their Little paused to give a last, beseeching look over their shoulder as if asking are you positive you’d notlike to issue them a full pardon? Did they try to disguise a chuckle as a cough when a sigh as deep as a well was issued when the pardon didn’t come and they lowered their bodies onto the table in such a way that would have the audience on their feet giving the poor, misunderstood heroine in some tragic drama a standing ovation?
“Arms out straight and grab the edge, babygirl.”
Did they have to watch their Little’s arms reaching forward only to have to reverse when Daddy remembered to add, “Don’t forget to lift your skirt to your waist. You don’t want it to get all wrinkled for the party, do you?”
And when their Little’s pitiful gaze momentarily flashes to one of questionable respect for such a wise question, did other Daddies have to drop their gaze and pretend there was a small blemish on the implement he’d just prepared in order to hide their amusement? I couldn’t answer any of those questions, but I was fairly sure I wasn’t the first Daddy Dom to have ever considered each and every one.
When I lifted my head again, it was to be graced with the sight of the most beautiful heart-shaped derriere that had ever been created. She had followed my instructions almost to the T.
“Legs spread apart and bottom pushed out, Marcie. Santa Daddy needs to be able to see every inch of his naughty Little girl’s buttocks to properly lay down your stripes.”
There was no longer any pleading glances or begging words given, only the softest, most mournful little moan as her feet shifted apart and then her pale, bare bottom was lifted. It was a sight to rival the most glorious view anywhere on this planet. And as sincere as her words had been, it was clear her body had a mind of its own. Her labia lips were already glistening, the auburn curls at the apex of her thighs dewy with her arousal. And I knew that despite the fact that she would indeed feel the burn of every stripe I painted across her porcelain globes, thearousal I saw now was nothing compared to what it would be by the time I snapped the switch in two to declare punishment was over.
I took a moment to tuck her skirt higher to keep it out of the way but ran into a problem. She’d chosen to wear a multi-layered tulle petticoat beneath her dress to make it in her words, “poofier”. It continued to slip down almost the moment I let go. I was just about to ask her to stand so I could remove her dress altogether when she turned her head back to look at me.
“Maybe untie the bow and retie it over everything? Would that work, Daddy?”
I smiled. “I think that will work just perfectly. Thanks for the suggestion, babygirl.”
“You’re welcome, Daddy.”
How many Littles facing what was going to be a very unpleasant experience not only make a suggestion how to best handle preparations for that experience, but then thank their Daddies so politely? Probably far more than most people were aware of as I could name six without having to think. Once I had her large sash retied over a much fatter wad of fabric and petticoat, effectively clearing my field of play, I moved to stand beside her.
“Just relax, babygirl. Daddy is going to give you six hard and fast so this won’t take long. Are you ready?”
“Y-yes, S-Sir.”
I laid the palm of my left hand on her lower back, knowing no matter how quickly the punishment was over, she’d still buck and attempt to rise from the moment the first stroke landed. Lifting my right arm, I swished the switch through the air at my side. Sure enough, at the first sound of the whir, her buttocks clenched tightly, her knuckles turned white with the increased pressure of her fingers clamping around the table’s edge, and she gave the first mewl of distress.
“Relax your bottom, babygirl. Keep it nice and loose for Daddy.”
“It-it’s hard…”
“I know, little one, but the strokes will hurt less if you relax and let your body accept each one.”
Having been switched before, Marcie knew that to be true, but knowing was so easily forgotten when facing a fresh bout of the bottom-blistering strokes. I didn’t make her wait long. The moment her buttocks loosened, I whipped the switch through the air, and it snapped across both cheeks. Before she had time to screech, a second stroke landed a half inch below the first. By the time the third line was rising on her flesh, her cries were echoing around the room, her pleas utterly sincere and yet totally ignored. I loved her with every ounce of my being, but that love was strong enough for me to remain resilient and carry out the discipline she needed. My arm lifted and snapped forward another three times to place the last of the stripes she’d earned. Only when six perfect lines lay in a parallel row down her bottom, each red welt broken only by the divide of her cheeks, did I lower my arm and lift my hand from her back.
It turned out, I’d released her too soon as her hands immediately flew back even before she tried to rise from the table.
“Naughty.” I captured her hands before they could reach their destination. “Unless you want another set, I suggest you lay back down and return your hands where I instructed you to keep them.”
“But it burns! Please, Daddy, please, please let me rub!”
“I’m afraid not, little one. Your behavior had me place those stripes across your ass and you’ll let them burn to remind you to be my good Little girl.”
She’d shrieked and she’d begged, but she hadn’t cried. Tears welled now as the knowledge that she would indeed have aburning butt for the foreseeable future sank into her soul as easily as the fire of her stripes burned into her bottom. But she made me proud by sinking down onto the table’s surface and reaching for the edge again.
I left her there as I snapped the switch in half and then laid the pieces on the table where she couldn’t fail to see them. Evidently doing so helped her accept the fact that while her bottom was indeed burning,ifshe behaved, there would be no more stripes added to increase the inferno.
Stepping away, I went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water and then stopped in the pantry to grab a bar of chocolate. I knew she’d probably eat enough sugar to go into a caloric coma before the night was over, but I was taking this one moment at a time. Turning to walk back, it was my own mind screaming that it burned and it wasn’t talking about the half dozen weals across Marcie’s ass. My cock was swelling and pushing against its confinement, burning with the need to sink deep into the slightly gaping, completely drenched pussy that was less than six feet away. Unfortunately for my dick, I didn’t believe in following a harsher punishment with pleasure, not even if it meant denying myself that very same thing. I could see, and smell, Marcie’s arousal and knew that without release, she’d be on the edge all night and that added a layer of deliciously deviance to my role as her Daddy.
With a not-so-gentle move, I rearranged my cock and continued to the table. I pulled back the chair I’d decided against and took a seat. “Come here, babygirl.”
