by Smith, Maren
I laid down the first heavy swat, the flat of my hand rebounding off her bottom, sparsely clad as it was in sopping wet panties and the thin stretch of the t-shirt she’d gone to sleep in. Neither offered any protection, especially not from my hand, and she sucked a loud gasp from the very start. Her feet kicked up off the floor although not far enough to cover her bottom and she snapped a hand back.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, but she still didn’t swear, and I was starting to believe I knew why.
“No, no,” I told her, pausing long enough to take firm hold of her wrist and tucking it into the firm grip of the arm I’d pinned her down with. “When you’ve earned a spanking over my knee, little girl, you don’t get to interfere. Feet on the floor and hands out of the way, because if I have to tell you again”—hooking the elastic waist of her underwear in my fingers, I skinned her panties all the way down to her knees, baring her lily-white bottom and the single, hot-pink handprint that marred it—“it won’t be Daddy’s very gentle hand you feel.”
She yelped as I gave her her second taste of what Daddy’s ‘gentle’ hand could do.
“It’ll be Daddy’s hairbrush. And you,” I said, punctuating each word with swats that quickly had her feet scrambling and her bottom bouncing, “will be one very sorry little girl.”
It had been a long time since I’d had someone to hold or spank. Judging by her behavior, it had been every bit as long since she’d had someone too, but I wasn’t about to let her off easy. I was done with fits, and I let the iron-hard palm of my hand tell her so. I was done with her yelling, swearing, throwing things, and random bouts of defiance that served no purpose apart from expressing how unhappy she was.
“Is this what you’ve been wanting?” I asked, scolding her as I painted her backside a brilliant shade of red. From the top of her bottom all the way down onto her thighs, by now I’d spanked every inch of her. She wasn’t just gasping anymore; she was crying out. She’d grabbed the couch cushion with her free hand and the fingers of her other, still trapped and pinned against her own hip, frantically clawed at the air.
“St-stop!” she shouted, toes digging into the floorboards.
“Stop, what?” I asked, my spanking hand hardly pausing. Judging by the color of her skin, her poor bottom had to be stinging, but I wanted more for her than just a little sting. I held her down, increasing not just the speed but the vigor with which I paddled her.
She threw back her head and wailed the magic word. “Stop, please! Please!”
Unfortunately for her, she got the magic word wrong.
“Stop please, Daddy,” I corrected, attacking the very tender flesh where bottom and thighs met, painting everything I touched in a bright fiery blaze.
“Yes!” she wailed, all ability to hold still breaking down. “Yes, Daddy! Please stop!”
She asked so nicely, so I did, but it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Holding her firmly pinned, I shook out my stinging hand, comforted by the knowledge that her backside was suffering far worse, I listened to her gasp and pant, the little mewling sounds she made thick with tears she wasn’t yet ready to cry. She would, though. I would see to that.
It was time to correct some bad behaviors.
Laying my hot hand on her even hotter bottom, I gave her a moment to drink in my unspoken warning of what was yet to come. I knew she understood it, too, because her breath caught and both her whimpers and minor squirming stilled.
“Say, I’m sorry, Daddy, for using bad language. I’ll try not to do it again.”
The hand I held pinned to her hip closed into a tight little fist. Even with a flaming hot butt, her voice was nothing but mutiny when she said, “I’m not saying that.”
“The promise?” I asked the back of her head. “Or is it the word Daddy that you object to?”
“Both,” she spat, but she hesitated at first and that hesitation said she was lying.
“I’m going to count to three, at which point you may say bye-bye to Daddy’s hand and hello to Daddy’s brush. One…”
“I’m sorry, Daddy, for using bad language, I’ll try not to do it again,” she capitulated, speaking so quickly that it was almost impossible to distinguish one word from the next.
I spanked her harder than before, a dozen swats all delivered to the very center summit of her right bottom cheek.
She threw back her head, bucking and wailing, but no matter how she moved, I never once missed my target.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said over the top of her gasping sobs once I was done, “for smoking in my bedroom and setting off the fire alarm.”
Hers was a screech of frustration, punctuated by her kick against the floor. It couldn’t have felt good against her toes. I made sure it felt even less so down the backs of her thighs.
“I’m sorry, Dad-dy!” she wailed, repeating her non-smoking promise word for obedient word while I paddled first the backs of her thighs and then delivered my disciplinary measure to the summit of her left bottom cheek. This time, I gave her more than a dozen. But little girls who test Daddy’s patience in the middle of their spankings should expect additional consequences. I made sure she felt hers and, over and over again, I made her give me promises. The new rules by which she would live, so long as she lived with me.
“I’m sorry, Daddy, for throwing things. It’s naughty to break things that aren’t mine.”
I made her buck—
“I’m sorry, Daddy, for being defiant. I’ll try very hard to be a good girl from now on.”
I made her writhe—
“I’m sorry for being rude and mean.”
I made her breakdown in great tear-filled gasps and wails as she garbled those promises back at me until I had gone through my list and there was nothing left on which to correct her. Her poor bottom had taken all it could anyway. It was every bit as red and raw as I had imagined it last night, and I’d never held a more penitent young woman in position across my knee.
She sobbed as though her heart was breaking, and all I could do was hold her. I rubbed her bottom and her back, soothing the fire I had created, trying hard not to let myself get hard, and waiting for her to slowly calm back down enough to want to sit up.
Hiccupping and gasping, she whispered something into the tear-soaked couch cushions.
I leaned down, trying to hear it. “What was that?”
Breath hitching, her voice thick with tears, she whispered again, “I’m sorry, Daddy, for being such a bad girl.”
That wasn’t one of my promises, and it wasn’t one I ever would have given her. I didn’t believe in bad girls. Bad behavior, yes. But never the girl herself.
Were those her words, or the words of someone else who didn’t share my same philosophy? I didn’t know, but in that moment, I didn’t care either.
Catching her arm, I pulled her up off my knee and into my lap. Her panties were bunched around her ankles, but she still let me pull her into my arms and cradle her against my chest.
She wasn’t a bad girl. She was Daddy’s little angel. The only problem was, I really had no business saying that.
Chapter 6
Angela
I couldn’t contain myself. Growing up in foster care, no one had ever taken the time to teach me the things that this stranger was now. No one worried about the things I put in my body. No one bothered to try to get past my tough exterior. In a burst of fire and pain in the form of a spanking without any foreseeable end, Brian had broken down every one of my walls and I gave up completely. One promise at a time, I submitted myself to both him and the punishment. A punishment meant to teach. A punishment anchored in affection. A punishment I deserved.
I collapsed and let myself cry for the first time in thirteen years.
I cried out of pain and frustration with myself and my current situation. I cried at the idea that everything I had worked so hard to build was now gone from my life. I cried until I was positive I couldn’t have any water left in my body.
The whole thing, the safe hou
se, and the bad guys and the fact that a weird flying stranger with a talking house seemed to care more about me than anyone else ever had, sucked. It sucked hard.
I don’t know exactly when Brian stopped imparting his wisdom by way of his hand against my ass, but I was glad when it was finally over. I tried to apologize, but it came out weird. Like another of his behavioral promises, only this time not only did I not balk at calling him Daddy, but I embraced my part in this whole sad scenario. I called myself a bad girl, because really… wasn’t I?
That was the whole point of this, right? He’d put a pain in my ass because I’d been a pain in his. I hated to be the one to tell him, but it was kind of what I was known for. I had an entire resume of foster families who’d love to confirm that and maybe even commiserate with him about it. I was a pain in the ass.
I was a bad girl.
When I said it out loud, though, Brian refused to agree. He pulled me up off his lap and I went from lying facedown across it to sitting, with his iron grip now wrapped around me in a comforting hug.
I wasn’t any more familiar with those than I was his other form of caring. I couldn’t look at him. I was too embarrassed.
He held me anyway, rocking me for what felt like a lifetime. That surprised me, but then, everything about this man surprised me. Not just his displays of power and authority, or the superhero stuff for that matter—although that was still hard to wrap my mind around. He was so much more than muscles and a cape. He was kind, considerate and caring. He was the first person I’d met who actually gave something of himself to help other people. He didn’t deserve to be saddled with babysitting brats.
He certainly didn’t deserve to be saddled with me.
He held me, rubbing my back while I pity-cried myself out, and then he simply pulled my underwear back up and sent me to my room. I spent the rest of the day mopping up water, drying out blankets, feeling bad about my tantrum, and checking my butt in the bathroom mirror. For something that hurt that much while it had been happening, within an hour afterward, there wasn’t much more than a faint redness and a little tenderness where I sat.
I was almost sorry that it didn’t last longer. Almost.
* * *
The next day wasn’t much better, although at least it didn’t start with a spanking. Rather, it started with an argument over the breakfast table.
“Are you sure I can’t come with you?” I asked for the third time. Brian was not a morning person, something that I found incredibly endearing for some reason. Everything he said was spoken in a low growly grumble and I caught myself trying to make conversation just so he would have to talk, but it wasn’t working. He gave curt one-word answers in between sips of his coffee.
My own coffee and breakfast sat untouched in front of me. When I am stressed, my appetite is the first thing that goes and I was certainly stressed. Brian was meeting with Chief Sturgis again today and, again, I wasn’t allowed to go.
“I am going to say this one more time,” Brian warned, “and then if you ask me again, you will find your answer either over my knee or with your nose in the corner. Do you understand me?”
I nodded ready to listen, but carefully. If his explanation changed in any way, I wanted to be all over it.
“It has been clearly established that there is a leak at the station. We do not have any clue who it might be and I do not trust any of them. Chief included. My entire purpose in all of this is to make sure you are safe. I cannot do that while you have a bounty on your head and when there are too many unknown variables.”
It was like he was reading a damn script. I sighed and looked down at my breakfast trying to figure out something, anything to grasp on to. “I thought your job was to deliver me to the police and that’s it.” It was a weak argument, but I was seriously coming up short.
“Initially, you are correct, but plans change and you, little angel, are the one who changed them. The minute you looked into my eyes with worry, pleading with me to keep you safe, that was when my real mission began and I know I’ve already made myself clear on how I value the successes of my missions.”
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. I probably looked like a petulant teenager and, frankly, that was kind of how I felt. I was a little girl sitting across the table from my Daddy, and I was pouting because he wouldn’t let me do what I wanted. Silly, I know, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted my way, dammit.
“What can I do to help you feel better about staying behind?” His coffee must be kicking in because he was beginning to sound more human and less grizzly.
I thought and thought, but could only come up with one thing that I wanted to change from the last time he left. “No locked doors.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not a chance. All exterior doors and windows will remain locked, especially when I’m not home.”
“Not those doors. The inside ones. I want to be able to leave my room.”
He nodded. “If you can promise to behave yourself and not try to leave, you can have free roam.”
“Done.” I put my hand out to shake his.
Huffing a slight smile, he shook his head once and then stood up. Completely ignoring my good faith gesture, he rounded the table and instead leaned down to kiss the crown of my forehead. “Good girl. If you keep your promise, I will make sure you get a special reward.”
I was a twenty-four-year-old woman. Words like ‘good girl’ and ‘reward’ should not have held this kind of power over me, but sadly that was not the case. My stomach warmed and I couldn’t stop the smile as I watched him walk away.
As the front door clicked behind him and all the locks engaged, I shifted in my seat, trying to remember the sensation of yesterday’s spanking, but it had faded away completely. I wasn’t going to give any thought to the fact that I was disappointed about that. Not even a little.
What has this man done to me?
Busy. I needed to keep myself busy somehow. I needed to not be alone with my thoughts. I looked around at the spotless house, cleaning was out. Except for when he wanted to teach me a lesson, Marshall took care of the cleaning. I did take our breakfast dishes to the sink, and then stood there, looking for a way to turn on the water. All it was was a faucet jutting from the wall. I couldn’t find anything that looked like a handle.
How is it that even washing dishes could be made impossibly difficult? I tried to remember what he told me about the house. For some things he used the screens on the walls, and some things he just said out loud. There was no screen, so I went with the next option.
“Water on,” I commanded, feeling like an utter moron for talking to myself, especially when nothing happened.
“There are sensors that will detect your need if you hold the item beneath the faucet,” Marshall suddenly spoke.
I jumped and dropped the dish, cringing as it hit the bottom of the sink and shattered into a million pieces.
“Fuck,” I cursed to the empty room. “Why would anyone want to complicate the hell out of something as simple as washing dishes? Why can’t I just turn on the water! This isn’t supposed to be this hard!”
“I simplify life, not complicate it. Once you get used to it, the automation of the house fulfills its purpose,” Marshall said again. It was so easy to forget about him and his weird omnipresence, but I was ready for it this time.
“I believe it's ridiculous and unnecessary, but it's not my house and I won't be here long enough to get used to it.”
“Brian will insist you stay as long as he feels the case is in jeopardy and your safety is at risk.”
“Yes, I know, but how long can it possibly take to get rid of some bad dudes? Is there anything we can do from here to help?”
“I am keeping tabs on all information within my reach. If anything is to be found, it will be found.”
“Your reach? You’re a house, how far can your reach really go?” This was unreal. I was having a conversation with a random voice.
“I have access to all cameras
in and surrounding the city. I have facial recognition software that will identify the match of the men we are searching for if the opportunity presents itself. Unfortunately, that software has proved fruitless in this effort because there are a number of players who have not been identified as of yet.”
I needed to keep him talking. Maybe if I did, I could weasel some information out of him. “Who are the players that have been identified?”
“That information is classified.”
Shit. So much for that.
I reached into the sink to clean up the mess, but before I could do anything, the bottom opened up and the glass slid down the drain.
“Well, okay then. Guess I will watch some TV.” I sighed and went to the front room, sitting in the same spot Brian had brought me to when he spanked me. Memories came flooding in and… I let them, but only for a second. The same warmth I’d felt when he kissed my head consumed me. The man had spanked me and I had allowed it. Well, maybe not allowed it, I had fought him, but he had that super strength thing going on and I apparently was no match for that. Deep down though, I think he would have stopped had I said the right words. If I would have used words like he gave me the chance to, but I hadn’t. I wanted it and he gave it. My bottom half tingled at the memory of his big hand slapping against my flesh.
“Are you planning to spend your day staring at a blank screen?” Marshall asked.
Gasping, I jumped all over again. “Stop doing that! You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
I was so used to being alone and spending time in my head thinking about things. Being pulled out of my thoughts by a random sky voice was unnerving. “Can’t you wear a bell or something so I know when you’re around?”
