Playing a Little

by Breanna Hayse

  Camille visibly gulped before she gained the courage to obey. His legs were long and, sitting on the edge of the high bed, he was able to stretch them high enough to force her to dangle awkwardly as she tried to touch the floor. Her position forced her bottom to angle high in the air, and he heard her catch her breath as he pinned her in place.

  “You are probably wondering why spanking is important to me in my relationships and the reason I insist upon it with you,” he began calmly, his hand nested on her bottom possessively. “I have spent years going out with spoiled, obstinate, and demanding women. You made me realize that I have neither room, nor patience, in my life for that kind of thing anymore. I hate to argue and have no interest in constantly fighting with my partner over who runs the show. I also have very little patience when it comes to handling temper tantrums and pouting. I need to know that she is comfortable with the fact that I need to wear the pants in the relationship and for her to trust me to make decisions based on what I feel is best for both of us.”

  “Have you always been a control freak?” Camille asked in a tone that Erik immediately determined to contain a little bit of sass, and was borderline disrespectful.

  He decided to let it go this one time and answered her. “Watch that tone. If I were a control freak, I would not be concerned about your wants, desires, or comfort. I would tell you how it would be and not give you the opportunity to ask questions or be given choices,” he responded, shifting her forward a smidgeon more. “I am also guessing that you are curious as to what I see in you, beyond how adorable you are. And why I had the need to kiss you like I did.”

  “I did wonder. Can I get up, please? If you are just going to talk…”

  “No way. You are a captive audience and I have some things I need to say. One of the reasons I am so attracted to you is because you are so different from the other women I have been around. Your own fame and talent are an afterthought to you, and you do not demand to be center stage, which tells me that you are humble, shy, and unspoiled by your own success. You are also smart and stubborn enough to make things interesting. Even more intriguing is that my success… the face that you see on the screen and the fame and money that comes with it, does not impress you in the least. I can be myself with you and not have to put on airs to make you think that I am someone other than I am. You don’t know how good it feels to be free to be myself.”

  “I don’t know why anyone would want you to be different. I mean, except for this little quirk, you aren’t too awful to be around. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that inside of your bossy exterior, you are nothing more than a big, old, lovable marshmallow,” Camille stretched her face to grin at him saucily.

  “Humprf,” Erik grunted. “Let’s see what you think when I am done here, young lady. That little tone of yours makes me think that you believe I had changed my mind about this spanking. Nope, not in this house.”

  Reaching underneath her, he unclasped the button of her jeans and pulled down the zipper. Camille whimpered as he tugged her jeans past the swells of her bottom, anchoring them mid-thigh. Her soft cotton panties followed, making her gasp as the cold air connected with her naked flesh. Erik lifted his right leg to pin her tightly in place and raised his hand to begin. He lifted his arm and brought his palm down squarely against her right cheek, sending a sharp sting that radiated outward from where it had connected. His hand clapped down again, harder this time, making her jerk from the sear that blazed across her left cheek.

  “Ow…” she whimpered, trying not to lift her palms from the floor.

  “I am not doing this because I am angry with you. Quite the contrary.” His hand landed a third time, catching the upper part of her thigh. “I am very proud of you for asking me to discipline you. It showed me that you were serious about both your own growth and the part you chose to take.”

  Camille’s whines intensified as he released a series of ten fast spanks over her bottom, turning it into a pleasant shade of rosy pink. He paused to lift the wide hairbrush from the bed and set the cold wood atop her stinging posterior.

  “You can cry, beg, and plead, but I care too much for you to let you go before I feel that you have learned your lesson. This is going to hurt more than what you have previously experienced with me. You already know that I would never harm you and that this is solely meant to teach you about how deeply I care for you.” Erik’s tone was firm, but gentle and reassuring. He shifted, reinforcing her captivity across his lap. The sound of the brush striking her right bottom cheek reverberated through the room as Camille released a loud shriek of pain.

  “Oh my God!” she called out, grabbing his calf with her hands.

  “Palms on the floor, honey. We have only just begun.”

  He knew that she was not prepared for the bolt of pain as the next blow fell upon her sit-spot. Her body tensed against his before she let loose with another yowl of pain. Two bright red imprints of the brush were outlined clearly upon her pale skin and Erik traced them with his finger, knowing he would have to exercise care not to bruise her too badly. Not this time, anyway.

  “Please… please, no more!” Camille begged after the next six strikes blazed into her backside. “I’ll be good! I swear! I will follow every rule you make!”

  “I know you will, baby girl,” Erik said kindly, administering another sharp smack with the back of the brush to her other side, eliciting a small sob, “and it will because you know the rules are good for you. Not because you are afraid of getting another spanking.”

  “Stop, Uncle Erik! Please! Stop!” Camille burst into tears. “I swear, I will be a good girl!”

  Erik frowned, hearing something different in her voice. Something that went beyond the pain. He swatted her again, not as sharply, waiting… Listening…

  Camille bawled, limp under his hand. Her body shook as she cried, her weeping deep and sad. He kept her in place, putting the hairbrush down.

  “Those tears are not about your spanking, Cami-girl.” Erik stroked her reddened bottom before cupping her left cheek. “Talk to me.”

  “It huuurts,” was the response.

  “Yes, I know it hurts. But not enough to gain this reaction. Now talk. Being stubborn is not to your benefit right now, my girl.”

  When she did not answer, Erik sighed loudly and sent his hand crashing against the raised peak of the warm flesh. Camille squealed, grabbing his jeans as she arched her back from the pain. He said nothing about her loss of position and continued to spank her with his palm, hoping that she would allow herself to trust him with her breakthrough. But first, she had to trust herself.

  She began to fight against the swats, trying to kick and squirm to escape the agony that ripped across her backend. The brief paddling with the hairbrush had merely sensitized her more, as well as opened the hatch to an emotional floodgate. Erik knew that she would exhaust herself before she caved in and shared what was happening inside of her, but he also knew from experience that she would eventually meet him where she needed to be. She had asked him to punish her, maybe subconsciously knowing that this would be the only way that she could completely release herself to his care. And maybe, he hoped, his love. Yes, he was already feeling his heart quicken with the emotion every time he thought of her. This feeling, in truth, was as foreign to him as the lifestyle was to her. But he knew that it was right and that nothing else mattered.

  He paused again to give both her bottom, and his hand, a break from the spanking. Her rounded behind was scarlet now, and was taking on that slightly rough surface that was brought about by a thorough chastisement. Her body was hot and sweaty, her hair dangling in loose, limp waves over her head. Her cries were muffled now, and she clung with her face buried in his leg.

  “Are you ready to talk to me, honey?” he asked, stroking her back gently. She simply shook her head, her voice lost in her tears. Erik sighed, not desiring to impose any more pain to her scorching bottom. It was now the time for her to ponder and evaluate her feelings. He pulled her
off his lap and stood her between his knees. “Can you tell me if you feel you were adequately punished? Or do you need more?”

  The look on her face would have made him burst into laughter had the situation not been so serious. It was a combination of horror, shock, disbelief, and agony. She frantically shook her head, trying to pull away from the hold he had on her upper arms.

  “Noooooooo! No more, Uncle Erik! No!” Her pleas were childlike.

  “Relax, sweet love. No more spanking for you right now, not if you feel you received what you deserved. Now, go write your lines. Don’t forget you are to stay bare-bottomed while you do it. I am giving you two hours to finish, so no dawdling. When you are done, bring them to me. I will be in the kitchen getting lunch ready.”

  He stood, kissed her on the forehead, and waited. Slowly… ever so slowly, Camille wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her cheek to his chest. She said nothing as he held her close to him, but he knew that this moment marked the beginning for both of them. With a sense of relief, he left the room.

  Chapter Ten

  Camille eased herself upon the hard chair, grimacing as her bare bottom made contact with the metal seat. Her derriere burned horribly, the blazing sting extending out from her delicate sit spots to the length of her thighs. She reached to rub the area, surprised to feel the degree of heat that met her hand. The hairbrush had been awful, but his hand… There was something about his hand that made her want to crumble into a million pieces. The pain it caused was nearly as bad as the brush, but the intimacy of flesh against flesh, and his obvious concern for her mental health, sent her over the emotional edge. Stan had been watchful of her as she grew up, guiding her like a concerned uncle or guardian. But Erik… His care for her exceeded anything she had ever experienced. She had never acknowledged the absence of a father. Nor, if she was honest with herself, a mother. She had been forced to put all her energy into her roles as she grew up, and never had time to understand that what she missed most in her sad little existence was simple nurturing.

  Until now. How could she bring herself to admit to Erik that the term of ‘uncle’ was not what she wanted to call out? She wanted to call upon him as ‘daddy’ at that moment, a term that she feared would make him uncomfortable and, perhaps, distasteful of her need. He had obviously sensed something, but how would he handle the truth of what she truly wanted from him in her little persona?

  Her hand trembled as she scribbled out the lines, reading the words over and over again. She blinked, dumbfounded, when she realized that, halfway through, she had changed ‘Uncle Erik’ to ‘Daddy.’ Her heart raced as she looked at the rhinestone clock on her wall. Damn! There was not enough time to redo this! Camille groaned, rereading the assignment. Should she take the chance of starting over? Her bare bottom squirming against the metal yelled out an adamant no! What was the chance of him not noticing? She knew Erik well enough by then to answer that question, There was no chance. He missed nothing.

  With a resigned sigh, Camille stood slowly and pulled her shirt down to cover her bottom and the tops of her thighs. At least she would be spared some embarrassment of walking in on him with everything showing! She reached to rub her aching posterior one more time, surprised to find that the heat had not dissipated much even after sitting on the cold metal for nearly two hours. She stopped to look at herself in the mirror that hung over the dresser. Her eyes, nose, and lips were still red and puffy, and her hair looked as though she had stuck it in an eggbeater. She debated whether she should take a moment to clean herself up, then decided against it. Maybe her pathetic appearance would draw more attention than what she had written in her punishment book? She could only hope.

  “I’m done,” she announced shyly as she entered the large kitchen. Erik raised his brow, looking up from the stove that was built on a marble island/bar.

  “Good girl. Have a seat while I finish. I am making spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “Do I have to? I mean…”

  “Yes, you have to. I gather you are still a bit tender.”

  “Yeah… It hurt. Bad. And I have a blister on my finger,” Camille said, looking down.

  “A punishment spanking is not meant to hurt good, baby girl. Let me see your finger. I don’t see any blisters.” He kissed the offended digit.

  “It might hafta get amputated,” she pouted. “Writing lines is as bad as spankings. And even worser than corner time.”

  “My little drama queen. Trying to dictate your punishment, are you? I have never seen a finger fall off from writing lines. Here,” he handed her a glass of cherry Kool-Aid. “You need to hydrate a bit. You did a lot of crying.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what, baby? Crying? I expected you to do that. It was a spanking, after all,” he said humorously, tasting the sauce before adding a handful of bay leaves. “Damn, I’m a good cook.”

  “And humble,” Camille added. “No, I’m not sorry ‘cuz I cried.” Her voice grew smaller as she fidgeted. “I’m sorry I was bad and made you have to do that.”

  Erik set the spoon down to study her. Camille felt herself wanting to slide under the countertop to avoid his gaze, but instead looked at the floor.

  “Cami?” His warm voice washed over her. “How old are you?”

  Camille felt her face tingle. How could she tell him? He would never, ever accept it!

  “I dunno.”

  “I see. You can take a few minutes to figure it out. Let me have your book, please.”

  “But…” True panic set in as he held his hand out to her. “I told you I dided it!”

  Did I just say ‘dided’? Camille realized, appalled at her own regression. Erik did not seem to mind; otherwise wouldn’t he have corrected her speech? He was well known for that in the circles of actors, constantly reprimanding the use of poor grammar and misplaced words. Even back when he had shot the scene with her, he had corrected her costar, Jerry, so many times that the humiliated young man avoided saying a word around the seasoned actor. Camille had to admit that she enjoyed that rare time of not hearing Jerry talk. She guessed that the rest of the cast and crew felt the same.

  “Your book, young lady,” Erik’s stern command jarred her to the present. She bit back a new onslaught of tears as she handed it to him, facing the floor after it left her hand.

  “Very good. Very, very good,” he said, thumbing through the pages. Camille glanced up to see him raise his brow. Oh my God, she flushed fiercely, he noticed! “You can put this on the living room table for me. Lunch will be ready in about ten more minutes.”

  “Can I go put something else on? I’m cold,” Camille asked timidly.

  “You may,” he corrected with a small smile. “We aren’t going out again today, so just be comfortable.”

  “’Kay,” Camille said, hopping off the chair and running out of the room. She hesitated as she arrived at the nursery, debating if she should go inside and dress like she really felt, No, she decided against it, heading toward her ‘pre-teen room.’ Besides, if I was really that little, I would need help.

  If Erik was surprised that she had donned a set of soft, light blue sweats with a rhinestone guitar on the front, he did not say so. He did comment about the disarray of her hair and ordered her to return with a hairbrush and a scrunchie. Camille quickly obeyed, avoiding the large, ugly wooden brush that he had left on her bed and grabbing instead the plastic ‘ouchless’ brush that cooperated best with her thick mass of tangles.

  He stood behind her, running the brush through her hair, and Camille found herself pulling away.

  “What’s wrong? I thought you liked me brushing your hair.”

  “Yeah, but I like sitting on the floor when you do it. Is that okay?” Camille asked hesitantly.

  “Baby girl, anything is okay with me, as long as you are comfortable with it,” Erik said, sitting on the couch and patting his leg. Camille settled down carefully between his knees and leaned forward to allow him to brush.

  “Thanks,” she wh
ispered, closing her eyes.

  “I mean it, honey. Anything is okay with me if it makes you happy,” Erik said, running his finger through her hair before gently pulling it into a French braid, “especially if you want to call me Daddy.”

  Camille sunk her face in her hands. How could he even think of bringing that up?! He put the brush down and placed both hands on either side of her face, drawing her backwards and lifting her chin to make her look up at him. He kissed her forehead, looking down at her.

  “I really would love it if you could call me Daddy. No one has ever given me that honor. Would you do that for me?”

  Camille felt a rush of different emotions racing through her. She could only nod her response and then close her eyes as he leaned forward and gave her a soft, gentle upside-down kiss on the lips. It was sweet, nurturing, and the most wonderful thing she could ever remember receiving. She melted against him, feeling truly safe and, even more important, that she was wanted.

  He continued to stroke the side of her face as she leaned against him. With a deep sigh, he pulled her up onto his lap and held her lovingly, rocking her gently as she, again, released a new set of tears.

  “How old are you, Cami-girl?” He whispered the question in her ear.

  Camille hesitated before answering, “I dunno. Four, maybe?”

  “That’s more like it. You are a good girl, and you have made Daddy very, very happy. Thank you. We still have some things to talk about, though.”

  Camille responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face against his chest, deeply inhaling his scent. He was not the only one who was happy at that moment, although she did not know even where to begin during their ‘talk.’

  The buzzer rang fifteen minutes later, announcing that dinner was ready. As they ate, Camille continued to shift uncomfortably in her chair. It was not due to her aching backside, although that added to her discomfort. Rather it was from the knowing looks that Erik cast in her direction as he waited for her to tell him what had occurred within her.