I swallow, fighting to form words past the lump in my throat. “Maybe.”
“And how do we ask for attention the right way?”
I keep quiet, my lower lip poking out in a pout I don’t fully feel.
“I asked you a question.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. The fight is already starting to seep out of me. It’s being replaced by the familiar aching need for him to take over.
This was what I wanted. For him to come tell me what to do so I don’t feel so aimless.
“You do know.” He releases my chin and straightens. The loss of contact nearly makes me whine. “Stand up.”
My legs feel unsteady as I follow his order. He takes my hand, turning to move down the short hall to his bedroom. I don’t dare ask what we’re doing. Part of me already knows.
There are only two reasons for us to come in here: to fuck or for punishments.
Ever since we sat down to iron out the details of our dynamic, Daddy has been very clear about what he will and won’t tolerate. There is no question I’m about to be shown who the boss between us is.
When he opens the door, I step inside without him having to say anything. He closes the door softly behind us.
I can see his laptop screen is still paused on the music he’d been listening to. His weights are to the side of his yoga mat, like they’re waiting for him to come back and finish up.
Guilt swarms me.
Daddy walks over to the pastel-green armchair in the corner. He eases down until he’s comfortable, with his legs spread and his hands on top of his thighs.
He looks like a king ready to speak to a crowd of his peasants. There’s a power to him I can’t resist. The brat in me dies out as the eager-to-please Little in me rears up.
“Come here, please,” he says.
I move to him until our knees knock together. He doesn’t say anything at first. His gaze takes me in, assessing in a way I’m still not used to.
“What you said was unkind and meant to provoke me. It broke the rule I set about keeping our communication respectful and honest. Do you agree with me?”
I nod.
“Use your words, pretty boy. I want to hear you.”
“Yes, Daddy. I agree. You’re right.”
“And what happens when we break the rules?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “We have to… to get a spanking.”
“That’s right,” he replies gently.
He isn’t angry. He’s not even truly upset.
This is Daddy in his focus mode. Where he’s the judge and jury of my punishments when I need to be reminded he’s in charge.
It’s what we agreed to after all. What I knew I needed.
“Safeword?” he asks, even though he knows it.
“Cabbage.”
He gives me a nod, then pats his legs. “Over my lap. Let’s get this done.”
