Everything around us disappears as I sink into my submissive mind. I take the hand he extends my way to guide me into position.
Once I’m spread across his firm thighs, he adjusts me a bit. When he feels I’m in position, his palm lands on my lower back, thumb stroking as my body droops.
The fight in me is all gone.
“We’re going to start with ten. I want you to count each one. If you try to get up or stop counting, we begin again. Understand, pretty boy?”
I find comfort in the use of my nickname. We’re still Daddy and Pretty Boy. This doesn’t change that.
Plus, I do know I can safeword if I need to. He’d find a different punishment if this one became too much.
“I understand, Daddy,” I tell him.
“Very good. Take the time to remember why you’re in this position. I care about how you speak to me and to yourself. This is to help you make better decisions.”
His first swat comes on the heel of his words. The firm, sharp crack echoes around us. Heat blooms across my backside. Even through the fabric of my shorts, I can feel the sting.
“One.”
Another blow comes, this time on the other cheek.
“Two,” I voice.
Daddy continues with the punishment, alternating sides as he spanks me three, four, five more times. My bottom burns brighter with each one. It’s starting to ache.
No too bad. Just enough for tears to gather in my eyes and my fists to clench.
With six, seven, and eight, it shifts from a slight ache to a deep, pulsing burn. Daddy’s hands are large and steady.
At nine I gasp. The tears flow freely now as I whimper, “Nine.”
The final one is the hardest yet. I cry out the count, then collapse over him in a sobbing heap. My punishment is over.
It’s finally over.
Daddy rubs my back in slow circles. “You behaved, pretty boy.”
I feel exposed at his words. Vulnerable in a way I so rarely experience since I don’t brat back to him often. It’s usually only when I miss his attention or if I want to lead during sex.
Just the idea of getting fucked right now is enough to make me choke on my next hiccup. I can’t imagine his hips pumping against my bruised skin.
I lose track of time as I cry and shake from the release. At some point, Daddy moves me to sit up in his lap. Sitting on my bottom stings enough that I hiss at the change of position.
“Shhh. It’s over now. It’s all over. You did so well. Daddy is proud of you for taking your punishment like the good, pretty boy you are.”
He helps me stand up. I’m so unsteady I tumble right back into him. His arms gather me up, lifting me in a bridal carry as he chuckles softly.
I know he’s not making fun of me. He knows how independent I try to be after a punishment. That’s what’s amusing him.
A few steps forward brings us to the bed. Daddy eases me down, then rolls me to my stomach. He pulls my pants down gently.
“Be still. I’m going to get the cream.”
I hear him walk away, then the sound of the sink turns on. A cabinet opens next. When he comes back, he’s got a cool cloth, the tube of ointment, and tissues—probably for my runny nose.
He lays the cloth over my bottom. It’s cool enough to feel like relief rather than painful.
Daddy lays out beside me. “We’ll let that cool you down, then I’ll apply the cream. First we need to clean you up a bit here too.”
