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“After your spanking is over and Daddy has held you in his lap for as long as it takes for your tears to dry, he is going to make sure you come very, very hard for him,” he promised, and I moaned softly in anticipation. His hand slid away, and I pouted a little bit before it returned to my vulnerable upturned backside.
“It’s time, little girl,” he added, and I whimpered. As hard as this was going to be, I knew I needed this. I needed the visceral feeling of his hand striking my backside, of his fingers on my skin reminding me that I was his, that he cared, and that he loved me so much that he would spank me like this.
“Please punish me, Daddy,” I whispered. His hand squeezed my hip gently, pushing me down firmly enough to remind me that he would hold me in place securely for as long as he needed to. My spanking was about to start, and I wasn’t going anywhere until he decided it was over.
Sometimes, he started slow, just smacking hard enough to lightly sting, but not today. He laid into me from the very first smack. Instantly, I bit the inside of my cheek to keep quiet, but there was no doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t be able to keep that up for long.
His palm was enormous, so broad that it covered almost the entirety of either bottom cheek with every hard smack. He started at the fullest part of my ass and worked both up and down from there. He punished from the tops of my cheeks all the way down to just below mid-thigh. I couldn’t really kick or squirm away from him. He was so much bigger and stronger than me. There would be no escape, not until he decided that I’d had enough.
Even though that was scary, there was comfort in that too because I knew I would always be safe with him. The spanking would be painful, and I feared the paddling to come would be far worse, but I knew he would never really hurt me because he loved me.
His palm peppered my backside harder and faster. A particularly stinging smack across my thigh made me cry out and I slapped my hand over my lips to keep myself quiet, but to no avail. His hand was harsh and constant, teaching me a hard lesson with every strike. I whimpered, knowing this was only the beginning and already it was hurting so much more than I thought it would.
“Daddy, please!” I begged quietly.
The spanking didn’t stop. He didn’t even pause for a moment. If anything, my punishment just got harder and faster after that. I whined and cried, but his hand was relentless.
The burning sting was hot from the start. I tried to be brave and take it as gracefully as I could, but it wasn’t long before I started to struggle. His hold was firm and secure. I didn’t really move much at all, and the spanking just went on and on despite everything I did to try to escape it. He started punishing the tops of my thighs and I whimpered loudly before he finally paused. I felt him lean to the side and I cried out knowing what was about to happen next.
“Please! I won’t forget again, Daddy!” I exclaimed, wanting to do or say anything to avoid the paddle. I hadn’t been spanked by anything like it before except for the wooden spoon. That had stung far more than I’d thought possible, and the paddle was that much more intimidating.
The cool surface slid over my scorched backside and my stomach pitched down to the tips of my toes. I tensed almost immediately, and he released my hip just long enough to circle soothing touches against my lower back. I worried my bottom lip incessantly.
“This next part is going to hurt, little girl, but you need it to hurt so you never forget how much Daddy cares for you again,” he explained gently.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whimpered into the quilt, trying to find whatever courage was inside me. My fingers were trembling, and I gripped the fabric, making a tight enough fist to turn my knuckles white.
“Give me your hand, little girl,” he instructed softly. Tentatively, I released the blanket with my right hand and reached behind my back. His fingers interlaced with mine. I wasn’t sure if it would keep me from reaching back, but it was comforting to have his hand in mine all the same.
He squeezed it tight, and the first smack of the paddle fell. It stung so much it took my breath away. I squealed and tried to fight my way out of his hold, but the only thing that ended up happening was a second spank with the terrible thing.
I wailed and then my paddling started in earnest.
There was no keeping quiet, no taking it gracefully, and no being brave. I was simply a little girl over Daddy’s knee getting a hard paddling because I’d been naughty. My feet couldn’t reach the floor. I couldn’t kick or squirm my way out of this.
There was nothing but my bare stinging bottom and that paddle.
Each swat felt like I’d been stung by a million bees all at the same time. Both the wooden spoon and his belt seemed like nothing compared to the heavy burning agony that came with my new punishment paddle.
He spanked all over my bottom and my thighs just like he had with his hand, but it was so much worse. It was a sharp agony that bit into my punished flesh over and over again without pity and without remorse. It was terrible and I wanted it to end almost as soon as it began.
“Daddy! Please. I’m so sorry. Please, Daddy,” I howled, but the paddle never stopped.
There was nothing for me to do now but surrender. My eyes watered, fully taking in the fact that I was pinned over Daddy’s knee getting the hardest spanking of my entire life and he was the one deciding how long, how hard, and when it would end, not me.
I blinked several times, trying to hold back my tears but when he started paddling the place where my thighs met the lower curve of my bottom cheeks exclusively, I lost any semblance of control I had left.
A few particularly hard swats took my breath away and when I finally managed to pull in another, it came out with a strangled sob. I started crying for real after that, only slightly aware of the fact that the paddle had slowed a bit. Each swat was harder than before, as if it was painting the lesson across my bottom so that it sank in deep enough to reach my soul. I sobbed harder when he put the paddle aside and finished my punishment with a long hard spanking with his hand.
I blubbered my apology over and over again. I don’t really know what I said to be honest, just that I begged and pleaded for his forgiveness as I cried. My tears ran down my cheeks in rivers and my body shook with every sob.
Once it was finally over, Daddy moved quickly, lifting and gathering me in his arms so that I was sitting in his lap. I curled up against him, holding onto the fabric in his shirt as I cried.
“It’s okay, little girl. Daddy’s got you,” he crooned.
“I’m so sorry for being a bad girl, Daddy,” I wailed.
“You’re not bad, Cami-girl. You’re Daddy’s good girl always,” he countered, and I whimpered as his arms held me tight. I sniffled, trying to gather myself.
