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I brought my hand down on what many people referred to as her sit-spot, but I much preferred to consider it her sweet spot. It was where the curve of her bottom merged into the top of her thighs. I supposed it didn’t matter what term was used, the effect was instant. Her entire body bucked and her head reared back.
“Fuck! Brett, stop!”
I had her off my lap and on her feet in a second. Ignoring her glare, I pulled her hands away from where she was furiously rubbing her ass.
“What did I say about cursing?”
“Not to, but God, it really fucking hurts!”
I shook my head. “It’s about to hurt a lot worse. Remember that hole I warned you to stop digging?” Standing, I turned and pointed to the couch. “Put your hands and face down on the cushion. Spread your legs and stick your ass up.”
“Wh-what are you go… going to do?” she asked, her eyes going wide.
She got her answer when I unbuckled my belt.
“No! I mean, please, Bre… Daddy. I-I didn’t mean it. I won’t cuss again!”
“Get into position or you’ll earn extras. Baby, you’re about to learn that it is best to heed my words and that I mean exactly what I say.”
The first sob came when I pulled my belt free. The second when I folded it in half.
“You’ve earned six strokes. If you aren’t in position by the count of three, it will become twelve. One…”
She moved to throw herself down, her face buried in the cushion. I gave her foot a gentle nudge to remind her I wanted her legs spread. Once they were about a foot apart, I patted her bottom. “Lift your ass and keep it up. Do not reach back and I highly suggest you do not curse again. Understood?”
Her head bobbed and a muffled, “Yes, Daddy,” came from the depths of the leather.
Placing one hand on the small of her back, I swung my arm, the leather cracking against the center of her ass. She immediately attempted to rear up, but I held her in place. A bit worried about her ability to breathe, I instructed, “You’ll count each one.” When she didn’t turn her head from the face plant she’d assumed, I added, “Give me the number, Hannah, or it won’t count.”
Her head turned to the side. “One.”
Wanting to reinforce our new dynamic, I said, “One, what?”
“One… Daddy.”
“Good girl.” Lifting my arm, I gave her the second, an inch below the first.
“Two, Daddy.”
She didn’t balk until the fourth when she began to wag her hips and bend her knees, causing her ass to drop.
I gave her a moment to return to position, but she only went lower until she was kneeling. “Hannah, get up. You’ve got two more and three if you don’t count.”
“Please, Daddy. It hurts!”
“Then I’m doing my job correctly.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she pushed herself up and returned to the position I’d ordered. I was happy when she sniffed but said, “Four, Daddy.”
The last two were given a bit harder and she burst into tears and went limp, after the last cry of “Six, Daddy!”
Threading my belt around my waist, I laid my palm on her hot punished flesh, waiting until her sobs quieted. Lifting her, I took a seat with her on my lap, pulling her to my chest. I’d give my life for this woman, and the moment she clutched at my shirt, burying her face in the crook of my neck, I knew I would also keep every bit of the commitment I’d made.
“Shhh, it’s over,” I soothed, stroking her back.
It was several minutes before I heard more hiccupping than sobs. Standing, I cradled her in my arms and walked through the house and into the kitchen. Setting her on the counter, ignoring her hiss at the contact of her hot ass against the cold marble, I pulled a dishcloth out of the drawer and ran it under the faucet. She portrayed the perfect picture of contrition, her fingers swiping tears from her face, her chest shuddering with another set of hiccups. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and returned to her. Uncapping the bottle, I pressed it into her hand.
“Small sips, babygirl,” I said. Mascara had run to join the tracks of her tears, and I gently used the damp cloth to wash her face. She handed the bottle back when it was half empty.
