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Chapter 2
Archer
"When you make Daddy a promise, you need to keep it," I lectured the busty brunette that was currently bent over the arm of my Italian-leather loveseat. Her name was Sophie, and she was the single-mother nurse who struggled with time management, as well as a host of other things. At least I thought so.
Or maybe she was Lola, the small business owner with a shopping addiction who needed help sticking to her financial goals, including paying down her multitude of credit cards and not racking them up again.
But she could also be Ellie, the sweet, barely legal though she looked at least twenty-three, co-ed who just needed some extra TLC after breaking up with her high school sweetheart, who'd always been a source of stability for her.
So… I was having trouble keeping track of all my new clients. At least the brunettes. I knew the woman in front of me wasn't Marissa, the platinum blonde painslut; Zoe, the art professor who needed help staying organized and productive; or Riley, the young middle-school teacher who just needed some stress relief after a week of dealing with pre-teen hormonal antics. I had that much down.
I thought I did, at least. Now that I was supposed to be mid-lecture, I wasn't actually sure. And where was I again? Staring blankly at the belt in my hand, I smacked it across the fleshy canvas in front of me and stumbled over my words.
"Now, young lady. We meet again soon…" I couldn't for the life of me remember when. "Are you going to do a better job following your rules until then?"
I raised the belt again, delighting in the pink streak that rose across her flesh.
"Ooh! Yes, Daddy!" she squealed. "I promise!"
"Good girl." I couldn't stop the endearment from falling from my lips. Praise was my kink and it was impossible to not be at least a little turned on by the squirming, red-bottomed, wailing creature in front of me.
"I wanna be Daddy's good girl," she whimpered, making my dick hard. "What do good girls get Daddy?"
Just as quickly as I'd gotten hard, I went soft. She was trying too hard. True praise came naturally, and it was earned, not begged for. Not negotiated with. I also had no interest in doling out anything other than straightforward discipline.
"They get the pleasure of knowing they'll be able to sit comfortably in the coming days," I grunted, as I ruthlessly laid three new stripes across her ass. "And that is a luxury you won't have."
Her squeals and saccharine goading turned to true tears of repentance, and I finished her spanking without saying her name because I didn't know it.
When it was over, I righted her thong panties, carefully situating the strap of silky fabric in the crack of her ass, and pulled up the yoga pants I suggested all my clients wear to our discipline meetings before taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face me. "Did you learn your lesson?"
Crocodile tears leaked from her eyes as she nodded woefully, and I studied her face. Sophie. It was definitely Sophie.
"Answer appropriately and thank Daddy for your spanking," I prompted her. Sophie had a bit of a brat streak and often needed prompting to behave as she was supposed to.
"Yes, Daddy, I learned my lesson. Thank you for spanking me."
"You're welcome." Wiping a tear from her eye, I gave her a quick hug, before grabbing a bar of chocolate and a bottle of water from the mini fridge on the other side of the home office I'd been using to conduct my spanking appointments.
Handing her both, I gave one more quick side hug and walked her to the door. "See you next week," I told her, praying that was correct. "Take better care of yourself, and be in bed by ten.”
I looked up just in time to see her cock her head in confusion before the door shut her out of my private space. As always, I had a moment of guilt over how quickly I got through these appointments without any pomp or circumstance, but I got over it, reminding myself that it felt weird because I was the only one to actually follow the rules. Bas and Bain had both hooked up with their first clients. But that wasn't my problem and I wouldn't be following in their footsteps.
In my pocket, my phone rang, and I dug it out to peer at the caller ID. Nyla.
"Talk to me," I said when I answered.
"I'm just calling to see how your appointment with Lola went."
My heart sank. "Are you sure it was with Lola?"
"Positive."
"Is Lola the single-mother nurse by any chance?" I asked even though I already knew the answer.
I could hear Nyla shuffling papers in the background. She'd agreed to help me keep my clients and appointments straight until I could find an assistant to do so.
“Lola is the business owner with the shopping addiction.”
