by Maren Smith
“Do you want cereal, eggs and toast, or pancakes?” he called into the living room.
She didn’t move and didn’t answer for almost a full minute. He was wondering if he ought to rethink how much leeway to give her when she softly and with significantly less mutiny said, “Pancakes, please.”
Pancakes for the win.
Cole pulled out the ingredients, tucked a dishtowel into the waist of his jeans, and got down to culinary business. He loved to cook. Cooking for one, kind of sucked, but it was his favorite go-to when it came to dates or babysitting, which he did a fair amount of for his brother’s two daughters. He didn’t know if being an uncle helped to improve his Daddy game or vice versa. He’d learned how to make Mickey Mouse pancakes for his Littles and learned how to flip them in the air for his nieces, so the truth likely lay somewhere in the middle.
As he whipped together cinnamon-flavored batter, he kept one eye on Kelly, making sure she didn’t move. Judging by her body language, she wasn’t finding the experience enjoyable, but it wasn’t driving her crazy to stand there—not even with her nightgown held up in the back, baring her naughty bottom to the room and his occasional glance. The corner was boring, but it wasn’t a chore for her to endure it, so her attitude wasn’t getting any better. She was grumbling, something he would have lit up her ass over in a heartbeat any other time. He blamed her behavior now on her knowing spanking had been taken off the table.
Kelly was a spanking fiend. She loved them, regardless if they were for pleasure or punishment and craved them when she was under stress. He wouldn’t be in the least surprised if half her problem right now was how desperately she wanted the reaffirming comfort of a stern paddling to help ground and comfort her. There was just no way, not while her injuries were so fresh and the slightest pressure on her fingers caused her pain he couldn’t control.
Checking the heat on the stove, then the time, he dropped a little butter in the pan. “You can come out now if you’re ready to behave.”
She hung her head, letting her nightgown drop down into place, but otherwise didn’t move. Dropping three splotches of batter into the pan in the first Mickey Mouse shape, he eyed her. Okay, this was going to have to be addressed.
Wiping his hands on his impromptu apron, he left the stove. Coming to stand behind her, he barely resisted the urge to put his arms around her. He was dead sure a hug was exactly what she needed, but he wasn’t about to force one on her before she was ready to receive it. Instead, he braced his hands on the walls on either side of her, pinning her loosely in place with his own body.
“Are you not coming out of the corner because you’re not done being a naughty little girl?” he asked. “Or is it because you feel you haven’t been punished enough?”
He could hear the tiny hitches in her breathing as she looked everywhere but at him. After several long seconds, she lifted one shoulder in a kind of shrug.
“Is that how we talk to Daddy?”
She sniffled and shrugged again.
“Turn around.” He let his tone dip into notes of stern disapproval. “Look at me.”
He loved her eyes. They were big, a lovely shade of pale gray. Sometimes, he thought he could see flecks of blue or green, but right now, they were only a beautiful, sad hue of silver-gray.
“What can I do, babygirl?”
She huffed.
“Except go away,” he quickly amended. “I’m not going to do that.”
“Yet,” she said darkly.
He arched his eyebrows. “Exactly what, little girl, does that mean?”
She looked at the wall again. “Nothing,” she said glumly.
His palm was itching so hard to deliver a sound swat to her thinly-covered bottom.
“We talked about this. I will leave when you are able to take care of yourself.” She snapped around, huffing with exasperation, but he put a stop to that with a sharp, “Don’t push me, sweetpea. We both know you are the most capable person in the world when it comes to doing just about anything. We also both know what you have to do to show me you’re capable of taking care of yourself with two broken arms.”
“Wrist and hand,” she snapped. “Don’t make it worse than what it is. Drama llama.”
“If getting your mouth washed out with soap is what you’re looking for, you are heading in the right direction.”
“You’re the one who won’t stop talking to me while I’m in the corner!”
“And you’re the one who won’t stop pushing for a spanking.”
“And you’re the one who won’t give me one!” she snapped, bouncing and stomping her foot. “So, why don’t you save us both the headache and just walk away now? We both know it’s going to happen! Everybody walks away eventually, and you know it.”
That accusation hit him like a punch to the gut.
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind,” she said harshly and would have walked away from both him and the corner if he hadn’t caught her elbow.
“Now, hold it right there.”
“No. I want coffee. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he cut in, harsher than he intended, but he didn’t soften. “You’re not fine, so stop saying that.”
“I can if I want to, Daddy!” She blew up, throwing her casts in the air. “It doesn’t do any good, no matter what I’m feeling, so why not just let me be fine?”
“Because you’re doing this. This isn’t what fine looks or sounds like!”
She stomped her foot again, and he immediately raised a staying finger, struggling to keep his own temper in check.
“Now, you hold on right there, little girl.”
“No!” She jumped, stomping both feet. “I don’t wanna hold on!”
She burst into tears, startling them both with the suddenness of her emotional storm. He felt the corresponding snap that broke through her as it echoed all the way through him.
“Corner,” he said abruptly, pointing to it. Catching the back of her neck when she only cried louder, he turned her forcibly around and pushed her back into it before he marched out of the house to his truck.
The distance he put between them was exactly what he needed. Not to cool down, his temper wasn’t really spiking, but he was thrown. Admittedly, he hadn’t had a lot of time to think about it but had thought he’d known how the situation needed to be handled. She’d always been very independent and hated having that taken from her. Except it wasn’t him doing the taking, and eventually, she’d heal enough to take it back. Still, he’d thought patience would need to be the key, but he hadn’t known he would suddenly be thrown against all the half-known, half-guessed at ghosts from her past.
She thought he was going to walk away? Seriously?
Was he supposed to do that before or after he’d spanked her?
Or maybe the idea was cementing in her head because he wasn’t spanking her?
He’d happily bust her butt every day and twice on Sundays if that would prove he was in this relationship for the long haul, but the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her worse than she already was. Her arms… her fingers… all those bruises. How in the hell was he supposed to proceed without accidentally doing damage to her he couldn’t control?
He had to talk to her.
Good luck doing that while she was in full-blown Little space.
Bracing his hands on the hood of his truck, he stared at his feet. When he was sure he wasn’t about to march back in there, bend her over his hip, and set her ass on fire, he went back inside.
The storm of her tears had reduced to sniffles. Leaning into the wall with her casts flat against the drywall and her forehead pressed to her casts, she didn’t turn around, even when he came to stand right beside her.
“I don’t care who did what in your past,” he tried. “I am not any of those guys, and I’m not walking away.”
“I can’t think straight,” she quavered. “I need to get this under control, but I can’t think. I’m so stressed… I’m sorry…”
“How
can I help?” In his gut, he already knew that answer.
She craved spankings. It was the one thing she always asked for when she needed comfort and reassurance. It was her bittersweet taste of normalcy. The swift show of strength that never failed to help her wrap her head around the fact her problems wouldn’t last forever. The burning iron that helped her smooth out her ragged emotions, so she could pull herself together again.
Turning on his heel, he walked back outside to his truck.
God, he didn’t want to hurt her.
He checked the time—two hours before she took her next pill.
He checked himself—calm, cool, absolutely in control.
He checked the backseat of his truck. Yup, there was his playbag, tucked on the floorboard, so it would always be ready for his next trip to the playspace.
She wanted this, but more than that, she needed it. He was beginning to see, not giving her what she needed, although better for her hands, may not be better for her overall.
Opening up the back, he got his playbag out and slung the strap over his shoulder.
One spanking, coming right up.
Chapter Four
She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She had to get herself under control.
Standing in the corner, glaring at the wall, Kelly did her best to gently wipe the tears from her face with the part of her arms that wasn’t casted. It was awkward, but then everything about her right now was awkward.
Her heart hurt when she heard Cole come back inside for the second time. He detoured through the kitchen long enough to shut the stove off before stalking back out into the living room.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, still facing the hated corner. “I don’t mean to be so mean to you.”
He ignored that.
“Do you need a pain killer before I paddle you?”
A tiny zing of energy zipped through her stomach, hitting her chest with the familiar ‘oh no,’ at the same time it hit between her legs with an entirely different kind of anticipation. Her mouth kicked into gear before she could stop it. “You don’t have to, Cole. I shouldn’t have made you feel like—”
“Too late, babygirl.”
That he was still willing to use that particular pet name almost dissolved her into tears all over again.
“Just answer me one question.”
The need to turn far enough to see his face, to make sure he wasn’t mad at her, far outweighed her good-girl need to stay in the corner until he said she was okay to come out. There was nothing in his voice that suggested he was upset, and it was pure relief to see there was nothing on his face either. He was just Daddy—calm, quiet, always-in-control Daddy.
“Is it because they stopped giving you spankings before they walked out? Is that what I’m up against?”
Her heart constricted.
“I’m just wondering because, from the moment I said I’d find other ways to punish you, you started spiraling.”
She had no idea how to answer that. She hadn’t really thought about it, not consciously.
“Daddies only spank when they still want you,” she said slowly. “Otherwise, they don’t bother.”
He nodded once, then pointed at his face. “Look at me.”
She was almost afraid to.
“Do you see me walking away?”
He wasn’t, but he wasn’t smiling either. Her stomach was twisting into knots.
“No, Daddy.”
“What am I doing instead?” Very deliberately, he unshouldered his heavy playbag and set it down on the coffee table.
She had no idea how to interpret this, but her tummy was vibrating, and her throat was squeezing so tight, it was choking her.
“Making yourself at home?”
“Yes, I am,” he said with a nod. “We’re going to do a lot of talking over the next few days—about you, about me, about everything. I don’t know right now if you’ll be able to sit down comfortably for any of it, but if you can’t, that’s fine. Just so long as you understand, I am not walking away.”
She couldn’t answer. Her chest was holding her breath too tightly hostage.
“Turn around,” he ordered. “Nose to the wall.”
She snapped around, facing the wall, her eyes as huge as the knots in her twisting tummy. That unnerving zing shot all through her again as she heard the clinks and clatters of implements, cuffs, and containers, bumping together as he dug through his bag. She fidgeted, so unnerved, she couldn’t hold still.
Where only a moment ago she’d been so desperate and sure a spanking would make everything all right again, now every thought she had was for her cringing bottom and whether or not Daddy might think she needed to be spanked hard. There was no doubt her behavior had warranted it. Maybe she deserved to be spanked so hard she shrieked and cried. Maybe she deserved for it to be harder than she could bear.
She wanted to look behind her so badly.
She almost did when she heard the pop of him opening a bottle of lube. She smelled the spice of peppermint oil, and every inch of her stiffened and stilled.
Oh, no, he was using the hot stuff.
She covered her bottom with both casts, but that was about as effective as anything else she’d tried to do for herself since her accident.
“Hands on the wall,” Cole admonished, coming up behind her. “You know better.”
She did. It was one of Daddy’s strictest rules—no reaching back, especially not during a punishment.
She raised her arms, laying her casts flat on the wall before pressing her forehead to the plaster between them. She stared into nothing, every tingling nerve braced for what she knew was coming. Shivers swept her when he raised the back of her nightgown. The next thing she knew, the coolness of the peppermint oil-infused lubricant was being spread liberally between her bottom cheeks and all over her puckered back hole.
“Oh, no,” she squeaked, eyes snapping shut. The tingling started right away, chilling with deceptive coolness as he pushed his finger inside her. That coolness didn’t last anywhere near as long as she wished it would. Before he withdrew, the chilly tingle was already growing ominously warm.
She clamped her lips on an involuntary groan, turning the reluctant sound into something wanton instead. She came up onto her tiptoes as his finger began a slow, invading thrust. Within a matter of a few strokes, the friction of his pumping turned those blossoms of heat into an unforgiving inferno.
“Oh, no,” she gasped again. “Oh! Daddy!”
Stomping and whimpering, she pressed her face against the wall, but that didn’t stop him from removing his finger, only to immediately replace it with the coldness of a metal butt plug. The cold did not offset the heat. It only made it worse as he steadily pushed it inside her, barely giving her any time to get used to the size.
If he wanted her in Little headspace, he knew exactly how to get her there. The unbearable heat of the lubricant took her right to the edge, where pain verged on too much. The butt plug stretched her poor bottom hole as only it and Daddy’s cock could do, embarrassing her with the dirty, nasty, filthy girl play that she was so mortified to admit she loved.
Daddies who were ready to walk away didn’t bother doing things like this when their baby girls threw a fit in the corner. In spite of the hurt, the knots that had been twisting so sickly in her tummy, relaxed their grip on her.
“What is Daddy doing?” he asked, gripping the base of the plug and thrusting with it, the way his cock would thrust, forcing her little bottom hole to take its relentless ownership of her over and over.
She arched onto her tiptoes again, panting. “B-because I was… bad.”
“No,” he said firmly. “Daddy doesn’t have a bad babygirl. He sometimes has a naughty one, but you weren’t even that. You were scared, and there’s a difference. Daddy is doing this because Daddy loves his sweetpea, and he always will.”
She gasped, losing the breath inside her when he pushed the plug all the way in. What little discomfort she had wa
s gone before she could refill her lungs. She just stood there, wondering how much she should believe that, while he walked back to his bag and doused his fingers in more peppermint lube.
“No, no, no!” She squirmed, already knowing what he was going to do as he came back to her.
“Yes,” he said, his breath warm against her ear. “Daddy loves his babygirl. I wished I’d said that to you before now. I thought it might scare you, but I see now, I should have been saying this to you all along. Daddy loves you. Say it. Right now, say it.”
“Daddy loves me,” she blurted as he wrapped his arm around her waist, hugging her tightly back against him as he hooked his hand up under the hem of her nightshirt.
“Again.”
“Daddy loves me!” His fingers slipped through her folds, and she gasped, throwing her head back against his hard shoulder as he smeared the cold, tingling, and all too quickly burning lubricant all over her pussy and clit. “Daddy, oh my God!”
Peppermint oil wasn’t for casual play. Against such sensitive flesh, the fire became unbearable, but this wasn’t the first time she’d felt its merciless kiss. She gasped and shouted, writhing in his arm while his other hand coaxed the already bonfire-like flames ever hotter. Her pussy wept fire down the insides of her thighs, and there was no relief.
“Why is Daddy’s girl getting her bottom plugged and the hot pepper oil put on her sexy little clitty?” he asked again.
She couldn’t get her legs open wide enough to cool the fire.
“Because I was naughty and said bad things.”
“Nothing you said while you were scared is going to be held against you,” he censured, stroking the fire hotter and hotter through her burning folds. “And the only naughty thing you did was not telling me you were in the hospital for four days. Yes, we are going to talk about that, but not right now. Fair warning, though, Daddy intends to use the cane, which is why we’re not going to have that particular conversation until after your arms are healed.”
She hated the cane. She sniffled, tears automatically stinging her eyes.
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“That’s not your choice or your decision.”