He then did something she didn’t expect. He parted her smarting cheeks, baring to his view her naughty back hole. Her face heated with humiliation. She learned that his purpose for parting her cheeks was to locate the unspanked part of her bottom, the lily-white strips of her cheeks protected against each other. Daddy Clay used the wooden spoon to spank every bit of her sensitive side cracks, which caused her to howl and buck in his lap. Then, much to her horror, he turned the spoon around and used the thin handle to spank her poor little bottom hole over and over again.
Clay’s voice boomed over the smacks. “Which is more embarrassing, asking me for a stepladder or getting your bottom hole spanked?”
“Getting m-my…”
“Say it,” he growled, giving her another whack with the end of the spoon.
“Getting my bottom hole spanked!” she wailed, never having felt so embarrassed in her life.
“I should think so. Look at you, writhing over my lap like a little girl, getting spanked in all your naughty places by Daddy.” He slapped her pussy with his fingers twice to complete the humiliation.
She had been ashamed of herself then, and she was ashamed of herself now as they drove back to the ranch. Daddy Clay was going to punish her a third time for her pride, plus for seriously endangering herself, and she knew this punishment was going to be even worse than the previous.
Chapter Seven
The sun had nearly disappeared by the time they arrived at the cabin. Shane met them at the door. He looked at Abby from head to toe and said, “Glad you’re okay.” He then gave Clay a searching look, and something in Clay’s face must have told him to make himself scarce. “I imagine you two have lots to talk about. I’m going to grab a beer in town.”
He’d no sooner left than Clay went straight into daddy mode. “Have you eaten today?”
She shook her head. “No, but I’m not hungry.”
He glared at her with disapproval. “Go to the kitchen and have a snack. Then I want to you to go upstairs, take a shower, and wait for me on your bed.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said softly. She walked past him to the kitchen with the back of her hands against her bottom because she half-expected him to smack her ass as she walked by, but he didn’t.
She sat on the wooden seat at the kitchen’s breakfast table and munched on cheese and crackers. She barely tasted them. Clay could be heard upstairs, showering in his bathroom. Slowly, she washed the dish she’d used to eat her snack and then headed up the steps. Clay turned off his shower just as she was entering hers. As she scrubbed her body, she wished she could wash away all the events of the day and have them circle down the drain just like the dirty water. But that wasn’t possible. Her body was clean when she stepped out of the shower, but her mistakes remained like a stain on her person.
The waiting began. She sat on the edge of the bed, wearing her new pink nightie that had two white bows at the hem. She didn’t bother putting on underwear, since they would be off her in a New York minute after Clay walked into the room. The nightie offered very little coverage to her bottom, since it was thin and short. It would hike up to right below the small of her back if Clay had her bend over and prop her hands on her knees.
She wondered if he would hold her while he spanked her. She preferred the intimacy of being held over his knee as opposed to bent over the bed, but she knew she would have to accept however he chose to punish her. She never had any say in the spankings she received. When they happened, how they happened, the implement used, and the duration were all as Daddy Clay saw fit.
His footsteps fell across the floor, and she swallowed hard when she heard his knock.
“Come in,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
He opened the door and stepped in. Her eyes immediately shot to what he was holding, a thick brown leather belt folded in two. He closed the door behind him and set the belt on her nightstand. He wore his black cotton lounging pants and a white t-shirt that hugged the muscles on his arms. She drew a deep breath and inhaled the scent of his soap and shampoo.
Gone was the Clay who’d comforted and held her in his truck after pulling over. His expression was severe, and his stature tall and almost businesslike. He didn’t waste time in beginning the lecture.
“Young lady, as you know I’m very disappointed in you.”
Her thighs clenched together. She couldn’t help it. Hearing those words always made her feel simultaneously guilty and turned on.
“In any relationship, trust is important. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She nodded forlornly. “Yes, sir.”
“In our arrangement, it’s even more important. It’s my job to be your daddy, watch out for you, and give you what you need, and I take that job seriously. But how can I do that if you lie to me about what you need?”
“But Daddy, I didn’t lie,” she said, unable to resist pointing that out. She was many things, but she wasn’t a liar.
Clay pointed a finger at her face. “You did by omission. You let me believe you knew how to drive when you took my keys.”
She hadn’t thought of it that way, but she supposed he was right. “I just wanted you to think I was normal,” she said, tears already threatening to make an appearance.
“I care about you, Abby. Haven’t I always accepted everything about you that’s not normal, according to your definition? Those are the things that make you special.”
“There’s nothing special about not being able to drive,” she said, her lower lip beginning to tremble.
“I think so. It shows you were too busy doing other things, like selflessly saving for your sister’s tuition. I would have understood and helped you if you’d been honest with me.”
She nodded and stared at her hands in her lap, feeling deeply regretful for her actions. “I know you would have.”
“I need you to understand that this spanking is not for wrecking my truck, like you’ve been concerned about. It’s about lying to me and putting yourself in danger. Those are the two worst things you can do in Daddy’s book, so Daddy’s going to spank you with his hand for lying and then use his belt for putting yourself in danger. I warn you it’s going to be a long, hard spanking, worse than any you’ve had before.”
She sniffled and nodded again, unable to look at him. She felt so naughty and embarrassed, knowing she was going to get spanked, plus she felt very nervous about this particular spanking.
“After that, Daddy’s going to put you to bed with a very sore bottom, and you’re going to go to sleep knowing all is forgiven. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and we’ll begin again, this time with a renewed expectation of honesty from you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Daddy. Thank you for not giving up on me.”
“Never,” he said. “Daddies don’t give up on their little girls. They guide, encourage, and correct when necessary.”
She wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. Daddy sat next to her on the bed and took her tear-stained hand in his. He guided her across his hard thighs, where she squirmed a little to get comfortable and buried her face into the comforter. He lifted up her tiny little nightie and positioned it high on her back before he fastened her against him with a strong, steadying grip. Her legs dangled in the air; they were too short to reach the floor. Before the spanking began, Daddy Clay ran his punishing hand over both her cheeks all the way down the back of each thigh to her knees. Every nerve in her bottom came alive and tingled with anticipation.
The first smack popped loudly, startling her and stinging her square on her right cheek. A matching smack fell on her left cheek. Then the spanking began in earnest. His hard palm landed again and again on her bottom, punishing her for lying. He didn’t speak during this spanking as he often did, explaining why she was getting spanked and how disappointed he was in her. All those words were more than evident as the spanking continued, growing in speed and impact. His swats became so hard that she couldn’t breathe for half a dozen of them until
one particularly hard smack seemed to spank the air right out of her lungs. A strangled cry came from her lips that formed into a plea to stop. Still the spanking continued with no respite, over and over and over. She gasped, struggling to breathe or even cry as the blows to her bottom continued to rob her of air.
She had maintained some semblance of modesty for a while, but that was all out the window as his hand lowered to her thighs and cracked out spanks that echoed in the room like gunshots. Her legs flew apart, each frantic to avoid the punishment, but Daddy Clay’s hand still found his target. She screamed and again begged for him to stop, but it was as though he didn’t hear her. When her frantic hand reached back to cover her seat, he didn’t speak or even slow down. He simply lifted her hand away from the target, pinned it to the small of her back, and gave her ten punishing smacks on the part of her bottom she’d tried to protect. That was enough to cause her legs to fly up. She didn’t mean to cover her bottom with her feet, but she did and Daddy Clay was none too pleased with that. He had made it clear to her in previous spankings that she was never to try to prevent or block her punishment.
Even after doing that, he didn’t scold her, which she would have welcomed at that point. Daddy Clay had become only a punishing hand, and every word was communicated through it. After she blocked her bottom with her feet, he hauled her forward, higher over his left leg, and then wrapped his other leg over the backs of her knees. This position meant that her bottom was stretched more tightly over his leg and had less of a cushion, like when she had to bend and touch her toes. It made every swat delivered unbearably painful. She was trapped in his lap and couldn’t move. Her sobs overtook her body and she screamed, feeling like this spanking would never end. Never had Daddy Clay spanked her so hard and so long.
When it finally did stop, she hardly noticed. Her bottom had become one swollen mass of pain that pulsed and ached even without being spanked. Clay released her trapped wrist from its position on her lower back, and she covered her face with both her hands, sobbing. Usually after a spanking over his knee, Clay would gently rub out the sting and offer loving, affirming words of forgiveness. Not this time. His stern voice rumbled down at her. “That’s what you’re going to get every time you lie to me or leave out important information that prevents me from taking care of you. Do you understand, young lady?”
“Yes, Daddy!” she sobbed.
His hand crashed against the center of her bottom. “You sure?”
“Yes!”
He spanked her two more times, so hard that she nearly arched off his lap since he wasn’t pinning her in place. “Go stand in the corner with your hands on your head. I’ll call you when it’s time for your strapping.”
She whimpered, knowing that the belt was going to hurt even worse, and gingerly climbed off his lap. Her whole body felt sore. Besides her smarting bottom, her muscles ached from tightening and clenching in an effort to absorb the pain.
She stood with her head facing the corner and her fingers laced behind her head. She wanted to reach down and rub her smarting bottom, but Daddy hadn’t given her permission. She knew he would view doing so in the same way he viewed blocking during a spanking—as an attempt to alleviate the punishment.
She eventually stopped crying. As soon as she did, Clay appeared next to her, holding a box of tissues and the small wastebasket from her bathroom. His voice was still hard when he spoke to her. “Blow your nose. When you’re finished, it’s time for Daddy’s belt.”
She blew her nose as instructed, taking her sweet time in order to delay the inevitable as much as possible. She used a few tissues to dab her eyes, knowing she would likely have to repeat the whole endeavor as soon as her next spanking ended.
“Come here, Abby.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She really, really didn’t want more spanking. Her bottom still hurt and she wished very much that he would forget the whole business. She’d learned her lesson. Feeling like her daddy was the meanest daddy in the world, she trudged over to where he sat on the end of the bed and she stood in front of him with her head bent.
“Tell me why you’re going to be punished with the belt,” he ordered. In sharp contrast to the sound of his voice, he lovingly slipped her loose hair behind her ear.
“Because I put myself in danger.”
“That’s right. Out of all the bad things you can do, that’s the worst one in Daddy’s mind. Do you know why that is?”
She nodded at one of the buttons on his shirt. He tilted her chin up with two fingers and looked into her eyes. “Why?”
“Because you care about me and don’t want me to get hurt.”
“That’s right.” He pointed at the pillow he’d positioned in the middle of the bed. “Lay yourself over the pillow.”
She climbed on the bed and obediently draped herself over the cushion, causing her bottom to be raised slightly and for her sensitive sit spots to be available for punishment. Daddy Clay lifted her nightie and ran his hand all along her bare bottom. “Your bottom is red and warm. Does it still hurt from the spanking with Daddy’s hand?”
She nodded and sniffled. “Yes.”
He patted her bottom. “Twenty strokes with the belt, and then your punishment will be over. It’s going to hurt, but I want you to stay in this position. If you move, I’ll start over, and I don’t want to do that.”
“Okay, Daddy, I won’t move.”
“And that means no trying to cover your bottom. I don’t want to hit your hand with the belt, so you’ll get extras if you put your hand in the way.”
She watched as he picked up the belt from her nightstand and snapped it loudly, testing its flexibility. She winced and buried her head in the comforter. Her bottom clenched when the leather tapped against her cheeks. The belt felt cool and the tap almost felt like a caress, but she knew it wouldn’t feel that way for long.
The belt snapped across her bottom, emitting a loud crack into the air. It hurt, but not quite as badly as she thought it would. When it fell again, though, she realized why Daddy Clay had reserved it for her worst offense. The loud sound combined with the sharp sting made the belt a formidable implement, and she struggled from the start to keep her tummy planted against the pillow.
He spaced out the first ten, and the sting grew sharper with each one. Knowing the total number of strokes she would receive helped. She could manage twenty. That’s what she told herself until the eleventh, when the leather seemed to sear into her hide like a branding iron. Because she knew she deserved it, she didn’t beg him to stop, not that it would have made any difference. But she couldn’t help the frantic shriek that escaped her lips.
“I hope you’ll remember this the next time you’re tempted to disobey me,” Daddy Clay said, landing another line of fire across her bottom.
“I will! I’ll never disobey you again!” She meant it. Experiencing this kind of spanking was the last thing she wanted to repeat, and she desperately longed to feel Daddy’s arms around her and to have him be pleased with her once again. She cried into the comforter and gripped the material with her fists. Even as she suffered the punishment, she felt relieved that Clay cared about her enough to keep being her daddy.
As though reading her mind, he said, “I’m not going to give up on you, Abby. I won’t abandon you when you do bad things, I’ll punish you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said, sniffling.
“Good girl.”
The last strokes fell rapidly, with each landing before the pain from the previous registered, compounding and building the inferno on her bottom as he striped her from the top of her bottom, down to the under curve, the sit spots, and finally catching the top portion of her thighs in what felt like a million bee stings at once.
The belt stung like the dickens, but unlike the hand spanking, the strapping ended quickly. Every muscle in her body relaxed in relief as Clay tossed the belt aside and joined her on the bed, where he gently ran his fingertips over her pun
ished skin.
“You took that very well,” he praised, his voice now kind with no hint of scolding.
She let out a sigh of contentment as he traced circles over her bottom up her back and then raked his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. Nothing felt as good as Daddy’s hand when it was gentle. Her eyelids grew heavy as Clay continued to stroke and caress her.
“I’m proud of you, baby,” he murmured, “and I’m so glad you’re safe.”
She always felt cherished after a spanking, and this time that feeling was magnified tenfold.
She must have fallen asleep for a moment because she awoke suddenly to find herself on her tummy under the covers with a pillow against her cheek. Clay was still there, rubbing her back and stroking her hair, telling her she was a very good girl. Her heart overflowed with love. She was so glad to be Clay’s good girl going to bed with a sore bottom and all her sins forgiven. As she drifted into sleep, she felt a kiss on her temple.
“I love you,” she heard his deep voice say, sounding very far away. Abby wasn’t sure if she was dreaming, or if Clay had actually said the words. She drifted further into unconsciousness. For now, she would sleep. Tomorrow, she would find out if Clay had said he loved her. If so, maybe, just maybe, that meant he wanted to be her daddy forever.
Chapter Eight
Abby rolled to her side early the next morning and landed against Clay’s chest. His arms pulled her closer against him where he locked her into a spooning position. She smiled. As intimate as they’d been with each other, they’d never slept in the same bed overnight, and it was a new and wonderful feeling to have him there when she woke up.
“Good morning, darlin’.” He kissed the side of her neck while his hand slid down to the apex of her legs.
Cowboy Daddies: Two Western Romances Page 7