Daddy!

by Carolyn Faulkner

  "I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble, Daddy," I offered, feeling truly repentant.

  He brought my hand to his lips, saying lovingly, "I know you are, little one." Then, his tone changed, and he gave me the look via side eye. "And if you're not now, you soon will be, I promise you that."

  I tried to take my hand back at that, but he wouldn't let it go.

  He literally carried me into his house, not putting me down until we were in the bathroom, where he took off all of my clothes.

  "I have to call the school!" I said suddenly, remembering that I'd not quite made it there, despite my valiant attempt.

  "I did that before I left to rescue you. I'm not about to allow you to go in to work."

  "You didn't—you didn't say that to them, did you?" I really didn't think he had, but I felt better asking.

  He grinned down at me, but it was not a normal grin. There was a tension to it that wasn't usually there. "Yes, I definitely told them that I was keeping my naughty little girl home today because I was going to have to punish her for disobeying me, so she wasn't going to be able to come in."

  "Why is it that I wouldn't put it past you to say exactly that to them?" I mumbled under my breath.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing, Daddy." I peeped up at him, but he looked at me the way he had since he'd opened my car door while I was in the snow bank: thoroughly annoyed, but concerned enough that the emotion was taking a back seat for the moment to taking care of me.

  "Damned straight," he grumbled back at me. When I was standing in front of him—naked and feeling more vulnerable about that than I ever had with him—he stripped off himself and we both got into a very hot shower. It felt wonderful, and, although I reached for the soap, he took it out of my hand and washed me very thoroughly.

  He'd been bathing me for a while now, which I loved, but this made more sense to get me warm—I wouldn't be sitting in a tub full of cooling water—and was more expedient.

  There was no funny business, either, which made me feel even worse about what I'd done. Daddy's hands always wandered during baths as he washed me everywhere, but this was a disturbingly vanilla shower. My chattering teeth stopped quickly, and he didn't wash my hair because he'd done that the night before.

  I was in and out of there in record time, and I knew that didn't bode well for me at all. Not well at all. He dried me thoroughly—before himself—then tucked me in my big, warm winter robe before tending to himself. I turned to walk out of the bathroom.

  "Don't you move, young lady."

  Uh-oh.

  "Stay still. I'm almost done."

  He guided me into the bedroom, pausing to bump up the heat, then, casually naked, proceeded to carry me to the big rocking chair he'd put in his bedroom. It was the same kind of big chair I used at Bette's place. When I'd told him about it, we'd gone shopping for one almost immediately, and he'd actually gotten two—one for here and one for the living room. It lived up to my fantasies about it. It was just perfect for the two of us.

  Prepared as always, Mane had grabbed a spare blanket, which he spread out over the two of us, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me to him. "I'm so glad you're all right, little love. I was so worried about you when you told me you'd gone off the road."

  "I'm sorry I worried you, Daddy, and that you had to come get me."

  He played with my hair a bit, not looking into my eyes, which worried me. "I know you are, kitten." But then he did, and it was worse to see the disappointment in them, and hearing it in his voice made me hide my face against him. "But that was a very naughty thing to do. I'm not going to rehash the bad choices you made when you decided to disobey me. You're a very smart girl, and you know what you did that I'm extremely unhappy about. You put yourself in needless danger, and you're very lucky that your little accident wasn't much worse than it was. And I'm afraid that you've earned a very severe punishment because of that."

  I began to wail, but I'm not sure if that was more because I knew I wasn't going to be sitting down comfortably for quite some time or because I'd let him down. They were both equally horrible to consider.

  After holding me for a long time, making sure I was warm again and fully recovered, Mane stood up, taking my hand and bringing me to a standing position, also. We were both naked at that point, and he had me turn around so that I was facing the seat of the recliner. "Put your hands on the arms of the chair, young lady, and don't even think about moving."

  I had been weeping from the point of my confession, but as I remained in that stark position, I began to tremble, too. It was such a blatant punishment position, so different from how he usually disciplined me, over his lap or next to him on the bed, where we were still in contact, he was close to me, and even though those spankings or paddlings were no fun, there was a loving intimacy to them that I missed terribly now.

  When he reappeared, he was fully clothed in jeans and a polo shirt, which just made me feel that much more vulnerable to him. But worse than that—much, much worse—was what he was carrying—my cane.

  He'd bought it early on in our relationship, after recognizing that, although I was generally a pleaser, I could do some stupid—usually just stubborn—stuff, and occasionally needed a firmer hand. Mane hadn't had a lot of cause to use it, but more than enough that it easily became my most hated implement.

  He stood to one side of me, where I could see him, his hand on the small of my back, standing close, which gave me at least some comfort. He looked stricken, and what he said to me next, his words choked up, proved that I was right.

  "I'm not quite sure how I feel about using the cane on you, Tahlia. I had considered my belt, but somehow, that seemed even less appropriate to me." His fingertips caressed my back gently. "I'm sorry to have to do this, doll, but I can't see any other way to let you know just how seriously naughty you were and to make sure that you think twice before you disobey me and do anything that stupid again."

  With that, he took his position behind me to my left, the cane in his right hand. He laid it up against my cheeks, then said, "This is going to be very hard for you to bear, I'm sure, but do not move your hands from the arm of the chair, babygirl. I'm not playin'. If you do that, I will restart the count from the beginning, even if there's only one more stroke to go. You're going to get thirty-five stripes."

  I gasped, but he had timed it well, bringing the first of them down across my cheeks seconds later.

  It was a good thing it was winter and all of the windows were closed, the storm windows down, and lots of the houses around him were owned by "from aways", which meant they were boarded up till next summer. In other words, there was no one to hear me scream.

  And scream, I did. Mane didn't give one the chance to die down before he caused another, and they only seemed to get louder and more fervent, at first, although they died down a bit towards the middle as my mouth stayed open, breath fully expelled until the next one made me draw in a great gulp of air and scream it out again. I didn't realize until later on that I wasn't the only one moaning when the cane fell.

  Thank God for the padding on the arms of the chair. It was plentiful and loose, and I could really grab onto it, which I desperately needed to do to save myself from having any of this repeated.

  There was no lecture, there was no reassuring feeling of his hard thighs beneath me, and there was no mercy. He went through them like a machine, his face—what I could see of it through my tears—hard and resigned to what he knew he had to do. I'd never seen that particular expression on him, even when he was Domming me. I think that was because this was as hard for him to do to me as it was for me to have it done.

  Mane did the counting—I don't think I would have gotten much past two or three. But he didn't number the strike until after he'd delivered it, not giving me the time to prepare that announcing it beforehand would have allowed me.

  By the time he got to the last five strokes, we were both panting heavily, and those were the worst. "So I would remember them,"
he'd informed me the first time he'd caned me.

  And this time was no exception.

  Once he'd laid that thirty-fifth track across all of the others, I heard a clatter through my misery and realized he'd thrown the cane away. Then he gently gathered me up and carried me to his bed, where he put me down on my stomach and lay down beside me. But for some reason, not right next to me.

  I was barely coherent, weeping and wailing as if he was still punishing me, choking and coughing and hiccoughing, my fists still clenching as if I was holding onto the arms of the chair.

  And he wasn't touching me anywhere except for a big hand on my back, above the evidence of the devastation he'd caused. He wasn't rubbing soothingly, even, as he always did. He wasn't talking to me and telling me that everything was all right now, that I was forgiven and that he loved me.

  I don't know why he was so withdrawn, but the reasons didn't matter to me. I didn't care if he was still mad at me, I didn't care if he didn't want me to cling to him. I had to—literally, physically, mentally, emotionally, and psychologically had to. So, I crawled awkwardly over to him. You don't realize how hard it is to move in any way without moving your butt until your butt is swollen and striped with livid, raised red lines.

  "Daddy!" I cried, snuggling myself up to him, just about as raw and open and needy as I had ever been in my life.

  For a second, I felt him hesitate, and alarm bells began to ring even more agitatedly than my bottom was stinging. Was he going to reject me?

  But then, it was as if a switch flipped, and his arms wrapped around me, and it was as if he couldn't get close enough to me. He kissed my face, he murmured softly into my ear, and he began to stroke my hair and rub my back.

  "I'm so sorry I had to do that, my darling little girl. I'm so sorry."

  I was amazed that he was apologizing to me, and when I had recovered some, I sat up. He had rolled onto his back, so that I could be comfortable draped over his broad chest, on my stomach, so I was looking down at him, knowing I looked a mess, but that was bound to happen sometimes in a relationship like ours.

  "Don't be sorry, Daddy." I shook my head. "You did what you thought was best for me."

  Mane nodded. "Yes. Yes, I did, and I would do it again, if I had to."

  I gave him a tentative smile, then hiccough-sobbed, "I love you, Daddy."

  That seemed to eliminate the tension he'd been feeling, and he cupped my cheeks—the ones that weren't sore but were wet. "Oh, little love, I love you so much." I could see the tears in his eyes when he confessed, "I worried that I'd gone a bit too far. You're so little, and that was such a big punishment. I worried that you'd be afraid of me or resentful, so I hung back a bit when I shouldn't have."

  "It was a big mistake."

  He nodded. "Yes, it was."

  Then I did something I'd been considering doing for a while now and had been waiting for the right time, and I thought that this was probably it. So, I reached up and undid the latch.

  Then I handed him the collar-cum-necklace I'd been wearing for much longer than I should have, considering who and what he had become to me.

  The look on his face was priceless. The big man melted, right before my very eyes.

  Almost, but not quite smiling, I teased, "Well, Daddy, did I make your decade again?"

  He looked down at me, his fingers tracing my wet cheeks as he pressed his lips to mine and breathed reverently, "Don't sell yourself short, my precious little girl. You've made my whole damned life!"

  The End

  Carolyn Faulkner

  The words “spanking” and “discipline” have always sent a shiver up Carolyn Faulkner's spine. She knows she's not alone.

  Writing started as a way to explore her feelings. Soon short stories flowed from her pen featuring reluctant heroes taking the leading lady in hand, but always for her own good.

  Today Carolyn is the author of dozens of books. She writes from her home in Maine, where she lives with her husband and leading man.

  You can read an interview with Carolyn here:

  http://www.blushingbooks.com/blog/?p=175

  Don’t miss these exciting titles by Carolyn Faulkner and Blushing Books!

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  Body and Soul

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  Captured by Time (w/ Alta Hensley)

  A New Forever (w/ Alta Hensley)

  Under the Cover of Love

  Her Guardian Don

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  The Rod of Correction: Taken and Tamed

  Taken by Force

  Skye’s Submission

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  Nola

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ables

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  All of Her

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  Anthologies

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  Audiobooks

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  www.carolynfaulkner.com

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