Her eyes stung with tears she had no intention of shedding. A sniffle escaped. Damn it.
“I can’t believe that you care so little for yourself that you would even think about smoking a cigarette. Have you ever seen what a smoker’s lung looks like? By the time I’m finished, you’ll wish you’d never even heard of a cigarette.”
His admonishments were almost as painful as the swats were. Sometimes she hated them even more.
His hand peppered every inch of her bottom. He was relentless, and his hand felt more like a paddle. “But you knew that—” Smack! “—didn’t you?” Smack! “You were just trying—” Smack! “—to strike out at me.” Smack! Smack! Smack!
Drawing back his hand, he gave her one more swat, causing her to screech loud enough to send birds flying.
Standing, Jaxon placed her over the arm of the chair, her rear up in the air, her head on the seat cushions, toes barely reaching the floor. She yelped again when he swatted her again, right in the middle of her bottom.
“I didn't smoke it. I just took it out of the pack.”
That earned her two more swats, the hardest yet. “If I hadn’t been standing there to stop you, you would have. I could see it in the way you moved.”
“I said I was sorry!” She twisted and dodged, or tried to, but nothing she did interrupted the steady rain of smacks peppering her bottom. He didn’t bother with scolding anymore. He let his hand do all the talking, and it was very fluent.
Smack after smack landed on her backside, each leaving a burning sting. Her toes tapped the floor in that age-old dance performed by Little girls in her position. Nothing worked. He never missed his aim.
Twelve hard swats found their mark before he stopped, but only to march her back to the corner of the entertainment center and the wall.
Blinking hard against the tears, her sniffles grew louder. Instinctively, she rubbed her burning bottom.
“Do we rub without Daddy’s permission?” he barked. “You can use that hand to lower your pants.”
“You mean we’re not done?” she wailed.
“Not even close, Sprite. There’s still the matter of you trying to climb down the side of Books-N-Brews. Now get those pants all the way off.”
It didn’t even occur to her to object. It seemed as natural as… Old Jaxon and Tazzy. She worked to do as he said, wiggling and bouncing to get her pants down, leaving her panties in place. Tears leaked from the outer corners of her eyes, dripping down onto the front of her shirt.
She didn’t dare to turn and look, but there had been no footsteps. There she stood, in her panties, waiting to be spanked again. An hour ago, she would never have believed it.
He waited until her pants were around her knees to speak. “You won’t be needing those panties, either.”
That’s when she really started crying, trying to sound as pitiful as she could. If it affected him at all, he didn’t say anything. There was nothing for it but to lower her panties, too. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her like this before.
But why did it feel so novel? Sure, Old Jaxon had seen Old Tazzy, but those were two different people. This felt… new and different.
She stood there, hands itching to rub her aching bottom. When a drawer opened and shut, alarm shot through every cell of her body.
Before she could process that, his hand was back on her arm, and he was leading her back to the couch. Too soon, she was right back over his knee.
“Now,” he said, “let’s talk about rappelling without training or a safety net.”
As ominous as what he said was, it was the familiar feel of the smooth leather paddle he was using to rub circles on her bottom that filled her with dread. She remembered that paddle. He’d named it Tazzy’s Tantrum Tamer. She had another name for it that would certainly earn her more swats if she ever dared say it aloud. When had he snuck that evil implement of ass destruction into her house?
He began tapping her bottom lightly. “Do we really need to go over anything else about why you’re getting spanked for doing something so dangerous?”
“N-no,” she answered. Please God, don’t let there be anything else.
The tapping grew harder, “No, who, Tazzy?”
“No…Daddy,” she whimpered. Despite the pain of the punishment, relief flowed through her.
“That’s my good girl. It’s a count of fifteen.”
Nothing could have prepared her for the first smack. White-hot pain lit up the entire center of her bottom. He’d gotten the paddle specially made, thick enough to be both thuddy and stingy.