Chapter 8 #2
She didn’t want her hand smacked. She’d had them swatted with a ruler once in school, and it stung for hours. She nodded again. “Got it.”
“I’ll keep track of the count this time. Your thoughts will be focused on other things.”
Her heart tightened at his words. This time would be her only time.
“That means the only things you need to worry about are listening to Daddy and saying your safe word if you need to. Are we on the same page?”
She managed a tight, “Yes, Daddy.”
“What is your safe word?”
“Red, Daddy.” Kip was beginning to think she might not be giving enough credit to his five-swat limit. But five smacks? How hard could they be?
“Good girl. And since you haven’t used it yet, it’s time to start.” He paused to give her one more chance to stop this, she supposed, but that wasn’t going to happen. “Right. Remember your rules.”
His hand, which had been caressing her skin the whole time, lifted from her bottom. She should have heeded that warning, but she was too insulted that he thought she wouldn’t follow the rules. She was nothing if not a strict rule follower.
In a flash of panic, Kip grabbed his ankle with one hand and tucked the other under the edge of the hay bale.
Seconds later, a seat-shattering whack landed on her bottom, zapping white-hot pain over her right cheek. Kip shrieked like a banshee doused in holy water while Trace calmly said, “One.”
All thoughts of rules vanished. Her free leg shot up, pressing her foot as close to the center of her fanny as she could manage. She couldn’t get her left hand past his thick chest, but her right hand swept back, covering her very abused posterior.
“No!” she cried out. “No, no, no. No!”
What happened to warm-up swats? There were always warm-up swats in the romance books. And based on what she’d read, that wasn’t one. Holy heffalumps! One smack and her right cheek was on fire.
“I hate to tell you this early in your punishment, but that earned you two extras,” Trace informed her. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t earn any because, as you’re about to learn, extras are always worse. Now lower your foot and move your hand. Do it now or the penalties get worse.”
Worse? Worse?
Kip struggled to slide off his lap, but he held her firmly in place. “You can always say your safe word if you need to stop. You remember what it is, right?”
Gritting her teeth so she wouldn’t say something that would really get her in trouble, she nodded. This was exactly what the phrase “caught between a rock and a hard place” was for.
"Then move your hands and feet."
Everything in her wanted to wiggle her fingers and feet, but she wasn’t crazy. Yet.
Taking as much time as she could get away with, Kip eased her foot to the floor.
“Alright, let’s try that again. One.” Once more, his hand delivered a scorching smack to her bottom.
Was the man trying to flay her alive? If she could remove her backside and give it to him, she would.
Then he could beat it like a bass drum. For now, she did her best to stay in position to limit her total spanks to seven.
Before she could figure out an escape plan, Trace wrapped his free arm around her back and held her hip in place. What, now he was a mind reader, too?
Without any fanfare, he delivered a second penalty swat to her left cheek.
She’d hoped the angle would impede his strength, but if it did, she couldn’t tell.
Giving up on staying quiet, Kip howled. The initial blow shocked her skin.
She waited, but instead of easing off, the pain intensified and grew more fierce.
“Now we can get started on your original five,” Trace said.
“I want to make sure you understand why you are over my knee, getting your butt blistered like the naughty girl you are. Number one is because you are keeping important secrets from Daddy.” He smacked her right cheek again, somehow managing to find a new place to set ablaze.
How could it keep hurting more and more?
Kip almost made the same mistake, but at the last second, she dug her fingernails into Trace’s jeans. Clenching her teeth, she blinked away the tears burning her eyes.
A new thought crossed her mind, temporarily distracting her. If he knew she was keeping secrets, did he know what her secret was? That could be deadly. She tried to remember when she could have said anything other than she had to leave.
Whack!
Trace pressed on through her protests. “Two is because you ran away instead of talking to me about your problem, so I could help you solve it. You don’t want to tell me?
Fine. Say that instead of risking your life by running around a ranch at three o’clock in the morning with snow drifts everywhere. Do I make myself clear?”
She panicked. She still had three more swats to go. Three whole swats. That was too many. She wasn’t sure she’d survive.
On swat three, she lost her grip on the rules. Again. Without her permission, in a brave but ultimately futile act of valor, Kip’s right hand swung back, sacrificing itself for the sake of her buttocks.
Luckily, Trace anticipated the move, grabbing her hand before it could reach its target and holding it tightly to her hip. “I’m going to hold on to this for you for safekeeping,” he said, as if her were pocketing her keys. “You’ll thank me later.”
She had a bad feeling about that. It meant things would get worse. Kip panicked all over again.
Trace didn’t break stride as he delivered the swats. “Three,” he said. Smack! “Because you know you should talk to someone about whatever you’re dealing with, and four because it’s pure stubbornness that’s stopping you.” Smack!
Hot tears streamed silently down her face. They stung her nose and blurred her vision. Her bottom was going to be useless for sitting the rest of her life. That was okay for tending bar and waitressing, but what if she had to be a secretary again? Five swats was way too many.
But was he right? Was she just being stubborn? A small part of her wondered if she was. If she’d ever met anyone who could help her confront her past, it was Trace Daniels.
“Five,” Trace said. Smack! It was the hardest swat yet. “Because you’ve been lying to me by omission since the day I met you, and don’t tolerate liars.’ At his words, she broke down completely. She was done.
The sting still gnawed at her bare skin, a greedy little beast with teeth, and just as it finally loosened its jaws, the burn surged in. It was hot and relentless, with a deep, pulsing throb that refused to be ignored.
“Ow,” she moaned, as he sat her back on his lap. "How could five swats hurt that much?"
“Seven,” he corrected her. “And it was meant to hurt. Now, let’s go back to the bedroom.
You will take off those pajamas, and I’ll put you to bed.
I want you naked so I can sleep knowing you won’t run again.
Although by the time I’m done here, that shouldn’t be a problem.
Once we’re in bed, we’ll talk about what you came up with, and then you'll go to sleep. I need you to be well-rested for what I have planned tomorrow.”