Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Konnor
I stare at the back of the cereal box, reading the same trivia question for the third time. The kitchen is too quiet, only the sound of music coming from down the hall breaking up the silence.
It’s not even loud enough for me to make out the words. Add in the sound of heavy breathing and it’s all a jumble.
I’m bored out of my mind. We don’t have to work until later, and Daddy has been all about relaxing. I’d much rather be doing just about anything else than sitting here waiting for Daddy to finish his workout.
Sure, I appreciate the man’s abs. But after forty-five minutes, you’d think he’d be done.
I’ve been good all morning. So very good.
The urge to brat itches under my skin.
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “You know, for a Daddy, you’re not very good at paying attention.”
The music shuts off instantly. I’m not sure if he was already finishing up, or if he cut it short. For a minute, panic fills me at what kind of trouble might come from this.
Daddy appears in the doorway, his long, lean body coated in sweat. His eyes are hard and locked directly on me. “What was that, Pretty Boy?”
I shrug, attempting to look calmer than I feel. My finger trails over a coffee cup stain on the counter. “Just stating the obvious. You’ve been in there so long. I’m like a withering houseplant someone forgot to water.”
He moves out of the doorframe and walks into the kitchen. His steps aren’t too fast or too slow. They’re just the right speed to let me know he’s locked in on me.
When he stops by my chair, I make sure not to look his way. I can feel his eyes on me though.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I drag my gaze up. The playful look he normally wears is gone. Instead there’s fire. Not the kind that means I’m getting railed anytime soon.
“That was disrespectful. And you know the rules about using that tone with me.”
A spark shoots down my spine, followed immediately by a wave of worry. I kinda wish I could take it back. But also, I don’t.
The bratty part of me that’s been coiled tight all morning wants to push. “Rules, rules, rules,” I grumble, looking away again. “Maybe the rules are wrong.”
Daddy’s hand comes under my chin. The grip is firm but not painful. He tilts my face back, so I’m forced to meet his gaze again. His thumb strokes my jaw.
“I think someone is feeling neglected. I think someone is trying very hard to get my attention. Well, you have it now, pretty boy. Was that the goal?”
I swallow, fighting to form words past the lump in my throat. “Maybe.”
“And how do we ask for attention the right way?”
I keep quiet, my lower lip poking out in a pout I don’t fully feel.
“I asked you a question.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. The fight is already starting to seep out of me. It’s being replaced by the familiar aching need for him to take over.
This was what I wanted. For him to come tell me what to do so I don’t feel so aimless.
“You do know.” He releases my chin and straightens. The loss of contact nearly makes me whine. “Stand up.”
My legs feel unsteady as I follow his order. He takes my hand, turning to move down the short hall to his bedroom. I don’t dare ask what we’re doing. Part of me already knows.
There are only two reasons for us to come in here: to fuck or for punishments.
Ever since we sat down to iron out the details of our dynamic, Daddy has been very clear about what he will and won’t tolerate. There is no question I’m about to be shown who the boss between us is.
When he opens the door, I step inside without him having to say anything. He closes the door softly behind us.
I can see his laptop screen is still paused on the music he’d been listening to. His weights are to the side of his yoga mat, like they’re waiting for him to come back and finish up.
Guilt swarms me.
Daddy walks over to the pastel-green armchair in the corner. He eases down until he’s comfortable, with his legs spread and his hands on top of his thighs.
He looks like a king ready to speak to a crowd of his peasants. There’s a power to him I can’t resist. The brat in me dies out as the eager-to-please Little in me rears up.
“Come here, please,” he says.
I move to him until our knees knock together. He doesn’t say anything at first. His gaze takes me in, assessing in a way I’m still not used to.
“What you said was unkind and meant to provoke me. It broke the rule I set about keeping our communication respectful and honest. Do you agree with me?”
I nod.
“Use your words, pretty boy. I want to hear you.”
“Yes, Daddy. I agree. You’re right.”
“And what happens when we break the rules?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “We have to… to get a spanking.”
“That’s right,” he replies gently.
He isn’t angry. He’s not even truly upset.
This is Daddy in his focus mode. Where he’s the judge and jury of my punishments when I need to be reminded he’s in charge.
It’s what we agreed to after all. What I knew I needed.
“Safeword?” he asks, even though he knows it.
“Cabbage.”
He gives me a nod, then pats his legs. “Over my lap. Let’s get this done.”
Everything around us disappears as I sink into my submissive mind. I take the hand he extends my way to guide me into position.
Once I’m spread across his firm thighs, he adjusts me a bit. When he feels I’m in position, his palm lands on my lower back, thumb stroking as my body droops.
The fight in me is all gone.
“We’re going to start with ten. I want you to count each one. If you try to get up or stop counting, we begin again. Understand, pretty boy?”
I find comfort in the use of my nickname. We’re still Daddy and Pretty Boy. This doesn’t change that.
Plus, I do know I can safeword if I need to. He’d find a different punishment if this one became too much.
“I understand, Daddy,” I tell him.
“Very good. Take the time to remember why you’re in this position. I care about how you speak to me and to yourself. This is to help you make better decisions.”
His first swat comes on the heel of his words. The firm, sharp crack echoes around us. Heat blooms across my backside. Even through the fabric of my shorts, I can feel the sting.
“One.”
Another blow comes, this time on the other cheek.
“Two,” I voice.
Daddy continues with the punishment, alternating sides as he spanks me three, four, five more times. My bottom burns brighter with each one. It’s starting to ache.
No too bad. Just enough for tears to gather in my eyes and my fists to clench.
With six, seven, and eight, it shifts from a slight ache to a deep, pulsing burn. Daddy’s hands are large and steady.
At nine I gasp. The tears flow freely now as I whimper, “Nine.”
The final one is the hardest yet. I cry out the count, then collapse over him in a sobbing heap. My punishment is over.
It’s finally over.
Daddy rubs my back in slow circles. “You behaved, pretty boy.”
I feel exposed at his words. Vulnerable in a way I so rarely experience since I don’t brat back to him often. It’s usually only when I miss his attention or if I want to lead during sex.
Just the idea of getting fucked right now is enough to make me choke on my next hiccup. I can’t imagine his hips pumping against my bruised skin.
I lose track of time as I cry and shake from the release. At some point, Daddy moves me to sit up in his lap. Sitting on my bottom stings enough that I hiss at the change of position.
“Shhh. It’s over now. It’s all over. You did so well. Daddy is proud of you for taking your punishment like the good, pretty boy you are.”
He helps me stand up. I’m so unsteady I tumble right back into him. His arms gather me up, lifting me in a bridal carry as he chuckles softly.
I know he’s not making fun of me. He knows how independent I try to be after a punishment. That’s what’s amusing him.
A few steps forward brings us to the bed. Daddy eases me down, then rolls me to my stomach. He pulls my pants down gently.
“Be still. I’m going to get the cream.”
I hear him walk away, then the sound of the sink turns on. A cabinet opens next. When he comes back, he’s got a cool cloth, the tube of ointment, and tissues—probably for my runny nose.
He lays the cloth over my bottom. It’s cool enough to feel like relief rather than painful.
Daddy lays out beside me. “We’ll let that cool you down, then I’ll apply the cream. First we need to clean you up a bit here too.”
With gentle movements, he wipes away my tears. After they’re cleared, he holds a folded tissue to my nose, telling me to “blow” like it’s no big deal. I would normally argue to do it myself since boogers are gross.
I don’t have the energy for it tonight.
Once he’s content with my face, he throws out the dirty tissues and pulls the cloth away. His fingers spread the cream around until I’m liberally coated.
“Let’s get your undies back up. We’ll skip the pants for now. You don’t want all that material rubbing.”
I nod at his words. It doesn’t sound like much fun for me to spend the second half of today wincing anytime my shorts shifted against me.
My voice comes out hoarse when I say, “I’m sorry, Daddy. I shouldn’t have been a brat.”
“Thank you for the apology, pretty boy. It’s all forgiven. I know you just missed me.” He kisses the top of my head. “Next time, I need you to use your words. Don’t act out for attention. I’d rather you ask me to stop early so we can enjoy cuddling and snacks.”
“Okie-dokie. I can do that.”
Daddy sets me up on the couch with a big fluffy blanket. He brings me a glass of water, along with a couple of painkillers to combat the worst of the ache. After grabbing some popcorn for us to nibble on, he comes to sit beside me and puts on a silly cartoon.
The volume is so low it’s not really even something we’re enjoying. It’s more about the closeness after such a tough punishment. It’s about how he holds me as I drift in and out of the fuzzy place aftercare always sends me to.
I nuzzle closer as the movie progresses and Daddy strokes his fingers stroke down my jaw. It’s so relaxing.
“I love you,” I mumble.
Arms tighten around me. “I love you too, pretty boy. More and more each day.”