Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
I shift my weight, a tiny throbbing on the skin on my knee. A small sound escapes me—not quite a whimper, but close, and I start to sway back and forth, not in pain but craving movement.
"Did I say you could move?" Jack's voice cuts through the silence.
"No," I whisper.
"No, what?"
The response rises to my lips without thought. "No, Daddy."
"That's better." I hear him stand, heavy footsteps crossing the room behind me. He stops close enough that I feel his heat against my bare back, goosebumps rising on the skin of my bare ass, but he doesn’t touch me. Torture. Pure and simple. "Do you understand why you're being punished?"
"Because I didn't listen about the creek bank," I say softly. "I put myself in danger."
His hand comes to rest on my shoulder, thumb tracing the notch of my spine. "And why does that deserve punishment?"
The question catches me off guard. "Because... you told me not to?"
"No." His voice drops lower. "Because you're precious to me. Because the thought of you hurt—or worse—tears something open inside me I can't stitch closed." His fingers move to the base of my throat, pressing upward into my jaw while the fingers squeeze. "Because your safety is my responsibility."
The rawness in his voice makes my eyes sting. "I understand. I’m sorry, Daddy."
"Good girl." He guides me away from the corner by my throat, an odd sensation of struggling to breathe that should make me fearful but instead, it makes me feel floaty, my eyes start to droop as he turns me to face him. "Bend over the arm of the couch."
My stomach drops, as does his voice, but I obey, and he releases my throat, gathering my hair in his fingers before giving me an encouraging shove into place.
“Bend. Spread your feet shoulder width apart. Don’t speak unless I tell you to.”
Fire races through my veins as I position myself over the padded armrest, oddly hoping I’m doing things correctly. Hoping for those two words that make me feel better than they should.
Good girl.
Please, my heart begs, say it.
But he doesn’t, and I bite down on the inside of my lips to keep the burning in my eyes from overflowing.
The rough fabric scrapes against my bare stomach as Jack places one broad hand on my lower back, holding me down.
"Ten," he says simply. "You'll count."
The first smack catches me by surprise—the flat of his hand connecting with my cotton-covered backside with calculated force. Not gentle, but not cruel either. A sharp reminder disguised as heat.
"One," I gasp, fingers digging into the couch cushions.
The second lands slightly higher, the sound cracking through the quiet room. "Two."
By five, my skin burns beneath my underwear, each slap sending a confusing mixture of pain and pleasure radiating outward. By eight, I'm squirming, thighs pressing together as wetness gathers between them.
"Nine," I choke out, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity of being handled this way. Cared for through discipline.
The final smack is the hardest, his hand lingering afterward, hot against my sensitized skin. "Ten," I whisper, body trembling.
I expect him to pull away, to declare the punishment complete. Instead, his fingers slide beneath the elastic of my underwear, tugging them down with deliberate slowness. Cool air brushes against my heated flesh, drawing a shiver from deep in my core.
"So wet," he murmurs, one finger tracing the evidence of my arousal. "Punishment gets you this worked up, baby girl?"
I bury my face in the couch cushion, embarrassment warring with desire. "I don't know why."
"I do." His touch becomes more deliberate, circling where I'm most sensitive. "Your body understands what your mind is still figuring out—you need this. Structure. Boundaries." His finger slips inside me, drawing a gasp from my lips. "Someone who sees all of you and still wants to keep you safe."
"Jack—" My voice breaks as he adds a second finger, stretching me with careful precision.
"Daddy," he corrects, free hand coming down in a light tap on my still-sensitive backside. "What do you call me when I'm touching you like this?"
"Daddy," I whimper, hips rocking back against his hand. "Please, Daddy."
"Please what?"
"More," I beg, beyond shame now, beyond anything but the need building between my legs. "Need more."
He withdraws his fingers, leaving me empty and aching. Before I can protest, he's lifting me, turning me to face him. His eyes burn dark and hungry, but there's something else there too—a careful assessment, checking that I'm truly with him in this.
"On your knees," he commands softly.
I sink down before him, my injured ankle carefully positioned to avoid pressure. He unbuttons his jeans with unhurried movements, freeing his cock—already hard, the tip glistening with evidence of his own arousal.
"Open," he says, thumb brushing my lower lip.
I part my lips, letting him guide himself into my mouth. He starts slow, one hand tangled in my hair, controlling the depth and pace. His other hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking the spot where he stretches my lips.