Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“No, please—” I begged, but Ed was already peeling down the rubber pants, the wet diaper sagging as he exposed it. The cold air hit my legs and I felt fresh humiliation wash over me as they removed the sodden padding, leaving me completely naked except for the sensor I couldn’t feel but knew was there, recording everything.
They maneuvered me to the bench with ruthless efficiency. Bill pushed me forward and down, bending me over the padded leather surface. My breasts pressed against the cool material as my arms were pulled back behind me, wrists crossed and secured with leather cuffs that clicked into place with terrifying finality. A wide belt came across my waist, cinching tight and anchoring me to the bench. Then Ed was at my legs, spreading them wider than felt natural, fastening cuffs just above my knees that forced my thighs apart and my backside up and vulnerable.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t protect myself. Couldn’t do anything but lie there with my punished ass in the air and my legs spread and my face pressed against leather that smelled of cleaning solution and some older scent that could only have been left behind by all the other women who’d been strapped to this bench before me.
I heard Bill move around to stand in front of me. Through the panic and humiliation, some part of my brain registered the sound of a zipper, the rustle of fabric. I lifted my head enough to see him unfastening his khakis, and my stomach dropped as he pulled out his cock and balls, already half-hard.
“What are you—” I started, but Ed’s voice cut me off from behind.
“You earned twelve swats, Little Seventy-One. Six for each time you told one of your daddies to go fuck himself.” I heard him select something from the wall, the whisper of wood or leather against his palm. “You’re going to count each one. If you lose count, we start over.”
The first impact came without warning. The paddle—because that was what it had to be—struck my already burning right cheek and I screamed. Not a word, just a raw sound of pain and shock that echoed off the clinical walls.
“One,” Ed said calmly from behind me. “Count, Little Seventy-One.”
“One,” I gasped, my voice breaking.
The second strike landed on my left cheek, harder than the first. Fresh agony bloomed across skin that was already tender from the earlier spanking.
“Two!” I choked out.
The third came immediately. “Three!”
Four. Five. Each impact sent waves of pain radiating through my ass and down my thighs. I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my face, couldn’t control the sobs that tore from my throat between counts.
Six landed with brutal precision right where my ass met my thighs and I shrieked. “Six! Please, Ed, please stop—”
The paddle stilled. For one desperate moment I thought he’d show mercy.
“That’s six extra swats,” Ed said, his voice still maddeningly calm. “You’ll call me Daddy Ed, or the count keeps going up.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I babbled, the words tumbling out. “Please, I’ll—”
Seven struck before I could finish. The pain was building, layering, each new impact landing on flesh that couldn’t take any more.
“Seven,” I managed. “Please, Ed—fuck, I mean—”
“That’s twelve extra now.” I heard him shift behind me. “We’re going to keep adding swats until you learn to address your daddies properly.”
Eight came down and I screamed again. “Eight! Please, Daddy—” The word tasted wrong in my mouth, humiliating and infantilizing, but the pain overwhelmed everything else. “Please, Daddy, I’m sorry!”
And beneath the agony, beneath the humiliation that made me want to die, I felt it again. That treacherous heat. The way my body responded to being helpless, to being punished, to calling this stranger Daddy while he hurt me. The shame of it made everything worse, which somehow made the arousal stronger.
Nine. “Nine! Please, Daddy!”
Ten. “Ten! Daddy, please!”
The words kept coming, easier now, my resistance crumbling under the relentless assault. Eleven and twelve landed in quick succession and I sobbed out the counts, my voice hoarse and broken.
But Ed didn’t stop. Thirteen. Fourteen. The extra swats I’d earned. Each one pushed me further past what I thought I could endure.
“Please, Daddy,” I heard myself begging between sobs. “Please, Daddy, I’m sorry, please…”
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
By the time he reached twenty-four, I was incoherent, just screaming and crying and somehow still gasping out the counts, the word ‘Daddy’ spilling from my lips like a prayer I’d never wanted to learn.
Then, finally, the paddle stilled.
I kept sobbing, couldn’t stop the broken sounds coming from my throat. “Please, Daddy,” I whimpered, not even sure which one I was addressing anymore. “Please, Daddy, please…”
I heard Bill move closer, felt his presence in front of me even though I couldn’t lift my head to see him clearly through my tears. Then his hand was in my hair, gently lifting my face, and through my blurred vision I saw his cock—fully hard now, thick and imposing—just inches from my face.