Page 22 of Daddy's Little Librarian
He killed her flight instantly when he said, “Fight me and I’ll use my belt.”
An ominous tingle broke across the entire surface of her bottom. Oh. Oh yeah, he had definitely been someone’s Daddy at some point in time.
“W-wait,” she stammered, but he didn’t wait. He pulled the Velcro tabs apart and dropped the seat on her pajamas, exposing the very thin cover of her underwear and a bottom already cringing.
“Wait, please!” she cried, her already high voice rising in panic when he hooked the elastic waist of her panties and took them down as far as he was able. The butt flap wasn’t a large opening, but it was large enough. He bared her bottom to the tops of her thighs.
“Daddy!” she bawled, but already he was bringing his open hand down in that first mighty swat and he didn’t seem to care at all that she burst into tears almost before he started.
“I do not wait,” he said over the top of her cries and the thunderclap smacks of his flat palm raining down one hard swat after the other. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. When I start counting, you stop what you’re doing and pay attention, or this is what you’ll get.”
He gave her no warmup and no pause between spanks to help her deal with the pain before the next swat fell. He simply paddled her, hard and fast, covering every inch of her bottom in sharp, staccato slaps that stung like a vengeful fury. And then hurt. And then really, really hurt. A lot.
It was the kind of hurt that quickly became impossible to hold still for. It didn’t matter that fighting back would mean the belt. With each new bite of pain he smacked into her, her body instinctively took on a life all its own. Her feet came up off the mattress. Her legs scissored, her hips twisting and bucking, desperately seeking out some way in which to move that might tuck her bottom safely out of his punishing hand’s reach. But no matter how she moved, she couldn’t escape; and no matter how piteously she cried, he didn’t stop. Not until the whole of her butt was wounded, throbbing, positively on fire with unbelievable hurt, every bit of which had been delivered with nothing more lethal than his bare hand.
“You’re not supposed to spank that hard,” she sobbed.
Pulling her panties back up over her aching bottom, he covered her with the Velcro flaps and then the blanket. He picked up Bat Bear, which had fallen on the floor sometime during the struggles, and handed it back to her. And then, with his hands braced on the mattress beside her, he said, “Are you going to go to sleep now, or do I need to spank you some more. Because I can do this all night if I have to, but I guarantee you’re going to like the next one you get from me even less than this last one.”
It took everything she had not to grab her bottom in both hands and rub the fire out. He wasn’t holding her hands. She could have grabbed onto anything she wanted to, but naughty girls weren’t allowed to rub. They didn’t get to ease the pain. They were only allowed to endure.
Bending, he pressed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Daddy doesn’t give gentle or fun spankings for bad behavior.”
When he went back to his bed and lie back down, she very discretely let go of her bear long enough to touch her pajama-clad bottom under the covers. She didn’t rub. She’d just gotten spanked and while, technically, no rubbing wasn’t a rule he’d laid down, she didn’t want to be caught misbehaving again. Not tonight, anyway.
She didn’t rub. She just held, feeling the burn that radiated through all the layers of her clothes and into her marveling hands.
Oh, he was definitely somebody’s Daddy before this.
And now he was hers.
She ought to do something nice for him, so he’d know she wasn’t just naughty, or whiny, or needy. So he’d know she appreciated what he was trying to do for her. Not just the spanking, but everything. From sandwiches to crusty fries, to sleeping at the foot of her bed so she would feel safe.
Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow she would find a way to do something nice for him.
With any luck, her bottom will have stopped hurting by then.
Chapter Nine
It was bright and early on a nice, solid, sensible Tuesday. Kurt was standing at the cutting board in the kitchen, dressed in only a towel when Scotti’s cellphone rang. He knew, because it was sitting on the counter right next to his phone, and he was in the middle of tearing open a brand-new package of pre-sliced cheese when the screen lit up in big, block letters that spelled out ‘Gopher.’
And so it began.
Picking up the phone, he hit the button. “The number you are trying to reach is currently busy or hates you,” he said, by way of hello. “One would have thought you’d have realized that last night when you were diving headfirst out the window into the bushes.”
“Go away or else,” a man’s voice growled cryptically back.
In the middle of making two ham and cheese sandwiches for breakfast and four more for lunch, Kurt wedged the receiver between his shoulder and ear and went back to spreading mayonnaise over a half a loaf’s worth of bread. “Or else, what?”
“I’m not playing with you. I mean it, go away.”
“I don’t take threats from vermin.”
“You’ll take them from me. Or else.”
He licked a dollop of mayonnaise off his thumb. “Is that the worst the all-mighty Ferret can come up with?”
“Gopher.”
