Page 11 of Strict Daddy

"Before we proceed," he said, his tone measured, "you need to choose a safe word. This word will allow you to communicate your limits at any point. Do you understand?"

I nodded, then realized he might want a verbal response. "Yes, I understand," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Good. What word do you choose?"

I considered for a moment. "Change," I decided, the word feeling somehow right.

"Very well," Byron approved. "Change it is."

His hand came to rest on the small of my back, large and warm through the thin fabric of my workout top. I shivered involuntarily at the contact.

"Because you were not early as expected, there will be a consequence," Byron explained, his voice a mix of stern authority and something softer—was it concern? "You will receive five spankings to reinforce the importance of punctuality and discipline."

My breath caught in my throat. Spankings? A thrill of nervous excitement coursed through me, mingling with a touch of fear. This was really happening.

"Remember," Byron added, his hand still steady on my back, "you can use your safe word at any time."

I nodded again, then whispered, "I understand."

As I braced myself for what was to come, a part of me marveled at how quickly things had escalated. Just yesterday, I was a regular gym-goer. Now, I stood trembling with anticipation, waiting for my first punishment from this enigmatic man who had completely upended my world.

The first spank landed, catching me by surprise. I yelped, the sting radiating across my buttocks. Byron's grip on my hips tightened, grounding me as I struggled not to arch away from the pain.

"Stay in position, Poppy," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax as much as possible. The next spank fell harder, eliciting a muffled whimper from my lips. Clenching my fists, I focused on the the stinging burn instead of my embarrassment.

By the third strike, I found myself anticipating the sting, bracing for the impact that would come. The pain was cleansing, somehow, a visceral reminder of my transgression and my commitment to improvement.

"Good girl," Byron praised as the fifth spank landed. "You took that well."

Panting, I straightened up, my cheeks flushed with more than just exertion. "Thank you, Daddy," I managed, the title slipping from my lips like liquid sin.

Byron's eyes met mine, smoldering with an intensity that made my knees weak. "You've taken your punishment beautifully, Poppy,” Byron said, stepping back. "Now, since we had to address that, our plans for today will change. Originally, I intended for us to begin some regression exercises to build trust. Maybe spend some time in Littlespace," A flickerof disappointment ran through me—regression exercises and Littlespace had sounded intriguing. "And we were going to have some fun, too. But because you disobeyed me, we'll focus on weight training. It's time to push your physical limits."

Byron led me over to the free weights, his hand firmly guiding the small of my back. My skin still tingled from the spanking, a mix of shame and strange arousal coiling inside me.

"We'll start with bicep curls," he said, handing me a pair of 10 pound dumbbells. "Three sets of twelve."

I took the weights, feeling their heft in my palms.

“I have to warn you, that if you fail, and I feel as though you could be trying harder, there will be physical consequences.”

I felt a rush of blood to my core as he said that, followed by tell-tale wetness. Taking a deep breath, I began the first rep, concentrating on the burn in my arms as I lifted.

"Slower," Byron instructed. "Control the descent."

I obeyed, struggling to maintain proper form by the eighth rep. On the ninth, my arms gave out and the weights clanked to the floor. Instantly, a sharp smack landed on my backside.

"Focus, Poppy. No quitting." Byron's voice was firm but not harsh. “You can do better. Daddy believes in you.”

Gritting my teeth, I picked up the weights and finished the set, my biceps quivering. He watched appraisingly.

"Good. Now two more sets, no slacking."

I cycled through exercises under his exacting eye—lateral raises, tricep kickbacks, rows. Each time my form faltered or I failed to complete a set, I was rewarded with a swift spank, reminding me to push harder.

Surprisingly, the sting spurred me on rather than deterred me. The pain mingled with the pleasant soreness building in my muscles, becoming almost indistinguishable. I started craving the next smack as much as I craved his praise when I did well.

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