Page 16 of Daddy Knows Best

Two more. Just two more and this would end. I could survive two more without completely humiliating myself, without—

CRACK.

The ninth strike landed lower, where ass met thigh, and my world whited out. The pain and pleasure tangled into something beyond separation, building toward an edge I couldn't back away from. My fingers clutched the desk edge, knuckles white, as every muscle drew tight.

"Nine," I sobbed, barely coherent. "Needs before—please—wants."

I was begging. For what, I didn't know. For it to stop. For it to never stop. For the final strike that would either destroy me or set me free.

He paused again, longer this time. I could feel his assessment, the way he catalogued my shaking legs, my tear-wet face pressed to his desk, the way my hips moved in tiny, involuntary circles.

"Last one," he said quietly. "You've done so well, Emily. One more."

Emily. He'd used my name. That small humanity in the middle of clinical correction undid me. When the paddle raised again,I was already teetering on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

CRACK.

The final strike landed with decisive force, and my world exploded. The orgasm crashed through me without warning, without permission, without any possibility of hiding it. My body convulsed, pussy clenching around nothing as waves of release rolled through me. A sound escaped—half sob, half moan—as I shattered apart on his desk.

"Ten," I whispered brokenly, aftershocks still rippling through me. "Needs . . . before . . . wants."

Silence filled the office, broken only by my ragged breathing. Shame flooded in as the endorphins ebbed, hot and thick. I'd just climaxed during a professional behavioral correction. My therapist had witnessed me coming apart, literally, from punishment meant to fix my shopping addiction.

"Well," Dr. Whitlow said after a moment, voice carefully neutral. "That's a response I haven't seen before."

I wanted to die. Wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. My legs shook as I pushed myself upright, hands fumbling to lower my skirt, pull up underwear over skin that felt like it belonged to someone else.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, unable to meet his eyes. "I didn't mean—I couldn't—"

"Emily." His voice gentled, though he maintained physical distance. "Physical responses during impact play aren't uncommon. The body processes intense sensation in various ways. There's nothing to apologize for."

Impact play. He made it sound so clinical, like my orgasm was just another data point in treatment. Maybe that's all it was to him.

"Turn around, please."

I did, finally meeting his gaze. His expression remained professionally neutral, but something flickered in his eyes—surprise? Interest? It vanished before I could identify it.

"What did we learn today?" The question came soft but expectant.

My mind felt like scattered papers in a windstorm. What had I learned? That my body betrayed me in new and mortifying ways? That punishment and pleasure lived closer together than I'd imagined?

"To honor my budget," I managed, voice raw. "And myself."

The words came from somewhere deeper than thought, surprising us both with their clarity. Because that's what I'd violated, wasn't it? Not just the seventy-five dollar boundary, but the promise I'd made to myself to change.

He nodded slowly. "Yes. Exactly that."

His hands were gentle as he helped me upright, steadying me when my legs threatened to buckle. Every nerve ending from waist to thigh sang a complicated song of pain and lingering pleasure.

"Easy," he murmured, guiding me away from the desk. "Take your time."

I shuffled more than walked, each step reminding me what had just happened. Not just the punishment—I'd been prepared for that. But the way my body had betrayed me, coming apart under his professional correction like some Pavlovian response to authority.

"Sit or stand?" He gestured to the wingback chair, letting me choose.

"I—stand. I think." Sitting felt impossible with my ass on fire and my dignity in shreds.

He nodded, wheeling his desk chair over. "I'm going to apply lotion now. It'll help with the sting and prevent marking. I need you to raise your skirt again."

---