Page 54 of Wings
The next swat drew a different sound entirely—part gasp, part something else. Something that sent heat straight through me despite my focus on the discipline. Her hands had loosened their death grip on the comforter, fingers spreading wide instead.
"Doing okay?" I asked, pausing with my hand resting on the warm curve of her ass.
"Very okay," she breathed, and there was no mistaking the need threading through her words.
The discipline was working, but not just in the way I'd intended. My baby girl was dropping into subspace through the spanking, her body translating the sting into something else entirely. The fight had gone out of her, replaced by acceptance that bordered on eagerness.
I adjusted my approach, maintaining the rhythm but watching her responses even more carefully. She'd stopped trying to stay rigid, instead flowing with each impact. Her breathing had gone deep and even between gasps. And when my hand came down,she'd started meeting it—just barely, probably unconsciously, but definitely pressing back into the contact.
"Such a good girl," I murmured, letting approval color my voice. "Taking your punishment so well. Learning your lesson."
A soft moan escaped her at the praise. Definitely arousal now, mixing with the emotional release of the discipline. The pajama pants couldn't hide the heat radiating from her core, the way her thighs pressed together seeking friction.
My own body responded despite my determination to keep this about the lesson. She was beautiful like this—surrendered, trusting, taking what I gave her. Mine to discipline. Mine to protect. Mine to love in all the ways she needed.
Her breathing had changed completely—no longer the stuttered gasps of someone enduring punishment, but something deeper, needier. Each exhale carried a weight that settled right in my groin, making my jeans uncomfortably tight. She wasn't just accepting the spanking anymore. She was chasing it.
I watched, mesmerized, as she shifted her hips in tiny movements. Seeking. When my hand came down again—lighter now, more percussion than punishment—she actually arched into it. The sound that escaped her throat was pure want, no trace of the fear or shame from earlier.
"Look at you," I murmured, letting my palm rest against the heat I'd created. "My perfect girl, taking everything Daddy gives you."
She whimpered at that, thighs pressing together hard enough that I could feel the muscle tension through my legs. The thin pajama pants did nothing to hide how affected she was. How wet. The knowledge shot through me like lightning, threatening my control.
This wasn't what I'd planned. The spanking was supposed to be discipline, a necessary consequence to reinforce our mostimportant rule. But my baby girl had found something else in it—surrender so complete it had transformed pain into pleasure, punishment into connection.
My next touch was deliberately different. Instead of raising my hand for another swat, I smoothed it over the curve of her ass, feeling the warmth through fabric. She made a broken sound, hips lifting to follow my palm.
"Please," she whispered into the comforter.
"Please what, baby girl?" I kept my touch light, teasing. "Use your words."
"Don't know," she gasped. "Just—more. Need more."
I delivered another swat, but lighter, more sound than sting. She moaned outright this time, no longer trying to muffle the noise. Her whole body had gone liquid over my lap, defenses completely dissolved.
"Such a good girl," I praised, voice dropping into that register that made her shiver. "Learning your lesson so well. Never going to lie to Daddy again, are you?"
"Never," she promised breathlessly. "Never, never. Please—"
Another light swat, just enough to maintain the rhythm she was chasing. "Please what? Tell Daddy what you need."
"Touch me," she begged, past shame now. "Really touch me. I'm so—Daddy, please."
My hand stilled on her ass, feeling the heat radiate through my palm. "The spanking isn't finished, baby girl. You were a naughty girl who lied to Daddy. Naughty girls get their bottoms warmed properly."
The words were meant to maintain the discipline framework, but they came out rough with my own arousal. She responded like I'd lit a fuse, grinding down against my thighs with a desperate sound.
"Yes," she gasped. "I was naughty. So naughty. Punish me, Daddy. Make me good again."
Christ. She was going to kill me. My perfect, sweet baby girl grinding on my lap, begging for punishment that had transformed into something else entirely. The room felt too hot, too small, charged with electricity that sparked between us.
I raised my hand again, bringing it down in a pattern that was more rhythm than discipline now. She met each contact eagerly, soft flesh warming under my attention. The sounds she made—God, the sounds. Little mews and gasps and broken pleas that went straight to my cock.
"That's it," I encouraged, letting my other hand trail up her spine. "Take it for Daddy. Show me how sorry you are."
"So sorry," she babbled, hips working in small circles now. "So sorry I lied. Never again. Promise, promise—ah!"
The last swat had been firmer, catching her by surprise. But instead of stilling, she pushed back harder, chasing the sensation. Her thighs had fallen open as much as the position allowed, and I could smell her arousal now—sweet and needy and absolutely intoxicating.
