Page 29 of Daddy's Naughty Bartender
"Because I lied to you. Broke my promise."
"And?"
"Because I need..." I swallow hard. "Because I need boundaries. Accountability. Someone who won't let me self-destruct."
"Good girl. My brave, honest girl. This isn't just punishment, baby. This is care. This is me loving you enough to stop you from hurting yourself."
The first swat comes without warning, firm but not harsh. Even through my slacks, I feel it. But more than the physical sensation, I feel the intention behind it. The care. The absolute certainty that I'm worth protecting, even from myself.
"Five days," he says, punctuating it with another swat. "Five days of you telling me you were fine while falling apart." As he talks, he continues to swat me, hard. My bottom is warmingup and it’s quickly becoming uncomfortable. Who knew that at forty-two years old, a spanking could hurt this much?
"I didn't want to worry you."
"Not your call." More swats, harder. "When you're mine, your wellbeing is my concern. Your struggles are my business. Your needs are my priority."
"But your work—" He interrupts me by reaching around, unbuttoning my pants and pulling them, and my underwear straight down to my knees. I don’t have time to react before his hand returns, this time to my bare ass. The swats are hard, punishing and I cry out.
“Please! It hurts!”
“It’s supposed to hurt, Karen. It wouldn’t be a good deterrence if it tickled. Do you need to use your safe word?”
Do I? The spanking hurts. I mean, it really hurts. The burn is building and building. I feel like my ass is on fire. Did I need to use my safe word? No. Not at all. I know physically I could take more and emotionally? Emotionally? I recognize, I need this.
“No.” He resumes slapping my ass with his large hand, moving his aim lower to my sit spot and top of my thighs. I almost instantly regret saying no. Holy hell.
"My job will never be more important than you." The conviction in his voice breaks something open in me. "Never. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Daddy." The title falls from my lips naturally, and I feel him pause. I’ve typed it in text several times but I’ve never said it out loud before.
"Say that again."
"Yes, Daddy."
"Good girl." His hand rubs soothing circles where he'd swatted. "My good, sweet girl. Almost done."
Three more swats, each one releasing more of the tension I've been carrying. By the last one, I'm crying, not from pain but from relief. From being seen, held accountable, cared for in this profound way.
"All done." He helps me stand, pulls up my pants and gathers me into his arms. "You did so well. So brave. So good for me."
I sob into his chest, clinging to him as he strokes my hair and murmurs praise. When the tears finally slow, he tilts my chin up.
"No more lying to me. No more pretending you're fine when you're not. No more self-neglect. Understood?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"That's my girl." He kisses my forehead. "Now, is Josh home? Can we go back to your place or should we go to my house?”
“Your house?”
“I signed a short-term rental agreement for a house here in town, month by month. It's fully furnished.”
“Let's go there.” Not because I’m hiding anything from my eighteen-year-old son, but because it would be more private and less complicated for the time being. Josh is used to me staying out late at the bar.
“You're going to eat something, drink water, and sleep for at least eight hours, and tomorrow you are taking the day off."
