Page 8 of Double Daddies
It takes half a dozen stinging swats to jolt me out of my stupor. “Stop! You have no right to do this!”
“We have every right, little girl,” Ezra growls, and I howl as an even harder spank lands on my upper thigh. “Anyone else would have called the cops on you for breaking a window and snooping around private property. Instead, we gave you a comfortable bed to sleep in and you repay our kindness with rude, naughty words.”
Guilt digs its claws deep into my chest, shocking me even more than the fact that I’m being spanked. Because he’s right. I should be grateful that I spent the night in this weird little room instead of a jail cell.
“I’m sorry!” The words come out as a miserable wail. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good I promise!”
Unfortunately, my apologies don’t seem to be enough to stop the spanking. Ezra’s hard hand continues to connect with my burning flesh, over and over until every inch of my bottom feels like I’ve been sitting on a hot stove.
Finally, when I’m slumped over his lap, sobbing uncontrollably, his hand comes to rest on my aching bottom. “We would be done right now if you’d been a good girl and accepted your punishment with grace. But you weren’t a good girl, were you, Nicole?”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder how he knows my name. But that seems like a far-off concern compared to the more immediate threat to my backside. “I w-was j-just scared,” I confess brokenly through my sobs.
“Understandably so. But good girls don’t lash out just because they’re scared or worried or upset. Am I making myself clear, little girl?”
“Y-yes.”
“The correct answer is, ‘Yes, Daddy’.”
Oh, fuck no. There is no way in hell I’m calling this guy Daddy. But I’ve learned enough during our brief encounter to know that arguing is likely to just earn me another spanking, so I keep my mouth shut.
Which, unsurprisingly, does not work in my favor.
The hand resting on my ass tightens as Ezra sighs. “If I have to punish you for refusing to follow directions, it will be with the hairbrush and not my hand.”
Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention and I watch as Byron crouches in front of me, his playful smile taking on a sympathetic edge as he cups my cheek in his hand. “I suggest you do as he says, princess. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner this can be over and the sooner you can get cuddles from your Daddies to make it all better.”
“Don’t w-want you to t-touch me.”
“Too bad. Cuddles are a non-negotiable part of a spanking, especially for our Little girl. Now, say ‘Yes, Daddy’ so Daddy Ezra can finish your punishment.”
I don’t want to. The absolute last thing I want to do is to give into them and their fucked-up demands.
But my ass is on fire and the thought of enduring any more punishment than necessary shatters the last of my resolve. Meeting Byron’s sweet, pale gaze, I sniffle back my tears and nod. “Y-yes, Daddy.”
“Such a good girl. Isn’t she the sweetest, Ezra?”
“Yes. Our precious little princess. Just five with the hairbrush and then you can have your cuddles with your Daddies.”
Something hard taps against my ass and I freeze, my gaze locked with Byron’s. Still crouched in front of me, he takes my hands in his and gives them a hard squeeze a moment before hell explodes across my ass.
Howling, I rear up, but between Ezra’s hold on me and Byron gripping my hands tight, I can’t go anywhere. I can only kick my feet and sob as four more equally blazing swats cover my ass.
“Shh. It’s all done, little one.” Lifting me up onto his lap, Ezra cradles me gently, rocking me back and forth as he murmurs sweet words of praise, telling me what a good job I did, what a good girl I am.
And even though I know he’s lying, because I know I am the farthest thing from a “good girl” there can possibly be, his words calm something inside me. As if he’s reached deep down into my soul and soothed some long-forgotten ache.
“Poor little princess,” Byron murmurs, wrapping his arms around us both. “You let Daddy Ezra finish snuggling you while I run you a bath.”
I know I should fight the idea of a bath. Of being stripped completely naked by these strange men. But I’m too lost in the comfort of their arms to do anything other than nod.
“And after your bath, we’ll have some breakfast brought up,” Ezra says, tightening his arms around me. “Do you want pancakes or waffles, little one?”
“Waffles. With lotsa whipped cream.”
“Waffles with a whole mountain of whipped cream it is,” he answers me with a low chuckle that seems to vibrate my entire body.
I remember reading once that a cat’s purr is on a frequency capable of healing broken bones. Which sounded like a load of bullshit to me when I heard it. But when Ezra laughs, everything inside me goes quiet, and I wonder if maybe his laugh is on that same frequency, because it certainly seems to be healingsomething inside me, something I didn’t even know was broken until right now.
