"Six. Thank you, Daddy."
After the eighth, I was squirming. Couldn't help it. My body wanted to escape even though my brain was screaming to stay still, to take it, to be good.
With the tenth spank, tears pricked my eyes. Not from the physical pain—that was manageable. From something deeper. The overwhelming release of finally, finally surrendering control.
My bottom was on fire. Each breath came too fast. My core was clenching with every spank. I was wet. Could feel it. Could feel my body responding to this discipline with arousal that should have been shameful but just felt right.
By the twelfth, I was crying openly. Silently. Just tears streaming down my face while I counted and thanked him for each spank. The fourteenth made me sob. Not from pain. From release. From the relief of being disciplined, being held accountable, being cared for enough that he'd follow through.
His hand paused. Rested on my heated skin. "Breathe, devotchka. You're doing so well. Just a few more. Can you give me six more?"
I nodded against the chair arm. Couldn't speak. Just nodded and tried to breathe through the tears.
"Good girl," he murmured. "My brave, good girl."
He kept going and I kept letting go.
The twentieth spank landed firm and final on my left cheek. The culmination of everything. The physical manifestation of consequences, of structure, of being cared for enough to be disciplined.
"Twenty. Thank you, Daddy."
My voice broke completely on the final words. Shattered into tears and relief and overwhelming gratitude that he'd done this. That he'd followed through. That the rules were real and so was he.
His hand stilled on my heated skin. No longer delivering discipline. Just resting there. Warm. Gentle. Grounding.
"Good girl," he said. His voice was rough with emotion. "Such a good girl for me. You took your punishment so well, devotchka."
He helped me up carefully. His hands under my arms, supporting my weight, mindful of my bad knee. I was shaking. Crying. My bottom was burning and my leggings were still around my thighs and I felt cracked open and vulnerable and so relieved I could barely breathe.
"Come here, devotchka," he murmured. "Let me hold you."
He guided me into his lap. Not across it this time—facing him. My legs straddling his thighs. My knees on either side of his hips. The position put us face to face. Intimate. My sore bottom rested on his thighs and the pressure made me wince.
But I didn't care. Didn't care about the burn or the lingering sting or anything except getting closer to him.
I buried my face in his neck. Pressed my tear-soaked cheeks against his warm skin. Breathed in cedar and soap and something uniquely him.
And I sobbed.
Not the quiet crying from before. Full body sobs that shook my whole frame. Tears and snot and three years of holding everything together finally breaking apart.
But not breaking in a bad way. Breaking in the way things needed to break so they could be put back together properly.
His arms wrapped around me. One hand stroking my back in long, soothing motions. The other cradling my head, fingers tangling in my hair.
"Shh, I've got you," he murmured against my temple. "You're okay. It's over. You're forgiven."
Forgiven. The word made me cry harder. Because that's what I needed to hear. That the slate was clean. That I'd taken my consequence and now we could move forward.
That I wasn't bad or wrong or broken for needing this.
He rocked me slightly. Just small movements. Letting me cry myself out against his neck while he held me together.
"Moya khoroshaya devochka," he whispered in Russian. My good girl. "Ty v bezopasnosti. Ty proshchena." You're safe. You're forgiven.
The Russian made something warm bloom in my chest. Made me feel small in the best way. Like he was speaking directly to Little Sophie, to the part of me that needed reassurance in the language of fairy tales and bedtime stories.
I don't know how long we sat like that. Could have been five minutes. Could have been twenty. Time felt elastic, meaningless. There was just the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my ear.
