She locks the door with shaking hands, and when she comes back, I'm sitting on the couch waiting for her. The moment stretches between us, heavy with anticipation and nervousness.
"Over my knee."
"Geoff."
"That's not my name right now."
"Daddy." She corrects herself immediately, her voice small and scared and aroused all at once. "Daddy, I'm sorry."
"I know you are. You're still getting punished. Over my knee, little girl."
She drapes herself across my lap, trembling hard enough that I can feel it. I flip up her yoga pants and pull down her panties - simple cotton with little flowers, innocent and sweet. Her ass is pale and perfect and about to be pink.
"Ten spanks. Count them."
"Yes, Daddy." Her voice is barely a whisper.
The first one is gentle, more of a warm-up than anything. "One."
The second has more force behind it, and she gasps. "Two!"
By five, they're landing with real impact, and her ass is starting to pink nicely. By eight, she's squirming and gasping, her hands gripping the couch cushions.
"Why are you being punished?" I ask, rubbing where I just spanked to soothe the sting.
"Because I skipped lunch." The answer comes out shaky.
"Why does that matter?"
"Because I need to take care of myself."
"Because you're mine and I take care of what's mine. That means you don't neglect yourself for anyone. Not clients, not friends, not strangers who show up early. Understand?"
"Yes, Daddy!" There are tears in her voice now.
The last two are the hardest, delivered with firm purpose. By ten, she's crying - not from pain, but from emotional release. All the guilt and stress of constantly putting others first, all the years of making herself small to accommodate everyone else, finally having real consequences that force her to confront her patterns.
I rub her ass gently, soothing the sting I just created. "Good girl. Took your punishment so well."
Then I feel how wet she is, my fingers sliding easily through her arousal. "Someone enjoyed that."
"I'm sorry," she starts automatically.
"Don't apologize for your body's response." I help her stand and turn her to face me, taking in her tear-stained cheeks, flushed face, and eyes dark with need. "But you don't get to come. Not tonight. This was punishment, not pleasure."
She whimpers, the sound needy and desperate. "But Daddy—"
"No. Bad girls who skip meals don't get to come. But Daddy's going to make sure you remember this lesson."
I lay her on the couch and spread her legs wide, settling between her thighs. She's so wet, so ready, her arousal evident and impossible to hide. I inhale deeply, taking in her scent.
“I'm going to edge you so you understand the consequences of breaking rules." I work her with my mouth and fingers, bringing her right to the brink with deliberate skill. Her thighs shake on either side of my head, her hands fisting in my hair desperately. Just when she's about to fall over the edge, I stop completely.
"No!" she gasps out, her hips lifting off the couch seeking more contact. "Please!"
"Rule was three meals. You broke it. This is what happens."
I do it again, bringing her to the edge with my tongue on her clit and two fingers inside her. She's sobbing now, begging continuously, desperate for release. I pull away again at the last possible second.
