“What are you—” I started, but Ed’s voice cut me off from behind.
“You earned twelve swats, Little Seventy-One. Six for each time you told one of your daddies to go fuck himself.” I heard him select something from the wall, the whisper of wood or leather against his palm. “You’re going to count each one. If you lose count, we start over.”
The first impact came without warning. The paddle—because that was what it had to be—struck my already burning right cheek and I screamed. Not a word, just a raw sound of pain and shock that echoed off the clinical walls.
“One,” Ed said calmly from behind me. “Count, Little Seventy-One.”
“One,” I gasped, my voice breaking.
The second strike landed on my left cheek, harder than the first. Fresh agony bloomed across skin that was already tender from the earlier spanking.
“Two!” I choked out.
The third came immediately. “Three!”
Four. Five. Each impact sent waves of pain radiating through my ass and down my thighs. I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my face, couldn’t control the sobs that tore from my throat between counts.
Six landed with brutal precision right where my ass met my thighs and I shrieked. “Six! Please, Ed, please stop?—”
The paddle stilled. For one desperate moment I thought he’d show mercy.
“That’s six extra swats,” Ed said, his voice still maddeningly calm. “You’ll call me Daddy Ed, or the count keeps going up.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I babbled, the words tumbling out. “Please, I’ll?—”
Seven struck before I could finish. The pain was building, layering, each new impact landing on flesh that couldn’t take any more.
“Seven,” I managed. “Please, Ed—fuck, I mean?—”
“That’s twelve extra now.” I heard him shift behind me. “We’re going to keep adding swats until you learn to address your daddies properly.”
Eight came down and I screamed again. “Eight! Please, Daddy—” The word tasted wrong in my mouth, humiliating and infantilizing, but the pain overwhelmed everything else. “Please, Daddy, I’m sorry!”
And beneath the agony, beneath the humiliation that made me want to die, I felt it again. That treacherous heat. The way my body responded to being helpless, to being punished, to calling this stranger Daddy while he hurt me. The shame of it made everything worse, which somehow made the arousal stronger.
Nine. “Nine! Please, Daddy!”
Ten. “Ten! Daddy, please!”
The words kept coming, easier now, my resistance crumbling under the relentless assault. Eleven and twelve landed in quicksuccession and I sobbed out the counts, my voice hoarse and broken.
But Ed didn’t stop. Thirteen. Fourteen. The extra swats I’d earned. Each one pushed me further past what I thought I could endure.
“Please, Daddy,” I heard myself begging between sobs. “Please, Daddy, I’m sorry, please…”
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
By the time he reached twenty-four, I was incoherent, just screaming and crying and somehow still gasping out the counts, the word ‘Daddy’ spilling from my lips like a prayer I’d never wanted to learn.
Then, finally, the paddle stilled.
I kept sobbing, couldn’t stop the broken sounds coming from my throat. “Please, Daddy,” I whimpered, not even sure which one I was addressing anymore. “Please, Daddy, please…”
I heard Bill move closer, felt his presence in front of me even though I couldn’t lift my head to see him clearly through my tears. Then his hand was in my hair, gently lifting my face, and through my blurred vision I saw his cock—fully hard now, thick and imposing—just inches from my face.
“Look at that,” he murmured, his voice low and almost tender. “Look how hard it gets me to watch a bad girl get punished. To watch her learn what she really needs.”
I tried to turn my face away, but his grip in my hair tightened, not painful but firm, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.
