Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
I looked back over my shoulder again at him to find his blue eyes gazing straight back into my face. His expression had a determination to it that surprised me and reminded me of Daddy Jacob. I heard his belt strike my ass again, and I felt the pain there, in my poor bare bottom, and then I sensed my face changing from its defiant look into a pitiful pout. I heard my brown-eyed daddy speak, and I turned to him, desperate to recover my resistance though I knew it had nearly vanished.
“You’re going to take what we give you, honey,” Daddy Jacob said. “Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”
Those words broke me, because my daddy hadn’t said them in a hard, cruel way, but in a gentle one, despite all the degradation they implied. My attempt to rearrange my features back into uncaring scorn failed as I met his eyes again. At the same moment, Daddy Phil whipped me hard right at the place low down on my bottom where he had applied more lashes than any other, it felt like—and where the soreness from the paddling yesterday had seemed to linger longest.
I yelped, and I let go of the edge of the desk and thrust my hands behind me, reflexively and desperately, straightening up and trying to turn around, doing anything my body could come up with to defend my burning backside.
“Down!” Daddy Jacob thundered, as Daddy Phil used his left hand to make sure I didn’t get higher than a foot from my original position. I kept my right hand on my ass, trying to cover both blazing hot cheeks, clutching them to soothe some of the agony away, and I moved the left in front of me, pressing against the desktop to try to keep myself as upright as I could.
“Please,” I cried, turning my head wildly to address both my daddies, and uttering the last word the rebellious part of me wanted to use. “Please… just…”
But Daddy Jacob had taken hold of my left wrist, and then he had my right arm by the elbow so that he could pull my defensive hand away from my ass. Between him and Daddy Phil, without another word, they stretched me across the top of the desk with my arms in front of me, Daddy Jacob holding my wrists securely in his enormous hands.
I kicked out, not caring at all about how it surely showed Daddy Phil every lewd secret of my pussy and my bottom. My blue-eyed daddy kept his hand on my back, pressing very hard to keep my hips where he wanted them, and he methodically whipped my lower thighs until I screamed and lowered my feet to the carpet, sobbing at the excruciating lashes in that new and very painful place. My whole rear end, everything between my waist and my knees, felt like my daddies had taken a hot iron to it and run it up and down without mercy, to teach me obedience.
I looked up into Daddy Jacob’s eyes, and I screamed. My body writhed over the desk, hips trying to twist but restrained by Daddy Phil’s strength. My bottom squirmed, clenching and unclenching in a humiliating rhythm that matched the lashes from the awful belt.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” Daddy Phil commanded, stopping the punishment at last.
I let out a deep, deep sob, and I tried to find just a little more defiance, just a tiny moment of resistance. But my bottom hurt too much. I turned my face awkwardly back over my shoulder, Daddy Jacob letting me bend my arms enough to prop myself up on my elbows again. The defiant part of me was still there, but it had admitted defeat: the expression I showed Daddy Phil was full of tear-stained contrition.
“Do you want to say something, Marianne?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
I didn’t hesitate at all. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I choked out in my little-girl voice.
CHAPTER 14
Jacob
“Is your little bottom very sore, honey?” I asked, hearing the patronizing daddy tone in my voice and loving the way the words made Marianne struggle just a little against my hold on her wrists.
She turned her face to me, and my heart leapt in my chest when I saw—so clearly that I wondered whether I could somehow read my little girl’s mind—that Marianne had really started to come to terms with the naughty-but-good girl inside her. Her face must have told me, in a subtle way that I nevertheless thought I could feel certain about: Marianne had exaggerated her pout just a bit further than the whipping Phil had given her truly warranted.
I had absolutely no doubt that my colleague had done a very thorough job with his belt: I could see the fiery red evidence on our gorgeous fuck toy’s pert little bottom and her trim thighs. But I also knew, as if she had told me in so many words, that some very important part of Marianne had decided to dramatize her whipped naughty girl persona.