corner.
"OW! God dammit!" Dropping all four paper wads again, she half-sat and half-fell back on the couch and grabbed her throbbing leg.
And realized what she'd said about the same instant that she heard Daddy's chair scrape back from the kitchen table. She clapped both hands over her wayward mouth, but it was too late. Daddy filled the doorway, a funny look on his face: dark but concerned, tinged with anger but in an oddly steady and controlled kind of way.
"What happened?" he asked, his tone painstakingly neutral. One look at his spanking hand told an entirely different story, though. It was flexing, an ominous sight that made her bottom tingle dreadfully.
Meg slowly took her hands from her mouth. In a very small voice, she said, "I whacked my leg on the coffee table."
He knelt down in front of her, lightly touching the angry red spot where the pointy corner had obviously caught her. She winced when his fingers skimmed the area surrounding it as he looked for signs of swelling, but then relaxed when he bent forward and kissed her knee.
"I think you'll survive."
"Maybe I need a band-aid."
"It's a grievous injury," he said solemnly. "Do you want butterflies or rainbows?"
She almost smiled, but she knew she was already in trouble for saying such a bad word and right now she was a little too scared for smiling. "Rainbow."
He stood up and held out his hand, and she limped alongside him to the bathroom. At the sink, he picked her up under her arms and her diaper crinkled softly as he sat her down on the counter. Administering his special Daddy's brand of first aid, he fit the rainbow band-aid over the tender spot and, for good measure, kissed it gently one last time. "This should make it better."
Though she could still feel it throbbing and she'd likely have a bruise there by sundown, just his saying so almost made it hurt a little bit less. She traced the pattern of brightly colored rainbows with her fingertips. Funny, how Daddy could do that so easily with the outside owie. Why couldn't he do that with the inside one, too?
Bracing his hands to either side of her hips, he leaned against the counter and looked at her. It was The Look, the stern Daddy expression that preceded scoldings and lectures and, sometimes even worse-Meg swallowed hard, her bottom cringing-spankings. Her stomach did a nervous little flip-flop and she began to wring the hem of her dress between her hands.
"What am I going to do with you, Meg?" he softly asked. When her eyes dropped to her lap, he caught her chin and forced her to look at him again. "No, baby girl. You don't get to hide from me. I want an answer. I've been trying all morning to break through this temperamental shell you've surrounded yourself with. Nothing I've done is working. And now you've said a bad word. Two of them, in fact, and I don't see this shell disappearing. So tell me, Meg, what am I supposed to do?"
Spank me, a little voice inside her said, startling Meg. She almost covered her bottom, but quickly swallowed the urge. No, no, she couldn't say that. She didn't want a spanking. Not from Daddy's hard hands, no, no, no! But the little voice persisted, saying that she needed the spanking so the bad feelings would go away.
"I'm waiting, Meg."
She squirmed on the counter, breathing a little faster and twisting her dress even tighter. Spank me. Two simple, little words, and yet she couldn't say them. She settled for the next best thing instead. "I don't know."
"That's not a good answer. Give me a better one."
Her shoulders raised in the smallest of shrugs. "I don't have a better one."
He tipped his head slightly to the side, studying her silently for several long minutes.
Was a shrug the same as a lie, she wondered. She fidgeted with her dress, catching her breaths in quick little pants. It probably was the same. So now, she was going to get spanked for acting badly, and for swearing, AND for lying. Her lip began to quiver and this time she couldn't stop it.
"What
"OW! God dammit!" Dropping all four paper wads again, she half-sat and half-fell back on the couch and grabbed her throbbing leg.
And realized what she'd said about the same instant that she heard Daddy's chair scrape back from the kitchen table. She clapped both hands over her wayward mouth, but it was too late. Daddy filled the doorway, a funny look on his face: dark but concerned, tinged with anger but in an oddly steady and controlled kind of way.
"What happened?" he asked, his tone painstakingly neutral. One look at his spanking hand told an entirely different story, though. It was flexing, an ominous sight that made her bottom tingle dreadfully.
Meg slowly took her hands from her mouth. In a very small voice, she said, "I whacked my leg on the coffee table."
He knelt down in front of her, lightly touching the angry red spot where the pointy corner had obviously caught her. She winced when his fingers skimmed the area surrounding it as he looked for signs of swelling, but then relaxed when he bent forward and kissed her knee.
"I think you'll survive."
"Maybe I need a band-aid."
"It's a grievous injury," he said solemnly. "Do you want butterflies or rainbows?"
She almost smiled, but she knew she was already in trouble for saying such a bad word and right now she was a little too scared for smiling. "Rainbow."
He stood up and held out his hand, and she limped alongside him to the bathroom. At the sink, he picked her up under her arms and her diaper crinkled softly as he sat her down on the counter. Administering his special Daddy's brand of first aid, he fit the rainbow band-aid over the tender spot and, for good measure, kissed it gently one last time. "This should make it better."
Though she could still feel it throbbing and she'd likely have a bruise there by sundown, just his saying so almost made it hurt a little bit less. She traced the pattern of brightly colored rainbows with her fingertips. Funny, how Daddy could do that so easily with the outside owie. Why couldn't he do that with the inside one, too?
Bracing his hands to either side of her hips, he leaned against the counter and looked at her. It was The Look, the stern Daddy expression that preceded scoldings and lectures and, sometimes even worse-Meg swallowed hard, her bottom cringing-spankings. Her stomach did a nervous little flip-flop and she began to wring the hem of her dress between her hands.
"What am I going to do with you, Meg?" he softly asked. When her eyes dropped to her lap, he caught her chin and forced her to look at him again. "No, baby girl. You don't get to hide from me. I want an answer. I've been trying all morning to break through this temperamental shell you've surrounded yourself with. Nothing I've done is working. And now you've said a bad word. Two of them, in fact, and I don't see this shell disappearing. So tell me, Meg, what am I supposed to do?"
Spank me, a little voice inside her said, startling Meg. She almost covered her bottom, but quickly swallowed the urge. No, no, she couldn't say that. She didn't want a spanking. Not from Daddy's hard hands, no, no, no! But the little voice persisted, saying that she needed the spanking so the bad feelings would go away.
"I'm waiting, Meg."
She squirmed on the counter, breathing a little faster and twisting her dress even tighter. Spank me. Two simple, little words, and yet she couldn't say them. She settled for the next best thing instead. "I don't know."
"That's not a good answer. Give me a better one."
Her shoulders raised in the smallest of shrugs. "I don't have a better one."
He tipped his head slightly to the side, studying her silently for several long minutes.
Was a shrug the same as a lie, she wondered. She fidgeted with her dress, catching her breaths in quick little pants. It probably was the same. So now, she was going to get spanked for acting badly, and for swearing, AND for lying. Her lip began to quiver and this time she couldn't stop it.
"What
Similar Books
