The Siren, the General's Daughter Book One by Breanna Hayse

said her father, tapping his cheek, “Do you recall that little conversation we had about me being too nice? I understand that with the dry-docking, I’ve been too busy to spend time with you, but is this your way of getting attention?”
    “No Sir. I’m just being a brat,” she whispered truthfully. She then, reluctantly, admitted to calling in a pod.
    Dr. Quimby’s eyes flashed. “You did what? A single blue can sink this ship!” He was furious. This went beyond simple bratty behavior and it put people in danger. “You get your little butt to my quarters and wait for me. Now !”
    The girl left quickly and collided into Scott in the hallway. He asked her what was happening and she reluctantly admitted her actions. He sent her on her way with a gentle pat to her bottom and comment regarding regulation shorts. He also noticed the red marks peeking from her short line. Shaking his head, he entered Dr. Quimby’s office. “Saw our girl in the hall on her way to your quarters. I’m getting a sense I didn’t hear the whole story.”
    Dr. Quimby filled him in on details, especially about the pod. Scott’s cheek twitched. “You have got to be kidding me. Do you want me to take care of this?”
    “Nope, it’s my turn. And believe me, she’s going to be wishing it was you. See ya in a few. Oh, and please talk with your nephew regarding public discipline, especially in those shorts.”
    Dr. Quimby stomped down the hall and up the stairs towards his quarters. He saw a couple of crewmen and ordered them to clear the hall and get back to work. They scattered quickly. The commander was on the warpath and they weren’t about to get caught in the wake.
    His daughter sat contritely in a dining table chair, hands folded neatly and ankles delicately crossed. Her tanned skin glowed, making her eyes look even more intense as she looked up at him through thick, long lashes. “Daddy? I’m really sorry,” she said softly, eyes back down as he paced around her.
    “Go and get my belt out of my closet, and the brush from the head. You and I are going to have a very long, serious discussion.”
    Silently, the girl obeyed, suddenly remembering how she had asked him to be firmer with her. Penguin. Oh Lord, she was now starting to think like the whales! She handed him the implements and waited with dread for his instructions. He placed them on the table, pointing to the chair. “Sit,” he ordered. She sat.
    “When we get home, we will be enforcing more rules regarding your conduct. Until then, I expect you to follow the same rules as each man stationed here. Do you ever see any of the crew on the booms?”
    “I don’t see any of the crew being spanked in public either,” she muttered.
    Mistake.
    “Do you have anything else smart to say? No? Ok, before we start this, would you like to inform your ocean friends that I’m from your pod?”
    “I already did, Daddy.”
    He went to the couch, sitting heavily. “Come over here. I don’t know why—” he lectured, unbuttoning and unzipping her shorts before pulling them down to her ankles, “we have to keep doing this. Over my lap. Don’t think these will afford you any protection, so let’s get rid of them too,” he said, yanking her pale blue thong down. Her cheeks were still rosy from Michael’s spanking. She gripped his pant legs and combat boot tops, feeling his hand rest on her flesh.
    “I don’t think I really need to say anymore, do I? Let’s just let you concentrate on your punishment for now.” With that he began to spank her briskly, the swats becoming more pronounced and heavier. She tried so hard not to struggle but failed miserably. By 30, she was squirming, promising to be good and begging release.
    By 50 she was confessing every crime she could think of, kicking wildly to escape.
    By 100 she was a pitiful mess of tears, still jerking about, but starting to tire. That was when he stopped using his hand and went for the proverbial hairbrush.
    The sharp bite