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

on her already burning skin made her shriek. A burst of new found energy was used in an attempt to escape, but deemed ineffective under his incredibly strong grip. He spanked one cheek after another with purpose and dedication, making certain that she would remember this episode for a long time. After at least 50 strokes, he paused to allow her to catch her breath. He also listened for the tell-tale snorting of blow-holes and was relieved that there were none.
    Sam was nothing more than a limp, tiny doll lying over his broad, muscular thighs. Her small backside was purple and blotched and he winced, knowing that it would be a while before she would be able to climb a boom or sit at her desk. But Scott was right.  That little bottom could withstand a lot, and he was not finished. He needed to be a man of his word. He stood her up, wiping her face with his hand while handing her a tissue.
    “Blow,” he ordered, noticing the shaking in her legs as she tried to stand straight. Yeah, she would feel this tomorrow.
    “I’m really sorry, Daddy,” she stuttered between sobs.
    “You aren’t the only one. To my room, please.”
    Barely able to walk, the girl tried to obey quickly. She knew what was coming, the dreaded belt.
    Dr. Quimby placed two pillows on the end of the bed and ordered her over them. Unable to look at him, she meekly submitted and clutched the blanket tightly as she buried her face in the soft fabric. Dr. Quimby touched her bottom, making certain there was no skin breakage but plenty of bruising. He patted her gently.
    “How many do you think you deserve?” he asked. She only started to cry some more. How could she say anything? But he waited patiently.
    “I don’t know,” she wailed.
    He walked across the room, the leather belt jingling in his hand. “You have no idea? No preference?”
    “I have a preference, none,” she answered, winded. She knew he was giving her some time to prepare.
    “I see. How many do you think Uncle Scott would give you?”
    Her sudden cry got his attention. He knew Scott was hard on her and he witnessed the results at that moment. Scott would not be giving her an option and judged the effectiveness of his discipline by reaction and pushing her to the limit. Her fear of Scott’s disappointment was well-founded. It was time she felt the same about her father.
    “Hmmm, that many? I want you to count. You will receive 20 strokes with this belt. That bottom is not to budge. I understand that Scott uses a do-over clause. That will also apply to me in this circumstance. Understand?”
    “I’m sorrrrrrrrrry, Daddy! Pleeeeeeease don’t!”
    “Start counting.”
    Sam bawled out the numbers, trying so hard to mind him but finding it almost impossible. She kicked her feet as she gripped the bedcover, unable to utter an intelligible word once she reached the tenth count. Dr. Quimby quickly finished the final 10, concentrating on her sit spots and upper thighs, and then placed the belt down near her head. He sat next to her, his warm hand gently stroking her back as he swallowed his own tears. He hated to bring her so much pain, but Scott was right. It was better from those who loved her than some drug runner she intercepted. This type of pain only prevented sitting, the other could mean death.
    “I love you baby,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms. She curled into a ball on his lap and sobbed into his shirt as she gripped it tightly. He rocked her gently, soothing her while kissing her head. “Shhhh, it’s over. It’s ok. Go on, you can cry. I’ll stay here as long as you need me.”
    Sam’s tears seemed to have no end and she fell asleep crying in his arms within the hour. Ever so gently, he put her into his bed and covered her with a sheet. After placing a bottle of water and a box of tissues on his end table, he returned to work.
     
    A couple of hours later, he called his son to his office. Dr. Quimby beckoned for him to enter and have a seat. Closing the door