I sat at the kitchen table, humming quietly to myself and sipping my coffee. I had the Sunday Times spread out in front of me and a fresh bagel for breakfast. I swung my legs under the table, basking in the joy of not having any commitments that day.
He came up behind me and slid his hands down the front of my shirt. I could hear him growling in my ear and I looked back at him expectantly. "You can finish your breakfast," he murmured as he withdrew. I turned back to the paper, but he was suddenly behind me again. "Get up," he ordered.
He led me over to the couch. He sat down and told me to take off my clothes before getting over his knee. Once I was in place, he started spanking me hard. I was counting along in my head and, as the number grew to 15, I started to panic.
"Is this it? Is this my birthday spanking?," I sputtered.
"Yes, stay still now Kitten," he said as he continued to hit me.
"All at once? Are you doing them all at once?," I panicked. I had broken out into a hot sweat with the pain. Each spank hurt more than the one before. My ass felt hot and He kept finding the vulnerable places to hit me to make me cry out.
"Kitten, breathe," he said as he paused at 20. "Take ten more for me and then you're done. Twenty-nine and 1 to grow on, remember?," he teased.
"Yes, sir, yes, yes," I mumbled, trying to ready myself. After he reached 30, he paused again to show me his palms. They were red from the impact.
"Now, that doesn't seem fair, does it? You're supposed to be the one in pain, not me, right?," he sassed. Suddenly serious, he said, "Count for me, Kitten."
"More? I thought I was done at 30?," I whined momentarily until he pushed my face down into the couch cushion to silence me. I counted out ten more spanks before he let up.
I slid to the floor by his feet in relief. He pulled my head up by the hair and whispered in my ear, "I'm not done with you yet, Kitten." He let me sit there, panting, for a moment before leading me into the bedroom.
"Kneel next to the bed," he said. I put my forehead against the mattress and heard him fussing around behind me. He picked up something and swung it in the air, producing a swishing sound. Before I could wonder what that was, he was hitting me with it. I could feel the impact, small and flat, cold, sharp.
The tears started to fall and I was clawing at the bedsheets. I turned to look at Him and saw him standing there, a few feet back from me, giving me the most frighteningly cold look. He had his head tilted to the side as if he was surveying something particularly uninteresting. In his hand, he was holding a metal shoehorn on a long metal pole.
I must have been staring at it for too long, because he swatted at the sides of my thighs until I turned back to face the bed. I pleaded with him as he continued to work me over, murmuring "Daddy, Daddy," over and over into the sheets between sobs. He hit me all up and down my back, across my ass and down the backs of my thighs. When I couldn't take any more, I collapsed to the ground in a little heap, only to have him pull me up to face him.
"Now, across your nipples." I whimpered and he snapped his fingers to silence me. "Put your hands behind your head and wait." I clasped my hands behind my head and closed my eyes, hoping that I wasn't visibly shaking. When he swatted at the front of my thighs, my eyes flew open. In my vulnerable state, my face gave away that I was relieved that he wasn't hitting my breasts. But that just made him laugh and he worked over my nipples next.
When he was done, he laid next to me on the bed, lightly running his fingers over the welts. He still had the shoehorn in his hand and he was trailing it up and down the backs of my thighs. He teased between my legs with it for a moment before getting an idea. I could practically see the light bulb go off in his head.
"Turn over," he whispered and my eyes widened with fear. I shook my head and buried my face in the mattress. I couldn't take being hit on my pussy. I couldn't take any more. He rolled me over anyway, prying my legs apart with this hands. He traced the folds with the metal, tapping lightly at first and then harder. Each time I cried out, he pulled away only to return to torment my cunt once more.
"This is the end, Kitten, just count to three for me and then it's over," he cooed. I shook my head and tried to pull my knees together. I must have looked like a very silly little girl as I cried, "no Daddy, I don't want to count to three, I don't want to count to three," and tried to squirm away from him. He counted down anyway, and on the count of three, he brought he arm down with great force.
...stopping just before the metal touched my skin.
I exhaled, shaking. He chuckled softly and pulled me back to him. "You said no mercy, Kitten." I looked up at him, confused.
"You said that you want me to let go, to stop holding back when I'm with you. You told me that you wanted to experience everything at full capacity. No pulling punches, no mercy." I nodded. I did say that.
"Well, Kitten, that is no mercy. When you're at your capacity and can't take anymore and I'm not stopping...that is no mercy. Are you sure that you still want that? Truly want that, Kitten?"
"Yes," I breathed.
"Because next time, I will hit you. I won't stop at the last second. I will hit your cunt. Understand?"
"Yes, Daddy," I smiled, suddenly calm, suddenly composed. I couldn't tell if I had failed him or made him happy. I wasn't sure if I should be proud of all I took or guilty that I had been spared. I only knew that the next time, I would not get off so easily. Next time, he would not stop. I asked for no mercy and I would have to face up to that, sooner or later.