Page 50 of Daddy's Lesson
“Good, because we still have things to accomplish today.”
“More lessons?” I couldn’t help the whine in my voice. I’d already been caned and paddled, and everything was throbbing. I didn’t think my backside could take much more.
“Nothing new, more of a continuation.”
“More spanking?” I whimpered.
“No. Unless you are a naughty girl, then I make no promises. But no more spankings are in my immediate plans.”
“Thank goodness. Then what are we going to do?”
“You, my dear, are going to sit and paint for an hour like I told you before. You owe me some time and I’m ready to collect.”
I vaguely remembered him saying he was going to make me do that, but it really was hard to listen and comprehend when I was getting my ass pummeled. I didn’t want to paint. Well, okay, I really wanted to paint, but I couldn’t. I could feel the panic bubbling in my chest. Apparently, Lennon noticed it.
“Hey, Daddy is here and this is not a stressful thing. You do not need to paint the next Mona Lisa. It’s just paint on a canvas. And I’ll be right there the whole time, okay?”
“Okay.” I nodded, hating how pathetic I sounded. It really was just paint on a canvas, so why was it so scary and hard?
Helping me off the counter, Lennon led me to the dining room, where the craft items had been sitting since he bought them, along with the new paint he’d ordered to replace the bottles we’d wasted during our paint fight.
“Pick your poison, little Picasso.” He started moving bags and items from the pile in the corner of the room to the table. “You can do anything you want, as long as that includes putting paint onto a surface.”
I watched him unpack everything, the anxiety building in my chest. My aversion to painting was really starting to get old, and I was tired of it, but even after that wicked spanking I was still dreading picking up a paintbrush. I was going to do it anyway, but it was making me nervous. That is, until I spotted the paint-by-numbers set he had picked out. I could fulfill my obligation to the rule without having to stress about it in any way. It was a win-win.
Reaching across the table, I picked up the set and gave him a questioning look.
“Paint on a surface with your sore bottom in a chair for one hour. Those are the only stipulations.”
“But I usually paint standing up,” I pushed.
“Too bad. Today you sit. Behave and maybe you can stand tomorrow.”
And if I don’t behave?
I kept the thought in my head for self-preservation’s sake, but the skin of my bottom tingled in response. I knew the answer.
The determined look on his face was enough to tell me that he wasn’t in the mood to play games, so instead of pushing my luck I sighed. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl.”
“What are you going to do for an hour while I do this?”
“I’ll entertain myself, don’t worry about me.”
He opened the set, unwrapping the shrink wrap and laying it all on the table while I filled a cup with some water and grabbed a few napkins. I didn’t want to use multiple brushes for something so simple, and I certainly didn’t want to break into the expensive brush set he’d gotten for me in order to complete a child’s art project. Another thought I decided to keep to myself. Unfortunately, when I returned, he already had the good brushes open and laying on the table.
Pulling out the chair, he gestured for me to sit.
“You’re sure I can’t stand?”
“Positive. Consider this part of your punishment.”
Unable to argue with that, I lowered myself gently into the chair, knowing it was going to be uncomfortable with the paddling I’d received. I couldn’t remember Archer ever spanking me that hard when I’d been his client.
My bottom ached as I shifted, trying to find a comfortable position.
“Your timer starts once I see paint hit that paper,” he informed me, looking down at his watch.