Page 7 of Daddy's Lesson
“Please.” I turned away and allowed him to help me out of it, watching him hang it on a colorful hook on the wall, perfectly placed to appear to be part of the carefully crafted mural.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” He gestured to a bright purple couch and for the first time I remembered why we were here and what I had agreed to. My stomach twisted into knots.
Relax. It’s just a spanking. You get them every week.
Something told me this one was going to be very, very different.
LENNON
The source of all my college wet dreams was sitting next to me on my couch, and in a few short minutes, she’d be over my knee. If everything went the way I hoped, it wouldn’t be a one-time occurrence. I immediately wished I’d set the meeting for evening instead of morning so I could have a drink to settle my nerves. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Expelling a deep, ragged breath, I took her hand, inwardly cheering when she didn’t pull it away.
She was feeling the awkwardness, stuck in it, and a bit more closed-off than other clients on a good day, but our history was still thick and heavy between us. At least in her mind. That much was obvious.
“Zoe.” I said her name softly, catching her attention, and waited until she shifted her gaze to meet mine.
“Yes, Lennon?”
“Sir,” I corrected, gently reminding her of the power balance between us. It was imperative that it stayed at the forefront of her mind. “Or, Daddy, if you prefer to begin as I intend you to end.”
She drew a shaky breath. “Daddy.” Her voice wavered. “It feels weird.”
“That will fade in time,” I assured her. “Do you understand why you are getting a spanking?”
Her eyes shuttered, and I could tell she was fighting off a snarky response. I bit back a smile, and hoped that in time she’d be comfortable enough to actually make whatever comments ran through her head. Or maybe her self-preservation skills would always be too high for that kind of brattiness. I hoped I would find out exactly what kind of submissive Miss Zoe Kramer would be.
I raised my eyebrows and inclined my head, sending her a silent message.
I’m waiting.
Her breath came out in a soft sigh before she spoke, the only sound in my eerily silent apartment. “Because I lied on my initial application.”
“That’s correct. You put time management and productivity, which we both know are not areas you actually need help in. What should you have put instead?”
She shrugged and sighed again. “I don’t know. I don’t feel like there is an area where I need extra accountability in my life. I just need…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing pink as if admitting what she needed was too much.
“A spanking?” I prodded, gently. “Physical touch? The adrenaline and endorphin rush?”
“To feel something,” she admitted, her voice a thick whisper.
That was the truth as she knew it, but I saw something more. A need she hadn’t yet acknowledged. At least, not out loud. Reaching up, I caressed her cheek softly, then caught her chin in my fingers. Her mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’ of surprise, and she let out a soft gasp, but she didn’t pull away.
“I see it differently,” I told her. “I think there are areas where you do need a little extra accountability in your life.”
Her eyes narrowed into slits, and I could tell she wanted to protest, but she didn’t, and I continued. “How often do you do anything just for you? For fun? For relaxation? For no reason other than you want to?”
“I do yoga every morning.”
“That’s great. For your mental and physical health. But is that why you do it?”
“Well, yes, of course.”
“Do you enjoy it? Do you love it? Does it refresh your soul?”
Her gaze dropped, as if the fact that she didn’t love yoga was something to be ashamed of. “Well, no… but…”
I shook my head. “No buts. When was the last time you painted something?”