Girl's Page 4

  Meg spun around, cringing into the side rail and thrusting back both hands to cover her bottom when he picked up the hairbrush from the dresser. He took one step toward her and Meg burst into tears.

  "No spankin', Daddy, please!" she wailed as he took hold of her arm. But she didn't fight him, allowing herself to be lead back to the chair where he had so gently brushed her hair not fifteen minutes ago. When he sat down, she only cried harder. "I'll be good!"

  "Unfortunately, baby girl, your interpretation of being good and mine don't seem to be matching very well."

  With very little effort, he bent her over one knee, scissoring both her legs between his very strong thighs. He unbuttoned the corners of the drop-flap and, instead of just covering her bottom, Meg grabbed a hold of the cloth to keep it from being taken down.

  "Move your hands."

  She shook her head, crying.

  He moved her hands for her, pinning them effortlessly at the small of her back. And then he took down the drop-seat, baring not only the pale swells of her bottom but the top four inches of her thighs as well.

  "No!" She began to struggle wildly. "Daddy, don't spank! Wait! Please, Daddy! I-I can't do this! David, wait! Please wait!" She sobbed with relief when he stopped, his warm hand coming to rest on the back on one thigh. "Please, please don't spank me with that thing!"

  Very calmly, he said, "We talked about this, Meg. We've talked about this for months. Do you remember, sweetheart, when I asked how you thought an attentive daddy should spank his little girl? You said over the knee because it was so intimate. I asked you with what, and you said his hand, his belt, and a wooden hairbrush. Do you remember why?"

  Meg nodded, still crying but trying hard to pull herself back under control.

  "Because those were the icons of loving, domestic discipline. I know you've never been spanked with either the belt or the brush, and I know you're a little frightened right now, but, beyond a sound spanking, I'm not going to hurt you."

  "Your hand hurt so much," Meg sniffled. "The hairbrush is going to kill me. I can't take it, David. I can't!"

  "Sweetheart," he said gently, sadly. "You don't have a choice. You'll have to trust that I won't take the punishment father than it needs to go, but it's going to happen all the same."

  "No!" she wept. She tried to wiggle off his lap. But with her hands still held tight behind her, there was no getting up until he allowed it. "Please, no!"

  "What's the rule, Meg?" he softly countered.

  She stilled over his knee, gasping and hiccupping miserably. "D-Daddy's the boss."

  "That's right. And I won't allow anything to harm you. Not even yourself. You drove all day yesterday and all morning today. You yourself admitted that the reason you weren't wearing your seatbelt was because you got out of the car to stretch your legs just down the road from here. I put you down to nap for a reason; I can see in your eyes how tired you are, even though you're excited. And I'm flattered that you want to stay up to be with me. But you need to trust that I know what's best for you. Right now, what's best for you is rest."

  She whimpered. "Are-are you going to spank me hard?"

  His hand stroked her bottom. "I'm sorry, baby girl, but yes. I am. This is for punishment, and that means it has to be hard. You've been argumentative and willful. You knew what you were doing was going to land you bottom-up over my knee, otherwise you wouldn't have tried so hard to hide your disobedience when you heard me coming."

  She moaned, bowing her head almost to the floor.

  "I am also not going to allow your little girl to hide behind the big girl every time she gets into trouble."

  She began to cry all over again. "I'm sorry."

  "I know. But it's disappointing that you would try. And it's not going to alter the outcome of this. What did I tell you last Friday when we talked about your coming here?"

  "You said...you..." her voice faltered when she felt his hand leave her skin. It was replaced an instant later by the cool round head of the wooden hairbrush. "You said n-naughty girls get sp-spanked."

  And he did. One quick snap of his wrist and Meg arched stiffly, shouting out in pain as that hairbrush lay smack after sharp, stinging smack all across her flanks. Her bottom bounced under the flattening impacts of the brush, as it quickly painted the blushing cheeks and the tender tops of her thighs a darker shade of scarlet. His hand kept hers pinned behind her back, well up and out of his way. The more she thrashed, the tighter his legs clamped over hers and the harder he spanked her.

  Within a minute, her shouts had turned to wails of pleading and then to heart-wrenching sobs, but still he didn't stop spanking. Not until her entire bottom was a hot, cherry red and Meg had struggled herself into exhaustion.

  Letting the brush fall to the floor, he held her face-down over his lap, letting her cry as much as she needed to while his hand rubbed her bottom gently, soothing away the pain. It was several long minutes before he pulled her upright so that he could hold her. Any fears that he had taken the punishment farther than she could bear evaporated when she curled herself tight against his chest, her hot bottom pressing over his groin as she drew up her legs, trying to squeeze all of her into his embrace. Clinging to his shoulders, she pressed her face to his neck and just cried

  David rocked her, stroking her back and dropping kisses on her forehead until her ragged sobs had turned to hiccups, then to sniffles, and then only to the occasional sniffle. One at a time, her legs slipped out of his arms and, with gentle thuds, her feet dropped back onto the carpet. When he leaned back to look at her, he found that she had fallen asleep with her thumb in her mouth. Her other hand was lightly pressed to the side of one bright red and swollen hip.

  Well, at least she was resting now. And this time, when he tucked her into bed there were no arguments.

  * * * * *

  She slept until three, which was when David once again climbed the stairs and went into her room. Though still lying on her stomach with the blanket tucked up to her chin, sometime during her nap she had pulled Bear into a one-armed embrace and her thumb was back in her mouth. Occasionally her soft lips would move around it as she suckled once or twice, then relaxed again.

  David shook his head. What that thumb must be doing to her teeth...

  "Wake up, baby girl." He reached into the crib, gently stroking her back, rubbing between her shoulders as he coaxed her back to wakefulness. "Come on, sweetheart. It's time to get up."

  Her brows drew down over her closed eyes. She pulled Bear that much tighter against her body. But although it looked as though she might still be asleep, her mouth betrayed her-working that thumb in earnest now.

  "Rise and shine." He rubbed her shoulders a little more firmly and peeled back the blanket.

  The sound she made at the back of her throat was more like a growl than a groan.

  Oh dear, he smiled. His baby woke up grumpy.

  But she did awaken. In fact, she came back to a sleepy kind of awareness the instant he unbuttoned the drop-seat and once more took it down.

  Bear spilled from her embrace when she snapped a hand back, palm up to ward off his blows, and wailed, "I'll be good!"

  "Shh," he shushed as he moved her hand, pinning it back up and out of his way again. "It's all right, Meg."

  "No more spankin', Daddy," she whimpered.

  "No more spanking," he agreed. "I just want to check the damage. I tried not to leave bruises-stop squirming, Meg! Relax your bottom-looks like you've got two small ones anyway. Right here." His finger traced a small purplish patch on the underside of her left cheek, then drifted lower down to prize her bottom cheeks apart. He caressed a tender spot just below and to the right of her anus. "And interestingly enough, right here. I don't remember catching you there. That must have been when you were thrashing so hard."

  "It hurt," she said, relaxing slightly when, instead of spanking, he stroked the backs of her thighs.

  "It's supposed to."

  "It still does. A little bit."


  "That's because hairbrushes give good reminder spankings. The sting tends to last for a while. You're going to have a sore sit-upon probably until tomorrow, perhaps longer." Almost reluctantly, he withdrew his hand and refastened the seat of her pajamas. "Come here, baby."

  Crawling up onto her knees, she reached for him and yawned as he lifted her from the crib.

  "Do you want Bear?"

  When she nodded, he reached back into the crib and handed her the teddy bear.

  "What about comfort blankie?" he asked.

  She nodded again, rubbing her eyes.

  He handed that to her as well. Pausing just long enough to snag a pair of pull-up pants from her top dresser drawer, he carried her downstairs. "Do you need to go potty?"

  When she nodded, he took her into the bathroom and put her down by the toilet. After taking her pajamas all the way off, he said, "Stay right here. I'll be back in a minute."

  Leaving her to relieve herself in private, at least for this first time, he went to the kitchen. He poured a little orange juice into a child's two-handled sippy cup and screwed the lid down.

  When he returned to the bathroom, Meg was standing up in front of the toilet and sleepily trying to pull her pajamas back up over her hips. She hadn't yet realized the sleeves had somehow gotten twisted behind her. Setting the cup on the sink, David helped to pull the pajamas back up over her arms, but then removed her leggings.

  "Here." He knelt in front of her and held out the pull-up diaper. "Put your hands on my shoulders and step."

  Though expecting an argument-or at the very least-a whimper of protest, David was surprised when she only leaned against him and clumsily, one foot at a time, stepped into the adult-sized pull-ups. She was still too sleepy and, as he replaced her leggings and zipped her back into her pajamas, he wondered how long it would be before she realized that her underwear was really toddler trainers.

  When he took her thumb out of her mouth, she actually whined at him and he handed her the juice instead.

  "What's this?" she mumbled.

  "Orange juice."

  "I don't want it." She put the cup back on the sink.

  "Do you want water instead?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Then drink the juice." David promptly handed it back to her again and led her out to the living room.

  They sat on the couch and he pulled her back against him. While she obediently sucked juice through the top of the plastic lid, he turned on the tv and switched the channel from news to Bugs Bunny cartoons. It took her nearly half an hour and a lot of prodding before she came awake enough to finish that one cup of juice. When he took the cup away from her, her thumb drifted towards her mouth and he put it back in her lap. Within minutes however, as the Coyote lost his battle of wits to the Roadrunner, David glanced down to find Meg sucking her thumb again anyway.

  He got up and went into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a length of red ribbon, a safety pin and an adult-sized pacifier. Looping the ribbon through the white plastic handle, he pinned it to the front of her pajamas.

  "No more thumb sucking, sweetheart. You're darling when you do it. In fact, I find you utterly adorable. But it'll put sores on your thumb and do awful things to your beautiful mouth if you keep it up. Here." He put the tip of the pacifier against her lips. "Open."

  She tried to turn her head away.

  "Meg," he warned. "Put the binky in your mouth. You'll be sucking your thumb otherwise, and we both know it."

  She made a face, but opened her mouth when he again touched the flat round tip of the amber rubber to her bottom lip. As he eased it into her mouth, realizing how far back it was going, Meg sat up stiffly and grabbed his hand. He paused, waiting until she sheepishly let him go again, and he placed the whole thing well into her mouth. Meg sucked twice experimentally, then took it out of her mouth when he sat back down beside her.

  "I don't like it."

  "It may take a while to get used to."

  "I don't wanna get used to it."

  "If you suck your thumb, I'll spank you," David said bluntly. "It's that simple. I won't let you hurt yourself just because you want to be stubborn."

  Pouting, she glared at the binky before reluctantly popping it back into her mouth. They went back to watching cartoons in time to see the Coyote take a nose-dive off the top of a cliff. As he hit the ground in a huge cloud of dust, David touched her shoulder.

  "Come sit on daddy's lap."

  Pulling her binky from her mouth, she craned her head back to look at him. "You still want to hold me?"

  He smiled. "I always want to hold you. Why wouldn't I?"

  "But you threatened to spank me."

  "That doesn't mean I don't want to touch you. Or cuddle you. Or lay you down beneath me and make love to you until neither one of us can move." He stroked her bangs back from her eyes. "I've waited eight months for you. Just because your naughty bottom needs an occasional smack or two, doesn't mean all those other feelings are going to disappear."

  "Oh." She bit her lip. Smiling shyly, she crawled into his lap, putting her back to the arm of the sofa and resting her head on his shoulder.

  The Coyote went over another cliff, this time with the help of a catapult. David knew how he felt. At the moment, he was feeling nothing short of catapulted himself. The cushion of her luscious, diapered bottom on his thighs and the light tracing touch of her fingers as she followed the line of shirt buttons down his chest, was causing an uncomfortable straining sensation in the front of his jeans. And if she didn't keep looking up at him with that sweet, little smile, he didn't think he was going to be able to keep his hands to himself for much longer.

  "Daddy?" she asked. There was a funny little hitch to her breath that he was coming to recognize as arousal rather than nervousness. The sound went straight to his groin.

  "What is it?"

  Looking up at him through her lashes, she softly admitted, "Those feelings haven't disappeared for me either. Will...um, will you fit inside my crib?"

  He leaned his head back on the couch and laughed.

  Chapter Three

  Spaghetti sauce bubbled on the stove. The aroma of fresh baked garlic bread wafted through the kitchen, Daddy David rinsed the steaming hot noodles at the sink, and Meg hadn't had to cook a thing. She hadn't even helped.

  "I don't want you to get burned," Daddy had said, and he'd put her in a full-sized, wooden highchair.

  At first Meg felt awkward simply sitting there. But unable to see under the tray to figure out how to work the strange latches beneath, she was stuck. So she sat with the puzzle book Daddy David had given her, drew a crayon line through a round maze, and occasionally sucked at her sippy cup of fresh juice or snacked on the cheerios he'd given her.

  "I hope you like pasta," David gently tapped the pasta strainer against the side of the sink and then poured the noodles into a large bowl.

  "I didn't know daddies cooked." Her brow furrowed as she stared at the maze. She had just crayoned herself into a dead end.

  David smiled, spooning several large meatballs over the pasta and then smothering all in a thick tomato sauce. "My father is Italian; my mother's Jewish. Which means this particular Daddy can cook just about anything, and if you don't have at least four helpings, I can make you feel guilty about it, too." He collected a single fork from a drawer and brought the bowl to the table. "Would you like more to drink?"

  She up-ended her cup to drain the last few sips before handing it over to him. "Do I get s'ghetti, too?"

  "Of course."

  "How come there's just one bowl?"

  "Because I'm going to feed you." He rinsed the cup and this time filled it three-fourths of the way with milk.

  She made a face when he set it on her tray. "Don't like milk."

  "Drink it anyway."

  She pouted, picked up the sippy cup, and put it on the table as far from her as she could reach. No sooner had her fingers left the cup than did he pick it up again.

  "In
my house, little girls are served milk with every meal. It's good for you." He put it right back on her tray. "So, unless you are allergic-"

  "I'm allergic," she said automatically, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt over the lie. The twinge lasted only until he sat down at the table, turned his chair to face her and braced his strong hands upon his knees. The look he gave her was unsmiling and grim.

  "Why wasn't that allergy on the list you emailed me?"

  The twinge of guilt became a tight little knot of apprehension. She fidgeted with the crayon, wilting a little under his hard stare. "I-I forgoted."

  "You forgot to add it to the list or you forgot about the list in the first place?"

  The crayon snapped in her hands. Unable to keep his eyes anymore, she lay the broken pieces on top of her puzzle book and slowly wiped her hands on her pajamas.

  When she didn't answer, Daddy asked, "How long have you had this allergy?"

  She shifted a little, feeling the tender spots from his earlier spanking. Was lying a spankable offense? Her eyes began to tear up. "I might be allergic."

  "Did you lie to me?"

  She bit her lip, then pointed to the bowl sitting forgotten on the table. "The s'ghetti's gettin' cold."

  "Meg. You lied to me, didn't you?"

  The apprehension was growing, tightening in her chest and making it hard to breathe. Reluctantly, she nodded and then her bottom lip trembled as he took the pieces of crayon, the book, and her sippy cup and set them all on the table. "I don't wanna drink milk! It's yucky! I don't like it!"

  He reached beneath the highchair tray, removed it and set it on the floor. "Go upstairs and get your hairbrush. I want you to bring it down to me."

  "No-o!" she wailed. "I won't fib no more!"

  "Baby, if I have to get it for you, not only will you still get spanked, but it'll be that much worse."

  "No, Daddy! No more spankin'!"

  He stood up, and Meg jumped to her feet and ran for the stairs. She was crying before she reached the top. She'd only been here one day and she was about to be spanked for the third time. And with the hairbrush...Again! She cried even harder, with long, loud wails as she shuffled reluctantly down the short hall to her bedroom door.