Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Then I did it without being told, but at the same time, as I bent towards Daddy Jacob, who had moved to assume Daddy Phil’s former position right in front of me, I turned my head back over my left shoulder. I gave my blue-eyed daddy the potentially-award-winning bitch face as I took hold of the far edge of the desk with my right hand. Then I turned back to my brown-eyed daddy and I started to lower myself onto my elbows, making my mouth match my curled nostril in a way that I hoped would silently accuse him of destroying my faith in the goodness of daddies.
“That’s it,” Daddy Jacob said, his voice even and devoid of any sign that he cared what I thought of my daddies’ intentions towards my backside. “Now arch your back and push out your bottom.”
I forced a scornful breath out of my nose, hoping that they wouldn’t notice that I’d done it to keep myself from sobbing with fear and mortification. I kept looking up into Daddy Jacob’s steady gaze even as I felt tears of shame and anxiety prick at the corners of my eyes. I forced my face to keep up the act, keep telling my daddy that if he thought what he and his asshole colleague were doing had anything to do with justice, they both needed to have their heads examined and their “hero” credentials revoked.
Again I waited until I felt sure one of them would reissue the command. Then I turned to look at Daddy Phil and, sluggishly but very theatrically, I obeyed Daddy Jacob’s command. I arched my back and stuck out my ass with a flourish: I wiggled my hips to emphasize just how little I cared about Selecta human resources’ bullshit plans, and my “daddies’” lewd intentions for me.
That meant, to my distress, that I was still looking right at Daddy Phil when he responded by putting his left hand atop my waist and starting to whip me, hard and fast, with the doubled leather of his thick, heavy belt.
My body shuddered. My fingers gripped the edge of the desk so hard and so suddenly that the pain from the sharp corner of the laminated plywood seemed for a moment a more severe problem than the very different pain that had started to emanate from my ass.
That stage lasted only a second or two. Something about the size of the glutes, maybe, meant that Daddy Phil’s belt took a moment to deliver its full effect, just as Daddy Jacob’s hand had seemed to take a moment the day before, when I had gotten paddled for the very first time over the couch. When the whipping did start to hurt, though, I understood immediately that my resolve wouldn’t last.
The defiant part of me, panicking, tried to use the precious seconds before I started to scream for mercy. I needed to make sure my daddies got the message about them being unfair, unjust assholes. I bit my lip, and I swallowed harder than I thought I had ever swallowed in my life, and I let out a grunt instead of a cry of pain. Even though the tears had started to stream down my cheeks and my whole body shook violently each time Daddy Phil’s horrible belt cracked down across my ass, I looked from him to Daddy Jacob with as much disdain as my flaring nose and my narrowed eyes could display.
Wordlessly, I told my brown-eyed daddy the opposite of what I already knew to be true: I beamed into his eyes the rebellious, futile message that this shit would not stand, and only an idiot would think you could whip a girl to turn her on—or, even more insanely, to help her learn how to behave. I gripped the edge of the desk even harder, felt even more pain in my fingers, but by that point it couldn’t compare in the slightest to the agony each lash across my backside brought.
Daddy Phil’s hand held me steady: no more ass-wiggling for me. He brought the doubled leather down in a steady rhythm and with a hard snap in each stroke, as if he meant to tell me he was in the business of making naughty girls regret their decisions, and business was good.
I grunted through gritted teeth, willing myself to keep my helpless noises in my chest, unvoiced. No pitiful cries or whimpers from me this time. Not yet. You can take one more, smart girl, the defiant voice said. You know you can.
Daddy Phil moved his lashes up and down methodically. The ones on my upper thighs made me jerk my hips very hard against his restraining hand, they hurt so much, and with a sharper pain than the strokes across my butt cheeks. I had to grunt louder, and I could hear the tiniest hint of a whine come into my voice.