Discipline of a Naughty Irish Imp: Uncharacteristic Naughtiness (Part #2)

12/06/2013

"Turn around and look at me, little girl." Daddy instructed, still mere inches from my ear.

I slowly spun on my heels and turned almost literally into his chest. I tried to slow my breathing, to calm my nerves but it was a futile effort. His large left hand tucked under my chin and tilted my face up to meet his own. I quietly gazed up into his dark brown eyes, nervously chewing the corner of my bottom lip. His eyes narrowed as he studied mine, eliciting a pout.

"Tell me, Natalie Lynn, how fond is your father of repeating himself?" He asked, his jaw clenching.

I dropped my head, my emerald eyes scanning the carpet as the welled with unshed tears. I searched for the right words, all the while chastising myself. I could not possibly give an accurate count, but if I had to guess I'd say my Dom has easily had to repeat himself and specific lessons to me at least a couple dozen times over the lat two years. I'm not a stupid girl, I am not at all a slow learner. In fact, every time he has taught me one such lesson, I truly do 'get it'. My apologies and remorse are sincere. My promises for better behavior are genuine. And yet, somehow, every couple sessions, we will have a repeat entry on my punishment list. Perhaps old habits die hard, correction, old habits get naughty girls beat hard.

My father didn't care for my hesitation in answering the question he had asked. I heard an audible sigh at the same time that I felt him take hold of my hair at the nape of my neck as he forcefully pulled back, again raising my face up to his.

"Answer me!" He barked, agitation clearly evident in his tone.

"I'm sorry, Sir. My Daddy doesn't ever like having to repeat himself to me." I whispered.

"And yet, I again have to do so today. Correct?" He asked.

"Yes Sir." I replied.

"I see. So my little girl knows well how I feel about repeating myself. You know from numerous past experiences that any time I have to do so, your punishment increases in severity, because I have to assume that your disregard means the last punishment was not sufficient as a deterrent. You know and understand that my time is valuable, and our time together equally so. And yet AGAIN, you insist that I WASTE MY TIME....OUR TIME....REPEATING MYSELF TO YOU?" He lectured.

I jumped and closed my eyes tightly as he shouted. My fingers fidgeted nervously at my sides. My heart beat wildly behind my ribs and my knees felt as if they may buckle. I sniffled and I shook as I searched for my voice, and the right words to reply.

"I....I....I'm sorry, Sir." I meekly mumbled up to him.

"Uh huh. You will be." He snapped.

Daddy circled my wrist inside of his left hand, tightening his grip and pulling me along behind him to the other side of the room. He sat on the couch and yanked me to his left side.

"Lesson number one, a MULTIPLE repeat, my daughter's lack of respect toward authority figures. I'm not wasting our time explaining this rule again; in fact, I am almost certain you could repeat the damn lecture back to me word for word. You know why it is wrong. You know it violates a rule I have put in place for you. And you know there are serious consequences any time my daughter chooses to disregard my rules and blatantly disobey me. Pants down, now, young lady." He instructed.

I hung my head and fumbled with the button on my jeans with my shaky fingers. Amazing how something I do dozens of times a week somehow becomes so difficult when I am under the penetrating glare of my displeased father. He sighed audibly, likely assuming I was attempting to stall or delay the inevitable. I quickly regrouped and was able to free the button from its clasp. I slid the zipper down and began to take hold of the waistband to lower my jeans, but he beat me to it. His large, powerful hands slide between the denim and my tingling skin and in one swift movement, he had my bootcut jeans down over the swell of my hips and bottom as they gathered and bunched just below my knees. His left hand again gripped my wrist and I was tipping forward, head first, over his capable & waiting lap.

My hair flipped forward over my head and blanketed the carpet beneath my face. Daddy's thighs felt hard against my torso. His right arm hooked around my waist as his left hand quickly lowered my silk panties to meet with the jeans entangled at my knees. I inhaled sharply and blushed furiously, as is typical when my Dom lowers my panties himself, though I am still not certain why, the man has whipped my ass more times than I can count. Daddy wasn't speaking to me, only heightening my internal panic. He moved quickly, methodically and with purpose. He spaced his legs further apart, tipping me forward and I instinctively grabbed hold of his ankle to steady myself. My own feet now dangled helplessly inches above the floor and I crossed them at the ankles in an attempt to keep them from flailing about when my spanking began.

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His strong left hand fell again and again, peppering my bottom with forceful swats that stung from the very first that connected. It always amazes me how quickly my father's hand transform from loving, protective, tender appendages softly caressing my skin or pulling me into a tight embrace, into the harsh, powerful, stinging implements of naughty bottom destruction. I held tightly to his ankle as he continued to spank me hard.

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"Up, bring me the bath brush." Dad ordered with a crisp swat to my lower right thigh.

I quickly obeyed, sliding off of his lap and crossing the room toward the dresser top which held our implements, almost under someone else's power, on someone else's legs. I hate the bath brush, it stings like mad. And my own knees felt as if they may give out any time I paused to think about it, but I wasn't stalling or hesitating.....I was quickly obeying....definitely someone else's power driving my stride.

As I took the brush in my hand, I began to run the bristles against the side of my bare thigh. I turned to return to my father and was suddenly aware that I was again on my own shaking, wobbly legs.....the walk back toward my irritated Dom and my pending fate was much slower than my walk to retrieve the dreaded brush. As I approached him from across the room, my weepy emerald eyes stayed locked onto his. The sadistic, determined flash in his deep, expressive eyes is mesmerizing to me.

I stopped just short of him and slowly extended my hand, offering him that wicked brush. He took it, quickly discarding it on the couch to his side and grasping my wrist tightly, pulling me to his left side and yet again down abruptly over his lap. I squirmed instinctively, the feeling of a bath brush spanking suddenly coming back to me as I dangled over his knee. He again widened his legs, rendering me helpless over his lap as I took hold of his ankle once more. His right arm again draped across my waist, but this time he tapped my hip, knowing from past experience what he expected, I slowly tucked my left hand behind my body and placed it in his waiting hand. He securely pinned it to the small of my back and with his left hand, tapped the cool, smooth wood of the brush against my thighs, tingling in dreadful anticipation.

"Daddy, I really am sorry for wasting our time and making you repeat yourself to me about this again. I promise I'll do better." I whimpered back to him from over my shoulder.

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK

"Shut your mouth! Do I need to repeat your rules for interaction with me when you're being punished as well?" He barked harshly as he again swatted my thighs.

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK

"Owww. N-nooo Sir. I'm sorryyy." I sniffled and sobbed.

"I apparently do. You speak when you're spoken to, answering only 'yes sir' or 'no sir' unless I ask you for elaboration, in which case you provide it immediately and respectfully. NOWHERE in that rule is whining apologies to try to manipulate or lessen punishment. Got it?" He chastised, displeasure clinging to his every word.

I wanted so badly to reply to that statement, I truly wasn't trying to manipulate him, and I genuinely was sorry or I wouldn't have said it.....but I knew better than to talk back to him, particularly as I dangle over his lap, my bare bottom a waiting target. So I replied simply with the expected:

"Yes Sir."

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Daddy wasted very little time in setting about blistering my naughty bottom with that damn brush. I fought to stay still, but it was next to impossible. I knew now exactly why he had insisted on holding my hand to the small of my back before I had even tried to reach it back behind me......if he hadn't had it pinned to my back, I would have likely been trying to protect my poor burning bottom with it now.

"Owwww Daddyyyyy, pleasseeee. It hurtsss." I squealed back at him as my legs kicked about wildly behind me.

"Good. That's the point, little girl. It is supposed to hurt. It is punishment and you deserve every single swat." He replied, a detached tone in his voice.

Daddy took his time, making certain to cover every single inch of my bottom and thighs with dark red ovals from that viscous brush. He would alternate from fast and furious paddling to slower, more deliberate & forceful swatting and then back again to the painful swats falling in a blur. The sound seemed to echo off the walls of the room like firecrackers, as I am sure, did my squeals. I fought to remain stoic for as long as I could, but it didn't take long before he had me bawling like the naughty little girl I had been. This brush is absolutely merciless and can very quickly make a lasting impression on any naughty girl.

My tears fell to the carpet beneath my tear streaked face as I tossed my head about from side to side trying to wish away the mounting sting in my bottom. My legs finally ceased their flailing and fell still behind me, simply dangling from my fathers' lap, crossed at the ankles and tensing in anticipation of every swat.....not as if that helped much. I clung to his ankle with all of my hand strength and just cried, softly but openly.

Finally the paddling stopped and was almost immediately replaced by my Daddy's firm but loving hand. I hung from his lap and cried inconsolably as his hands firmly kneaded my punished skin. He released the hand he had pinned to the small of my back and with his right hand, softly stroked my long, red, flowing hair. I slowed my breathing and began to dip into my subspace. He said nothing to me audibly, but he didn't have to, his touch and attentiveness told me all I needed to know......lesson #1 for the day was complete and I had been granted his forgiveness.

I sniffled and closed my eyes, still holding tightly to his ankle and his right hand entwined in my hair. His left hand ceased the firm kneading and he began to lightly trace his fingertips over the smoking hot skin. An entirely different sensation that I absolutely love....and he knows it. I could have quite happily stayed like this all afternoon.......ahh but we did have the remainder of my punishment list to get through, no didn't we?

*sighs*

Damn the luck!

**************TO BE CONTINUED*****************

Discipline of a Naughty Irish Imp

Naughty Irish Imp

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Uncharacteristic Naughtiness (Part #2)

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