Home Alone 89

He, her loving Daddy Dom, was out of town that weekend. She, his loving sub, couldn't help herself. He'd left explicit instructions for her to eat healthy, get enough sleep, and slow down on the alcohol while he was away.

She'd done none of those things. The morning after, she looked around the kitchen, with the half-eaten bucket of fried chicken, the chocolate cake with its thick frosting, and the finished bottle of expensive champagne. Prosecco, her favorite. She had a headache from drinking the whole thing down yesterday. She'd enjoyed herself, watching trashy TV movies, lying around, hugging herself as she defied her Dom. The broccoli salad was untouched. The water, well, she'd drunk one bottle but not the three he'd laid out in the fridge. The pale steamed chicken lay flopped in a plastic container. It looked more scrawny and pasty today than it had last night. She wrinkled her nose.

She downed some aspirin and drank a bottle of water. Then, she made herself clean up, toss the evidence. She threw the pale chicken away but tried to work up some enthusiasm for the salad. Fortunately, she wasn't very hungry. She teetered on the edge of tossing the salad and chicken out, when she could face neither of them.

Daddy always said she could eat peanut butter and jelly once a day if she didn't get full on her good food.

So she scraped them into the garbage along with the remnants of her feast. She bagged up the garbage and put it outside. He would never know. He trusted her. He wouldn't think to dig through a garbage bag. She'd gotten away with it.

And yet, and yet, it bothered her all day. That was not how they worked. That was not the deal. She'd signed an agreement allowing him, her loving Daddy, to make her eat healthy, to make her drink water, limit sweets, and alcohol. Defying him, even when he was gone, should be punished.

But he wasn't there. And she was feeling more and more guilty with each passing moment. He wouldn't be home until the next day.

On one hand, she could have another party and live it up before her doom. On the other, she might be miserable keeping it from him.

Fortunately, it was taken out of her hands when he Facetimed her.

"How's my girl?" he asked.

She broke down immediately. "Terrible, Daddy. I did terrible things."

His brows raised. "Like what?"

She laid out her sins and watched his face darken. "I'm-I'm so sorry, Daddy."

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yes," she said softly.

"Well, good. Next time, ask me if you can have a cheat day. I might say yes." He looked at her sternly. "But you have to ask. Didn't we establish that in our rules?"

"Yes," she whispered. They had a pretty short list of rules but asking was on it. She hadn't thought to check with him. "I just thought you'd say no. You know, automatically?"

"So you broke the rules about eating and drinking because you thought I'd say no? Is that correct?"

"Yes, Daddy."

He sighed. "So you defied me on purpose."

"Yes, Daddy."

"You can expect consequences when I get home."

"Yes, Daddy." She paused. "But can I do something now?"

"Now? Are you feeling guilty?"

"I'm feeling extra guilty because I want more cake."

He out and out laughed at her. She blushed to the roots of her hair.

"You want to be bad again? So I'll punish you from here and then you'll go back and do it all over?"

"No, no. I want a punishment to help me remember not to do it."

"Oh, okay." He grinned. "But I can't stop you. I can only punish you."

"I know. But I like to be good, Daddy."

"Yes, Little One. I like you to be good, too. But it's nice sometimes when you're bad."

She pouted prettily.

"All right. Set up the phone where I can see you."

She hurried to place her phone propped up on the coffee table.

"Now," he said, "get the wooden spoon and the rubber spatula. Since you ate poorly, you'll use kitchen implements."

Her eyes were wide as she looked at him. "What does that mean?" She thought she'd have to write lines.

"It means you're going to punish yourself and let me watch. Now, go get the items."

Feet dragging, she went to the kitchen and retrieved the small wooden spoon and the blue rubber spatula. Both had left nasty marks on her behind before. She was not looking forward to feeling them again.

"Daddy," she said, holding them up so he could see.

"Yes, Little One?"

"I don't like this." She wanted to be over his warm lap, taken care of by his broad hand, and then the implements. They stung like fire but she loved the burn later, when he rubbed soothing salve into her punished flanks. Or when he allowed her to have an orgasm. Which probably wouldn't happen tonight. She was being punished.

And she decided she wanted to be good for her Daddy.

"I know. That's part of your punishment. If you want a Daddy spanking, you can't misbehave while I'm gone." He snapped his fingers. "Pull your panties down and lean over the couch. You need to give yourself ten spanks on each side. Wooden spoon first, then spatula. Count as you spank."

"Yes, Daddy," she said, still pouting. This was not what she wanted. This was not fun. There would be no hugs and kisses, no aftercare of any kind. She chewed her lip.

"Let's go or you'll be doing fifteen a side."

She groaned and knelt down. With shaking fingers, she pulled her skirt up and her panties down to her knees.

"Ten per side, don't skimp or you'll start over."

She picked up the spoon and felt the deceptive smoothness of the back. It was small, smooth, and light but it packed a punch. She smacked herself in the center of her cheek.

"Good girl," he said.

She smacked again and again, yipping and moving as the burn built. She counted breathlessly out loud.

Finally, she moved to the other side, though it was no better. She could feel the sting as she peppered herself with smacks. After ten on both sides, she was ready to be done.

"Daddy," she wailed. "It hurts."

"It's a spanking. It's supposed to hurt." He had no sympathy. He never did until they were done. No matter what implement he used, he gave her no quarter on punishment until he decided she'd had enough.

After that, he was the sweetest, kindest Daddy in the world.

But now he was all stern.

"Kitten, pick up the other implement. Ten on each side." His voice was implacable. "Let's go."

"You'll spank me again, won't you?" She was near tears.

"I'll make you wail, my darling. But now you have to do it yourself."

She gritted her teeth and picked up the fat spatula. She couldn't decide if it was worse than the spoon. They were both bad in their own way.

The first one stung so much she gasped.

"Harder," he said. "I want you to remember."

"No, Daddy," she said with tears in her voice.

"Again. We'll call that number one."

She hit herself harder and cried out her "one."

"That's it. I'm seeing some blushing on your beautiful ass. Let's make it red."

"Yes, Daddy."

She smacked herself again, still groaning and gritting her teeth. Ten whacks later and she was almost crying. Ten on the other side made the tears come. She dropped the spatula and cried into the couch.

"Good girl, good girl. You did." Her Daddy's voice was low and labored. He was breathing hard.

"Oh, Daddy. I want to suck you off," she said, turning around.

She watched as he came on his taut belly.

"I know you do. You can when I come home. After I take my belt to you."

She shivered. "Yes, Daddy."

"Because I don't think you're sorry enough for defying me."

"I'm very sorry."

"Maybe. But still, a lesson with the belt will do you some good."

"Yes," she said, looking at her hands. "You want me to stand in the corner?"

"No, darling. You need to sit on your mat for fifteen minutes. I'll stay with you."

She burst into tears. The mat was a bad punishment. It was supposed to be for people to wipe their feet on. It was full of bristles and wildly uncomfortable on a bare ass. Sometimes he made her sit on it first before spanking her, sometimes after.

This time would hurt with what was in effect two spankings.

Reluctantly, she dragged the mat over from its place in the closet. She placed it on the couch and slowly lowered herself down on it. The sweet bristly pain enveloped her. She wanted to rub herself between the legs but didn't dare with her Daddy watching.

"When the time is up, you can put some cream on your bottom."

"May I come, Daddy?"

He shook his head. "Your orgasms belong to me. Extra punishment if you break that rule."

She nodded. It wasn't worth it. He once didn't let her come for a month, even though he teased her unmercifully. She accidentally came and her bottom paid for it. Then he started the time over. He fucked her good during that time but never let her get her own release. By the time it was over, she was begging him on a daily basis. When he did let her come, she almost passed out. It was that good.

After fifteen minutes of trying not to move, though the bristles were itchy and some of them were sticking into her butthole and vagina, she was allowed to stand, pull up her panties, put the mat away, and wash the implements.

"I love you so much, my girl," her Daddy said. "You did well and I'll reward you when I get home. You deserve extra aftercare. Make sure you drink your water and put some soothing oil on your bottom, darling."

"Yes, Daddy." She got on her knees in front of the coffee table. "I love you, too."

She couldn't wait for him to get home.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her. She was biting her lip, slipping her fingers into her panties.

"Bad girl," he said. He could tell what she was doing.

"I don't care," she whispered as she circled her clit. "I want it all."

He grinned.

As she came, long and hard, she knew he would punish her fully when he got home.