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.
