Knox stood up and pushed my upper half over the bed. “Stay bent over,” he said.
I tried to regain my breath and steady my raging emotions. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t process. All I could do was stare at my spread fingers against the bedspread as I heard the sound of a belt being removed from the loops of Knox’s pants.
“Every single night and every single morning you will receive a lashing from my belt. The severity will all depend on how good of a girl you have been leading up to it.”
Before I could process his words, the stinging crash of leather against skin had me howling out. The pain radiated all the way to my needy pussy, only intensifying my out-of-control hunger.
“Please,” I pleaded as he whipped me once again.
“Yes, sparrow. Keep begging.”
“Are you begging for me to stop belting you, or to fuck you?”
He brought the belt down against my sensitive ass again but rather than crying, I moaned.
The belt fell upon me again, and I moaned some more.
“Little pain slut. You like when Daddy spanks your ass as you pray he will eventually fuck you.”
Tears of shame and humiliation fell as my orgasm built inside of me. My body became more alive with every searing swat. Yes. I wanted to be fucked. I wanted to be fucked hard. But not before he finished the discipline. The most twisted and sexual punishment one could imagine. My mind screamed no. My ass screamed for mercy. But my core, my inner being, my soul begged for more.
Just as the most intense explosion was about to release, Knox ceased the spanking.
I cried out even louder than I ever did during the spanking.
“Yes, my shattered sparrow. I am going to enjoy this very much.”
I heard the sound of his footsteps approach the door, and I turned my head to see him holding the door handle. My heart fell to my stomach as I still remained in position for more.
“No,” I whispered so low that I was sure Knox couldn’t hear me. I didn’t want him to leave. No.
“Tomorrow I’ll be back. You just earned yourself two credits.”
Again and again, I awoke with a lashing. I went to bed sore from the strike of Knox’s hand on my sore ass. I awoke to an excruciating session with the paddle, and went to bed with the kiss of his belt once again. Over and over the routine continued. One credit at a time.
One excruciating earned credit at a time.
The days were filled with other acts of submission. Long hours kneeling or standing at attention for whenever, wherever, and for however long Knox felt needed. He touched me, but never enough. And that was the worst part. Over and over he would slap, pinch, touch parts of my body and bring me right to the edge of ecstasy, only to pull away and leave me with the worst need imaginable. Every hour my hunger for him grew. Every second my lust intensified. I dreamed of his touch, and I fantasized of the day he would finally put his cock inside of me.
But he never did.
That was my punishment.
That was my penance.
And oh, how I paid, suffered, and slowly earned one credit at a time. I cried. I pleaded. I begged for more. I had no shame or pride left. I longed for Knox to be near and never leave me, and when he did leave for the night, I sobbed for hours waiting for sunlight to come, for it brought the return of my monster. If Knox had thought I was broken before, and that I was his shattered sparrow… I couldn’t imagine what I had become now. My only strength was when he was near. My body craved him like a drug, and I was weak without him. So fucking weak. He was my Monster of Mercy, and he truly had mastered my body. When he said I was his—that my body was his—I’d had no idea how correct he would be.
“Are you a good girl or a bad girl?” he asked as he had grown accustomed to asking all the mornings he arrived in a new crisp suit with an unbuttoned white shirt at the neck.
“What do you want me to be?” I answered like I always did right before he would take his belt and run it along my punished and upturned flesh after he spanked me.
“Today I want you to be bad. I want you to talk dirty to me so I can punish that mouth of yours.”
I turned my head just enough to see him towering over me as I was bent over the bed and gave a wicked smirk. “Fuck you, Daddy. Fuck you.”
We had played this game in the past. He would force me to act out just so he could punish me more severely. Often times he would have Gage record these acts for Oz to view. He seemed to like it most when I punched or kicked, and especially when I called him names. He seemed fueled by my mock hatred of him, though we both knew it was all for show. He knew how desperate I was for more. He could see the arousal coat my pussy and dampen my inner thighs. He would wipe at my tears of frustration as my stomach tightened and cramped from a growing need for release never to be granted. He would make promises that if I was a good girl, that maybe someday I would get a taste of Daddy’s cock.