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Home / Stormy Night Publications Newsletter / In Daddy’s Custody by Kelly Dawson – Extended Preview

In Daddy’s Custody by Kelly Dawson – Extended Preview

“Have you forgotten what I promised to do to you if you swore at me again?” I ask, deliberately giving her a chance to back down, apologise, make amends. But she has other ideas.

“Go to hell, asshole.”

I let go of her chin, but I take hold of her upper arm instead, gripping her firmly. She’s thrown out a challenge, and I’m going to rise to it. If she thought I was bluffing before with my threat, she’s going to learn that I’m not. I don’t bluff. I don’t make promises that I don’t intend to keep, and I don’t make threats that I’m not fully capable of carrying out.

I get to my feet, tugging her up at the same time. She fights me, pulling back, but I don’t let go. I’m done with her nonsense. She’s coming with me and she’s in for a reckoning.

“What has gotten into you, Jade?” I growl as I haul her out into the aisle, transferring my grasp from her arm to the back of her neck and propelling her forward, just as I did the last time we walked this way together. “I gave you a chance to settle down, to make peace, to do this the easy way. And what do…” Before I can finish my sentence, Jade cuts me off, spitting venomously over her shoulder at me.

“Make peace? You don’t want to make fucking peace, you want to control me. You want me to be a good little puppet, dancing to your strings.”

It annoys me that she’s misunderstanding me so hugely. Is she doing it deliberately? Strings? Puppets?

“I’d be happy if you just spoke to me politely,” I reply. “I don’t need a dancing puppet. A bit of respect would be nice, though.”

“Respect goes both ways, Jaxon,” she hisses.

What? I look at her, aghast, so shocked by her implied accusation that I stop dead, right there in the middle of the aisle, half a metre away from the privacy of the toilets. Is she seriously suggesting that I’ve been anything less than respectful in my dealings with her? I shake my head, then propel her forward again, ushering her into the same bathroom I attempted—and evidently failed—to correct her behaviour in just a few hours ago.

Once we’re inside the tiny cubicle with the door locked, I hold her arm tightly, and grab the liquid soap dispenser out of the holder.

“Open your mouth,” I command.

“I don’t fucking think so.”

“I don’t remember giving you a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” she snarls, venom dripping from her tone. She’s not backing down. She’s not going to make this easy.

Replacing the container of soap in its holder, I spin Jade sideways slightly, pinning her to my hip, and spank her bottom hard, fast, three times. My hand stings, so I know her ass hurts, but she refuses to react.

“Either you open your mouth for the soap, or these pants come down and you’ll get this spanking on your bare bottom.”

That gets a reaction. I try not to let it show how satisfied I am when she looks at me, bitter and furious, but grudgingly opens her mouth. Quickly, before she changes her mind and closes it and the battle starts all over again, I hold the dispenser at the edge of her mouth and press the plunger down, squirting a stream of thick white soap onto her tongue.

Immediately, she screws up her face and I’m sure she’s about to spit it out, so I press my hand under her chin, lifting her face up.

“No, you can keep that in there for a bit and think about why you have soap in your mouth.”

She shakes her head frantically, looking at me with tear-filled eyes, silently begging me to have mercy on her. I don’t. Not yet. I count steadily to twenty in my head.

“I told you what would happen if you used that kind of language, and I gave you multiple chances. But you kept on challenging me, didn’t you, little girl? You kept on pushing—you just had to see whether or not I would follow through. Well, now you know.”

Jade looks pretty desperate now; tears stream down her cheeks and her face is screwed up in disgust. Hopefully she’s learning her lesson. Taking pity on her, I let her go.

“Go on, spit it out.”

She leans over the tiny aircraft sink, spitting repeatedly, her shoulders shuddering and making wretched gagging noises. She’s quiet every few seconds, resting her forehead on the cool wall, probably working her tongue around the inside of her mouth in an attempt to get rid of the last of the soap residue, and spits some more. It’s a long time before she straightens up, but she still doesn’t face me. When she finally does, she’s composed. All traces of her tears and soap have gone. She looks me in the eye.

“I hate you,” she hisses.

I don’t react. I want to—I’m shocked that after what I just did to her she can still speak to me with such venom—but I don’t let her see that. Instead, I look at her calmly, my hands by my sides. Unthreatening, but commanding.

“I promised you another sore bottom. You know the drill by now,” I snap gruffly. “Hands on the wall, bend over, legs apart, ass out.” I bark orders abruptly, in no mood to muck around. If she disobeys me after what just happened, God help me…

Fortunately, Jade seems to find her sense. Without a word, she gets herself into the position I just demanded. Her hands are clenched tightly into fists as she braces her knuckles against the wall. She grits her teeth. Her body is stiff. She’s obviously learning a little bit; she’s not fighting me. Hopefully she’s going to accept her punishment.

“Get it over with then,” she snarls. “Beat me into submission again.”

Damn. She’s just dashed my optimism with those ten furious words.

“I’m not going to beat you, Jade. I’m going to spank you.” Why is this so difficult for her to understand? ‘Beating’ connotes extreme violence. It does to me, anyway. Although violence is not foreign to me, I don’t consider myself to be a violent man. And surely Jade is not so naïve that she thinks the spankings she’s been on the receiving end of so far are senseless, violent acts.

Jade just snorts. “Stop kidding yourself that there’s a difference. You beat my ass within five minutes of meeting me, and you’ve been getting off on doing it ever since.”

“Getting off?” I scoff. “No, Jade, I haven’t been getting off on disciplining you.” But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wonder if they’re true. Jade has an eminently spankable ass. Full and rounded, with the perfect amount of jiggle. And although I don’t enjoy causing her pain, my cock is definitely getting hard at the thought of it.

Fuck. She’s right.

“I do not get off on spanking you, Jade,” I say firmly, trying to convince myself as much as her. “I want to protect you, guide you, care for you. I want your respect. Your friendship. I don’t get off on tanning your backside.”

A small smile slowly creeps across her face. “Yes, you do,” she insists smugly. “Or you wouldn’t be arguing against it so hard.”

“No.” I shake my head. I refuse to believe that there’s any truth in her words, even as I secretly acknowledge that there might be. “I don’t enjoy it, but it’s necessary. You refuse to behave appropriately. You seem to think the rules of society don’t apply to you, and you can do whatever the hell you want, whenever the hell you want to do it.”

“I can.” She shrugs, like she really doesn’t see the problem in her admission. Then her shoulders slump a bit and she looks slightly defeated. “Well, I could,” she admits. “It doesn’t seem to be working out so well anymore. I can still taste that awful soap. Why would you do that to me?”

I do my best to hide my smirk.

Straightening up, she takes her hands down off the wall and lets them fall to her sides as she turns to face me. “Look, I’m sorry. Okay?” Guilt flashes briefly across her face. Maybe her rebelliousness is an act she feels compelled to keep up.

“Let’s just go back to our seats. You don’t have to do this, Jaxon.” She gives me her best puppy eyes—a look I’m sure both her father and Richard have fallen for dozens, if not hundreds, of times. I’m tempted to cave, myself. But I steel myself and shake my head, turning her around firmly by the shoulders and putting her back into position, making my intentions clear.

“You and I both know that’s not true. If I don’t follow through on this punishment, you’ve never going to trust me to keep my word.”

“I hate you.” she says again, as if that’s the only insult she can think of without swearing and earning herself another mouth soaping.

The fact that she appears to have learned at least part of her lesson gives me hope, but then again, she’s not backing down, so maybe she is just an insufferable brat.

Maybe it’s the reasonable adult thing that’s an act. Aggravated, I clench my jaw almost as tightly as I clench my fists. I thought I’d spanked her pretty hard the last time I had her in this bathroom, but her behaviour right now suggests otherwise. I’m clearly going to have to put a lot more power behind the swats this time. Unless… I glance down at her footwear. She’s wearing cute little strappy sandals. Black, with diamantes on them. Or something sparkly, anyway. I’m not totally up with the play on girly fashion. But they’ve got a flat sole and no heel. Perfect.

“Give me your shoe,” I demand.

“What?” She looks over her shoulder at me, thoroughly confused.

“Your shoe,” I repeat, pointing down at her sandal. “Give it to me.”

“Why?” she asks, making no move to obey.

“I’m going to spank you with it,” I tell her matter-of-factly, trying to hide my smile as she takes this in, and a look of horror creeps across her face. Maybe she’s right—maybe I am an asshole. A gentleman certainly wouldn’t be amused by her discomfort.

“Oh, hell no, you’re not!” She spins around and tries to shove her way past me. Her body language screams escape! But I’m not about to let her go so easily. I grab her shoulders and stop her, turning her back around so she’s facing the wall again.

“You’re not going anywhere, little girl. You are getting a spanking. My hand clearly wasn’t enough to drive the lesson home last time, and there’s not enough room for me to swing my belt in here, so either you give me your shoe, or I’ll take your pants down and spank your bare bottom. What’s it to be?” I intentionally roughen my voice, making myself sound as hard and stern as possible.

She’s breathing hard. It’s not exactly quiet in here—the engine noise is loud—but I can hear each heavy breath over the roar of the engines. I can almost see her churning her options over in her mind. I wait. Something tells me she’s going to make a decision soon enough. She’s already proven that trying to escape is futile.

I want her to refuse. If she does, I’ll have the perfect excuse to peel down those tight white linen pants that outline her ass so perfectly and bare her right here. My cock twitches at the thought of reddening her bare bottom. I hold her gaze, daring her to refuse. Daring her to force my hand.

Eventually, after what seems like an age, she bends down and slips her sandal off her foot, handing it to me as she straightens up. She’s fearful, I can tell. She’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and there’s a wariness in her eyes. Her body language is screaming ‘demure’ and ‘submission’ but it’s also obvious that she’s fighting it. The sensible part of her clearly wants to surrender, to obey me and save her hide, but the stubborn part of her (the biggest part?) is refusing to let her.

I take her sandal, weighing it in my hand, turning it over to look at the sole. It’s not heavy, but it’s rigid and hard, and I’ve no doubt it will pack a sting. I won’t even have to wallop her very hard to leave her sore and distressed.

“Hands against the wall, bottom out,” I tell her quietly, and, to my surprise, she obeys. Perhaps the sensible part of her is winning out over the stubborn. That’s what I hope, anyway. If she can rein in that stubborn rebelliousness of hers, we might actually enjoy our time together in New Zealand before her father arrives and she starts filming, and I walk out of her life forever.

Except I don’t want to walk out of her life forever. Just the thought of it brings a pang to my heart. Maybe I’m kidding myself, but I’m starting to build a rapport with her. There’s the beginning of a bond between us, at least most of the time I think there is. I can see the potential in her. Jade Owens: movie star. It’s got a nice ring to it, and I can imagine her on the red carpet, hamming it up for photographers, in her element. I shake my head. Right now, she’s Jade Owens: brat. And part of me likes that part of her, too. Or the challenge of taming her, at least.

I slap the sole of the sandal against my palm, not very hard, and wince at the sting it imparts. But I nod, satisfied. In just a few minutes, Jade Owens: brat will have disappeared and I’ll be left with Jade Owens: one very sore and sorry little girl.

Jade hisses in pain and rises up on her toes as the first swat of her sandal lands hard against her left butt cheek. I repeat the swat on her right cheek, using a decent amount of force, and a little squeak escapes her lips. This sandal is obviously very effective—it’s clear she’s feeling this already and the spanking has barely begun.

Two more good smacks have her whimpering and squirming.

I let my arm, and the sandal, drop to my side and I reach for her with my left hand, tangling my fingers in her hair, tugging her head back so I can look down into her face.

“Are you learning your lesson yet, little girl?” I growl.

“Y-yes,” she whimpers. “Please, Jaxon, I’m sorry. Truly.”

I frown, letting go of her hair and pushing her back into position. The hand I used to tug her hair trails down her body, wrapping around her waist, holding her steady. I think I’m starting to get through to her, but she needs a few more yet.

With my arm around her waist, her bottom is pushed out more, in a much better position for me to spank, and I land a hard whack right across the middle of her bottom. She stifles a cry against her forearm, and I repeat the whack, slightly harder, smacking the sandal down exactly where it just landed. She jolts upright this time, and even though I’m holding her so she can’t stand up properly, she’s no longer bent over and accepting her spanking. Both her hands fly behind her, rubbing frantically at her burning ass.

“Get back into position,” I growl. “Or I’ll smack your hands.”

“No.” There’s that snarl again, the stubborn side of her overriding her sensibilities. I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten what I’m capable of. Her sheer determination is admirable, but it must be reined in.

“Yes,” I reply, equally as forcefully, giving her a second to obey. When she doesn’t, I raise the sandal and bring it down with a flick of my wrist, aiming carefully for the fleshy part of the back of her hand, between her knuckles and wrist. I know the nuns at the convent school my aunties attended in the sixties rapped wooden rulers directly across knuckles, but personally, I think the practice is barbaric. The thought of bruising Jade’s knuckles is horrifying to me. I do want to remind her that I’m in charge, though. So hopefully the light-but-stingy swat to the back of her hand will be enough.

It is.

She yelps in pain, ripping both her hands away, cradling the sore one, rubbing the red splotch frantically.

“Hands on the wall, bend over, bottom out,” I command and, mercifully, she does it.

I wrap my arm around her waist again just as I held her before, helping her stay still. I draw my arm back and slap Jade’s sandal hard against the lower part of her bottom, right where her ass meets her thighs. She squirms and hisses in pain but doesn’t struggle to get away. Obviously she’s learning. I repeat the smack on the other side, punishing her sit spots evenly. Left. Right. Left. Right. Middle.

And that’s all it takes. Seven good whacks. The change in my charge is instant.

Jade’s shoulders shake, either from sobs or from the effort of holding them back. Her body is limp, and if it wasn’t for my arm around her waist holding her up, she’d probably collapse against the wall. She’s surrendered to my authority completely.

Propping Jade’s shoe carefully on the side of the basin, I turn her so she’s facing me, then I draw her in to my chest. She needs comfort now, and that’s exactly what I’m going to give her.

The accusations she made earlier, about me not liking her or caring about her, come back to haunt me now, and I wrap her tightly in my arms, rubbing her hair comfortingly, whispering soothing words to her. I want to show her that I do care—that yes, I will punish her when necessary, but I’ll tend to her afterwards, too. I’m not just going to drag her back to her seat afterwards. I swallow. Maybe that was the mistake I made last time? This time, I’m going to give her all the time she needs, and all the comfort she needs. It’s me and her, and I want her to know that she can rely on me. For everything. I press a soft kiss to her temple. More than anything, I want her to know that I care.

“Shhh,” I whisper against her hair. “It’s okay. It’s all over. You’re okay.”

She feels so tiny in my arms; her body is so small pressed against mine. She feels so fragile, so vulnerable. Once again, my protective instincts are firing on all cylinders.

Tentatively, I slide my right hand—the hand that held the sandal that spanked her—down her spine, and let it rest right there on her tailbone for a second, before I slip it lower, rubbing her scorched bottom through her pants. Even through the linen, I can feel the heat. She stiffens at first, but then relaxes against my touch, settling into my arms, even hugging me back in return.

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