Taken in Hand

“Eleanor, come on. If you want a lift, you need to hurry up. I am going to be late for work.”

My dom’s deep voice booms throughout the house. As I lay awake last night, I promised myself I wouldn’t cave at the sound of his voice. But it is so deep yet so calm, so rich and yet so cold, that I can’t help but shudder. Even by his voice you can tell that the man means business. That is just as well because he is, after all, a doctor. If I was sick, I would be glad to have him take care of me. He is so assertive that you can’t help melt at his command. But I can’t melt, not today, because today I have a huge presentation at work. If I don’t go, my intern will have to take over. Do I feel bad putting my workload onto an unsuspecting college graduate? Sure. Is that enough to stop me skiving? No. And so instead of calling out “Yes, Sir”, I reply with:“Daddy, I don’t feel good.”

Silence. And then his footsteps which had been heading towards the front door change direction and pace. He is rapidly approaching our bedroom. I hop into bed and lay limp, clasping my thermometer. I pull the duvet up high and check myself over in my phone camera. Hair messy, face sweating, eyes droopy? He’ll never suspect a thing. No sooner, the door swings open and there is my husband, wearing his deep blue scrubs. Damn this man is so hot. He looks me over, concern written across his face.

“What’s wrong, princess?” he asks, approaching me quickly. I cough.

“I don’t know, Daddy. When I woke up, I was just fine, but now…” I stop to add in some more coughs.

“You do look pretty rough,” he says softly, rubbing a hand up and down my body. “My poor baby.”I almost feel bad for tricking him like this. A part of me wants to tell him I magically feel better and get on with the day. But then I remember the presentation.

“I can barely stand without getting dizzy. And I’m flashing hot and cold.”

He touches the back of his hand to my forehead. “Hm, you are pretty warm.” Yep. That’s because I put a hot flannel on my head a couple of minutes ago. I hold the thermometer up, which was also dipped in boiling water.

“And look!” I say. “My temperature is 100 degrees!”

Damian squints at the thermometer.

“My goodness, baby. You’re showing symptoms of the flu. You can’t go to work like that.”I sit up slowly, wincing at my ‘pain’. “What? But my presentation!”

Damian presses me back down gently. “Ah, ah. Careful. The presentation can wait. You need rest; doctor’s orders.” He fixes me with a stern look, wagging his finger at me. I blush and lean back.

“If you say so…”

“Promise Daddy you’ll rest today?”

I smile softly. “I promise, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he says. He checks his watch. “Right, I gotta go. Text me if you need me.” Damian swipes some hair from my face and kisses my forehead. And with that, he is gone and my self-curated holiday begins.

I wait for his car to pull out of the driveway before scuttling to the kitchen. Since Daddy isn’t here, I decide to take as many liberties as possible. First, I fix up an ice cream sundae for breakfast. Satisfied with the mound of strawberry sauce and sprinkles, I head into the living room. There, I rendezvous with all my stuffed animals. The consensus between us all is that we should sit on the couch all day watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy. Daddy hates this show because of all the medical inaccuracies, so now is the perfect time to watch it. I settle in, giggling to myself.

I become so engrossed in the show that I don’t even notice the sun slowly dipping out of the sky. I dip in and out of the kitchen with snacks. Soon, I hear the gravel crunching outside the front door. I freeze. Oh fuck. Daddy is home. The living room looks like a bomb has gone off. There’s food wrappers and bowls and colouring stuff everywhere. All of the medicine in the cabinet will be perfectly in place, since I haven’t touched it, since, you know, I’m not ill! Okay, stay calm, Eleanor. All will be well. I hop up and scramble around, throwing garbage in the bin, splashing warm water on my face to get my temperature up. At least I’m still in my pyjamas and my hair is messy so I look somewhat like I’ve been resting.

“Eleanor?” Damian calls out in the hallway. “Your phone is blowing up. Didn’t you call in sick?” Oh shit. No I didn’t. I hear his footsteps head upstairs, only to find me not in the bedroom. He comes back down and then the kitchen door swings open, where I am just about to chuck a candy wrapper in the bin.

“Babe, your phone is— what are you doing?” Damian’s eyes narrow on me. I chuck the wrapper in the bin and slam it close.

“Oh, nothing, Daddy, I was just cleaning.” He hands me my phone, eyebrow raised. “Right. I did tell you to rest, though.”

“I know, Daddy,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “But I still wanted to clean up after myself.” He pauses before smiling. “That’s good of you, baby.”Guilt settles in my chest. Damian plants a kiss on my forehead, then freezes. Then kisses me again.

“Your forehead is pretty cool now. Feeling better?”

“Uhm, I had some medicine. It brought my temperature right down.”“We don’t have any medicine.” He holds up a brown paper bag. “I felt bad that I left you without any. I texted to let you know I was bringing some.” He puts the paper bag down and folds his arms. “Eleanor, you better start talking now.”I sigh. “Alright, fine. Maybe I wasn’t ill.”Daddy’s eyes harden. “Excuse me?”

I gulp. “I was nervous about the presentation so I…”“You skived?” I step back slowly, nodding. Damian grabs my wrist and pulls me back.

“Absolutely not, little girl. Come here.” He lowers himself slightly so that we are at eye level. “You’re in so much trouble. It is one thing to lie. It is another to do all these things to convince me you’re ill.”

“I’m really sorry, Daddy, I–”“I don’t want to hear it. Go wait for me in the living room.” I scuttle off while he heads towards the stairs. That can’t be good. When he returns and sees all my stuffies and wrappers lying around, he just shakes his head and sits down on the sofa. He crooks a finger at me, beckoning me over. I stand between his legs as he sets down a thermometer and the lexan paddle. He tugs at the waistband of my pyjama bottoms.

“Take these down.” Quickly I tug my pyjama bottoms down. He tilts his head, looking at my panties.

“Mmm, they can go down, too.” I open my mouth to protest but he holds a finger up and says “If I hear one word, I will start with the paddle.”

I mutter “yes, Daddy,” as I pull my panties down.

“You know what to do next. Over you go.” Bowing my head, I drape myself over Daddy’s lap.

“Since u wanna lie about a fever, I’ll give u a nice warm ass to sit on,” he says dryly as I shuffle about.

As soon as I’m situated, he starts spanking me. Hard. I bury my head in the pillows as his hand rains down from cheek to cheek. I kick my legs a few times, earning me hard swats on my thighs.

“Don’t you dare,” Daddy scolds as he spanks my bottom. “You know you deserve this punishment, so take it like a good girl.”“I didn’t mean to lie to you, Daddy!” I cry out. This only makes him spank me harder.

“Yes you did,” he says sternly. “That was your exact plan. Trick Daddy into thinking you’re sick so you can have an easy day.”“But presentations are scaryyy,” I whine, a sudden sense of injustice overtaking me. Daddy shifts me so my bottom is higher in the air then really sets about teaching me a lesson. His hand becomes more rigid and the spanks really start to set my bottom on fire.

“How about less excuses and more accountability?”

He spanks me for another few minutes before eventually settling to a stop. I breathe out, proud of myself for taking that spanking. I expect a few rubs with a final scolding. Instead, I feel him spreading my cheeks slightly before inserting the cool metal thermometer. I gasp but am too embarrassed to say anything. Once it has taken a reading, he holds it in front of me.

“What’s your temperature, Eleanor?” he asks calmly.

“Thirty-seven, Daddy,” I say remorsefully.

“Mhm. A perfectly average thirty-seven. So that is how many whacks you’re getting with the paddle.”

My head snaps towards him. I am ready to argue but the fire in his eyes keeps me quiet. Sniffling, I crawl from his lap and bend over the end of the couch. The cool, smooth texture of the paddle taps against my bottom.

“This is going to hurt,” Damian says. “I hope you learn your lesson.”No sooner, the first swat rips through the air and sends shockwaves through my bottom. I want to break position, to run away, but Daddy doesn’t give me a chance. I think he knows that if he takes too long with each swat it’ll be mental torture for me. And he doesn’t want to hurt me; he just wants to correct me. So I whimper and cry, full sobbing tears, as Daddy tears my bottom up with the paddle. He uses the paddle solely for really bad infractions like this, and I can see why. I don’t think I’ll ever sit properly again.

“Alright, we’re on the last seven. I want you to count them out and thank me after each one.”“Yes, Daddy,” I say through gulping sobs. The first one comes quick, and it is much harder than the previous thirty.

“One, thank you, Daddy!”SMACK.

“Ow, ow! Two, thank you, Daddy!”

The next two come down so quick that my brain hardly has time to register them.

“Mmmff fuck, three, four, thank you, Daddy!”

“For that language, you just earned another swat. Now, arch that back,” Damian says, tapping my back gently with the paddle. Fuck him. Fuck this. Fuck everyth–

SMACK.

“Five, thank you, Daddy!”SMACK SMACK SMACK.“Six, seven, e-eight. T-thank you, Daddy!”

After the final swat, I collapse onto the sofa. Daddy scoops me up and we sit there for a while in silence as he strokes my hair.

“Shh, little one,” he coos. “It’s all over.”

It takes me a while to catch my breath but soon enough I feel calm. My ass feels like it’s been dipped in lava, though. I try to rub it but Daddy moves my hands.

“Not just yet, sweetheart. First, you’re going to go write an apology to your colleagues and your boss for the inconvenience. Don’t worry, you don’t have to give it to them. I don’t want you to lose your job, so tomorrow you will tell them you were sick and forgot to call. But, on paper, I want a hypothetical apology. What you did and why it was wrong. Can you do that?”I nod and stand, reaching for my panties and pyjama bottoms. Daddy is quicker than me, swooping them off the ground. “I think I’ll hang on to those. You can go sit at the table.”The wooden table with the wooden chairs. Great. Daddy sets about cooking dinner. He makes my favourite, mac and cheese. I can already tell the aftercare is going to be blissful. This motivates me to finish my punishment. I sit my burning red bottom on a chair, hissing at the pain. I write out an apology letter, which is both meaningful and true. After that punishment, I truly am sorry. After all, you know what they say. A spanking a day keeps the brattiness away.