Chapter 12

Despite the factthat I'd gone to bed earlier than I was used to, I awoke much later than usual, with Lennon's arms wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me close.

"Daddy," I whispered, turning to face him.

"Hmmm?" His answer was a sleepy mutter; his eyes were still closed.

"Let me up." I could have stayed wrapped in his embrace all morning and well into the day, but I was an old lady and nature was calling.

"No way," Lennon murmured, his head rolling to rest in the dip of my decolletage. "I've got you right where I want you."

"I have to pee," I informed him.

"Oh, fine."

He loosened his grip and I rolled out of his embrace, padding off to the restroom. When I was finished, I brushed my teeth and fluffed my hair with my fingers, pinching my cheeks to give them that natural rosy glow. I was tempted to swipe mascara or dab on some lipstick to keep Lennon from seeing me in the au naturel morning state my ex never appreciated, but I reminded myself that Lennon was not Albert, and rejoined him in bed.

At least, I tried to. That had been the plan, but when I came back to the bedroom Lennon wasn't there and the bed was empty.

Odd, but not a big deal. Intent on finding him, I shrugged on a cozy robe and slid my feet into the matching slippers.

I found him at the front door, holding it open with one foot while wrestling with a classroom-sized blackboard on wheels, and watched with a confused frown as he pulled it inside and set it up in a corner of the living room.

He waited a beat, cocked his head as if listening for something, and pulled the door open again, this time returning with two coffees and a bag from the bakery down the street.

He handed me one of the drinks and strolled into the kitchen where he put a blueberry crumble muffin on a plate, zapped it in the microwave, and served it to me in my breakfast nook before opening the bag again and pulling out an onion bagel and a cream cheese packet. He made up his own much healthier plate and slid into the nook across from me.

"Thank you for breakfast, but what's with all the deliveries this morning?"

Lennon shrugged. "Just a few things we needed."

"Hmmm," I hummed, sipping the cappuccino and picking off a chunk of muffin before popping it in my mouth. "I don't know if that's true. My hips certainly didn't need this muffin," I said, looking down ruefully. "A minute on the lips, forever on the hips." I raised my brows and perfected a fake glare aimed in his direction. "I notice your own breakfast is much healthier."

Lennon shrugged. "I'll trade, if you want. I like bagels. I don't know you well enough yet to know your breakfast food of choice, but I do know at our first meeting in the cafe you ordered a cappuccino and a blueberry crumble muffin."

I stared at him, swallowing around the lump in my throat. Of course, I hadn't remembered what I'd ordered at that first meeting. I'd been too nervous to taste it, but he had remembered. Maybe I'd been in a loveless, neglectful marriage for too long, but that choked me up inside.

I managed a smile around the tears threatening to spill. "This is perfect. I love it. I can't have it every day, though."

"We can eat healthy tomorrow," he promised, taking the last bite of his bagel and chewing while I did the same.

The sweetness of his breakfast gesture had almost distracted me from the strangeness of his other delivery, but as we stood from the table, I remembered. "What"s with the blackboard?"

Lennon smiled, the smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and showed off his dimples. "I told you. The student is becoming the teacher."

He took my hand and guided me into the living room where the blackboard stood tall, dwarfing the room.

"You did say that," I agreed, choking back laughter. "I just didn"t expect you to mean it quite so literally, and I certainly didn't expect there to be a blackboard involved."

Lennon just grinned and led me to the couch.

When I sat, he crossed the room and stood next to the board, grabbing a piece of chalk from a box on the bottom lip.

"Lesson #1", he wrote at the top.

Was I taking things too far and too literal with the chalkboard? Maybe so, but at least I was having fun doing it. I was still in a bad mood from last night, but I was determined to ignore the bad feelings about my friends and concentrate on Zoe. She was, quite literally, my dream woman, and I wasn't about to fuck that up. Not over alcohol, and not over my friends and their stupid preconceived notions.

With sleep had come clarity, and I'd realized that their misguided perceptions of me were just as much my fault as theirs. I'd spent far too long playing the role in public, all the while knowing full well I wasn't the person they thought I was. My fault. And eventually I'd fix it.

Today, though, I just wanted to have some fun.

On the board under Lesson Number One, I wrote "Always use Titles", smirking when I saw Zoe react exactly how I thought she would. Raising my brows at her, I looked down my nose, and for the first time ever wished I hadn't been born with twenty-twenty vision.

"Is there a problem, Ms. Kramer?"

"What? Oh no, Sir, no problems here." A lovely blush rode up her pale cheeks as she pulled her robe closer to her body.

"Very good. Stand, please."

But Zoe had fallen right into the role of bratty student and did not obey. "Daddy… Sir… I mean, um, Professor Ames…"

She raised her hand halfway and blinked innocently. Just the expression on her face made my dick hard.

"Yes, Ms. Kramer?"

"Sir, I've already passed this lesson several times. I think I need to be moved into a more…. advanced… class."

The innuendo was clear. Heat rose up my chest, making me glad I hadn't bothered to dress while she was in the restroom. I wanted to cart her off to the bedroom for lesson number two right then, but I forced myself to stay in character.

"This is a review lesson, Ms. Kramer. If you pass it you'll move on to the next lesson."

"Oh, I'll pass it," Zoe said, her voice full of determination and innuendo. "With honors."

Damn. My cock was rock-hard now, tenting my sweatpants. She had to notice, but she didn't say anything, and kept her gaze trained somewhere between my face and my chest.

"Well, we'll just see about that." I cleared my throat. "Stand please, Ms. Kramer."

She obeyed this time, looking nervous and yet also intrigued as she rose to her feet.

I moved to grab the cane I'd stashed while she was in the bathroom, curling it into my fist, enjoying the way her eyes widened when she stared at it. I was pretty sure I could see the goosebumps rising on her skin.

"I'm going to ask you a bunch of questions, and each time you answer, you must use my appropriate title. If you don't you'll get six strokes of the cane."

Her head bobbed up and down, her red-silver curls bouncing. "Yes, Sir… um… Daddy… Um Professor Ames…" She frowned and asked in an overdramatic whisper, "Um… which title did you want me to use?"

"Sir or Daddy is fine," I answered, smiling indulgently. "Are you ready for your questions?"

"Yes, Sir."

I started with the easy stuff. "What is your full name?"

"Zoe Rose Kramer."

Blinking at how quickly she'd forgotten, I waited a beat for her to realize her mistake.

"Oh!" She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Shoot!" she cried when she removed it. "I mean, Zoe Rose Kramer, Sir!"

I shook my head. "Well Miss Zoe Rose Kramer, you are not doing well in school, it seems. And Daddy doesn't like it when you forget your lessons. Come to the front of the classroom, please."

I saw amusement warring with disappointment on her delicate features as she stood and shuffled over to me. Taking her by the shoulders, I turned her away from me. "Take off your robe."

She responded with a soft sigh before obeying, untying the belt that held it closed and slipping it off her shoulders.

"You messed that up pretty quickly," I remarked as she tossed the robe onto a nearby chair. "Are you sure you weren't testing me?"

"No, Sir, I wasn't. I just… was expecting yes or no questions."

"I see. Well, there won't be too many of those, so I suggest you acclimate quickly or you'll be very sore before our exercise is over. Bend over and touch your toes."

The over-the-shoulder look she shot at me suggested she wasn't amused with my instruction, but she quickly obeyed.

"You're getting six," I reminded her, tapping the thin cane against her stretched, exposed sit spots. "Count them and say ‘Sir' after each one. So, One Sir, Two, Sir, and so on and so forth. Do you understand?" I knew she did; she wasn't an idiot, and my instructions were simple ones, but I asked anyway because I was testing her.

"Yes, Sir." Thankfully, she remembered my title and passed the first test.

Seeing her bent over in front of me like that, even in her pajama set, made me harden, and I suddenly wanted to say ‘forget the roleplay' and take her to bed. But I'd chosen roleplay for a reason; as a way to get her out of her own head.

"Count them," I reminded her, seconds before I let the cane fly through the air to land across its intended target.

Her reaction was immediate and expected. She hissed, swore, and jumped up, clutching her bottom with both hands as she glared at me over her shoulder. "W-what was that?"

"The cane," I reminded her. "And, you forgot to count, so get back into position please. That one doesn't count."

Her jaw dropped and I could see she was considering arguing with me.

"The only way you are getting out of this is to safeword," I gently reminded her.

Her gaze shuttered, and she inhaled, exhaled, then nodded before getting back into position.

"Starting again." I didn't hold back or lessen the amount of strength I used, and soon a thin red line appeared across the tops of her sit spot.

"Ahhhh!" she shrieked, stomping her feet as she danced in place, while still bent at the waist. "I… I do not like that."

"I can see that," I said with a grin, having way too much fun. "Unfortunately, you forgot to count, so we have to start over."

"Shit! Noooo!" Her panicked wail was the cutest thing, making her sound much younger than her fifty-one years, proving that age was just a number.

"The correct answer is ‘Yes, Daddy'," I reminded her gently, tapping the cane against the exposed tops of her thighs.

"Yes, Daddy," she whimpered softly.

"Okay, now, let's try this again, shall we?"

She whimpered again, but didn't protest as she braced herself, and I let the cane fly, leaving a nearly identical stripe just below the first.

"One, Sir!" she whined, her knees trembling beneath her, making her sway where she stood.

"Good girl," I purred, pausing only long enough to praise her before letting the cane fly again.

"Two, Sir!" Her voice was more of a squeak this time, but she didn't forget the title or the count, and she stayed in position, so we were making progress.

"This is your first foray into funishment." I kept my voice low, tapping the tip of the cane lightly against her lower thighs. "How are you liking it so far?"

"I don't know what that word means, but I think my bottom prefers I don't answer that… Sir!" She grinned up at me from between her legs, her face flushed, her curls fanned wildly out in all directions.

I rubbed my hand over my jaw to hide my smirk, and laid down the cane again, watching as a third red line popped up just below the first two.

"Three, Sir!"

"Very good. God, you look sexy with my marks on your ass."

Before she could respond I brought the cane down again, ready to get the scene over with and move onto the fun stuff. My cock was rock-hard and ready for her.

"Four, Sir!"

Another red line, and she squirmed and danced in place while still managing to mostly stay in position. Her cheeks were flushed, and I could see a telltale dampness on the silk of her pajama bottoms.

Unable to stop myself, I grabbed her hips, and a handful of the fabric from the center of her bottom, bunching it up in my fist, exposing her luscious bottom. With my free hand holding the fabric in place, I moved my aim, and brought the cane down with a loud thwack across the center of her globes.

"Oooh," she moaned, then quickly remembered to add, "Five, Sir!"

"Last one, babygirl."

I watched as her back stiffened, and her legs spread further apart as she readied herself for what was coming.

Funishment or not, I made the last one count.

Her scream rent the air, and she fell to her knees in front of me panting. "Holy…. I was not expecting that… I mean… six! Six, Sir! Six!" She looked up at me with wide eyes, her expression horrified. "Please don't make me start over."

I chuckled. It was not at all my intention. "You look so pretty when you beg," I teased, moving around so that I was no longer behind her, but in front of her, putting her face level with my very hard cock. The temptation to pull it out and start fucking her pretty little face was great, but this was not just about sex for me, and as difficult as it was, I needed to do my best to remember that at all times, no matter how hard it was. Literally. Pun intended.

Instead, I held out my hand and waited for her to take it, helping her to her feet. When she was standing, I pulled her into my arms and whispered in her ear.

"So, how do you feel about the ‘student becoming the teacher' thing?"

She looked at me in surprise then tossed her head back. Her soft melodic laugh filled the room. When she stopped laughing, she looked at me, her eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief. "I have to admit, I don't hate it. Although, I do have one complaint."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"It's not really fair or true to life. I mean, when did I ever get to pull out a cane and start whipping bottoms when people didn't do what they were told or failed to address me as Professor Kramer?" She looked at me pointedly. "I seem to remember you were one of my very worst offenders when it came to that."

This time it was my turn to laugh. "Touché. And you're right, it probably isn't fair."

Her eyebrows wiggled. "Does that mean you're going to make it up to me?"

God, I wanted to. She had no idea how badly I wanted to. "No, it means it's time for another lesson."

I let go of her waist and crossed the room to the blackboard. Underneath Lesson 1, I wrote ‘Lesson 2: Follow Through'.

Zoe's brow furrowed the corners of her mouth, turning into a frown as she tilted her head and regarded me with a quizzical expression. "I don't know what that means. I mean… I do, just… not in this context."

"Come. I'll show you."

No doubt leaving her even more confused, I stalked through the living room and kitchen, into the dining area we'd destroyed a few days ago. Now, thanks to the cleaning crew I'd had Nyla send over at the buttcrack of dawn, the table and floors were sparkling, and the only clue that anything out of the ordinary had happened in there were the paint-splattered walls. On the table there were two items: a wooden paddle, and a new bag of paints from the craft store.

Zoe looked at both of them and turned to me with a frown. "I still don't understand."

"You will, though." I picked up the wooden paddle. "We got a bit distracted on Thursday, but before our fun we were talking about rules. Specifically, the one you haven't been following."

She may have had more than a decade on me, but when her eyes went wide as saucers and her hands flew back to cover her bottom, she looked just like a naughty little girl trying to avoid a spanking.

I had to hide a grin. "What rule have you not been following?" I prompted, giving the paddle a swing to test it.

Her sigh was heavy, and her face fell as she answered. "I'm supposed to create every day. For at least thirty minutes." There was a moment of thick silence, then she looked up at me, her eyes blazing. "It's not fair! I didn't ask for help with that, and I didn't technically agree to that rule!"

As if I was considering her argument, I nodded slowly, my expression pensive. "Question: You said you haven't painted in years."

"Right. That's why?—"

I held up my hand to silence her protests. "Next question. How often do you think about painting? How often do you think you will, or you want to, or you'll get back into it tomorrow, or next week, or, or, or?"

Her mouth dropped into a little ‘o' of understanding. "Every single day," she admitted with a soft sigh.

With my hand that wasn't holding the paddle, I gripped her chin between my fingers. "That's because you're an artist, Zoe. Whether you are creating or not, creating art is at the very core of who you are. It's in your soul. If you aren't doing it, you aren't really being yourself."

I held her chin, but she turned her head, refusing to meet my gaze. I slowly and gently turned her attention back to my face. "Am I wrong? Have you felt like yourself without it?"

She shook her head wildly, until I had no choice but to drop my hold. "No," she admitted. "No, you're not wrong. No, I haven't felt whole in a long time." Her expression hopeful, she tilted her chin up and locked her gaze on mine. "I'm getting there now, though. You're helping."

I nodded. I knew it was true. It was the very reason I believed in Rent-A-Daddy. "And now I'm going to help more." Pointing the paddle, I gestured toward the large dining room table. "Bend over."

"Noooo!" she wailed.

I could see on her face that she didn't mean it. After all, spankings were the very reason she had hired a Rent-A-Daddy. To help her feel something, to help her get back to being herself. As therapy, of sorts. Whether she liked it at the moment or not, that was exactly what I was doing.

"You have to the count of three to obey," I warned, watching the inner struggle that played on her face. She didn't want a spanking. And she didn't want to paint. She wanted to fight and argue, and we could, but she wouldn't win. Deep down, I knew she didn't want to.

"Pro-tip," I said, as I took pity on her long enough to grab her hand and help her into a prostrate position over the top of the hard wooden surface. "The time to negotiate or argue with a rule is when I make it, not a week later when you're about to get in trouble for not following it."

"Yes, Daddy."

She relented with a sigh as I grabbed the waistband of her silk pajama shorts and gave them an unceremonious tug over her hips and down her legs, letting the fabric pool in a pile on the floor.

"My job is to help you be the best version of yourself, and I know you, Miss Zoe; you cannot be that without art. You just can't."

"Okay." Her one-word squeak of disgruntled acquiescence told me we had a ways to go.

"I meant to take care of this when I first got here on Thursday, but I got a little…. distracted."

"Sorry," Zoe muttered, in a tone that told me she was not sorry at all.

That was okay, though. Neither was I.

My heart ached to tell her that, but I had a feeling doing so would only lead to us getting distracted again.

"Are you gonna start?" she whined, pressing her thighs together. Her sex glistened and I could smell her arousal.

"I'm going to start, yes." I tapped her thighs, encouraging her to spread her legs again. "I'm going to paddle your bottom for not obeying the rule, and then you are going to sit on your hot, punished bottom and paint for one hour."

"An hour!" she cried indignantly, twisting around to stare at me, her expression wounded, her mouth agape. "You said the rule was thirty minutes!"

"It is, but you haven't been following it, so now you're going to do extra to make up for all the time you skipped." I didn't give her time to argue with my announcement. "Back in position. Eyes straight ahead."

She obeyed with a soft whimper, stretching her arms out across the length of the table, rising up on her tippy toes.

I wasn't really buying her reluctant act. I knew my woman craved a good spanking, and she hadn't really gotten once since our first day together.

With the paddle still in my dominant hand, I used my left hand to give her a warmup, smacking her bare bottom all across the surface until the skin was nice and pink.

"Mmmmm," she hummed when the smacks started to get harder.

"You like that, don't you? You like being Daddy's naughty girl, and you like getting punished for it," I said with a smirk.

She turned her head to the side. "‘Like' is a strong word, and this doesn't really feel like a punishment."

"Not yet," I agreed," but it will." With that, I adjusted my position and laid the wooden paddle across the fleshiest part of her bottom, letting her feel the wood against her skin. A shudder ran down her spine.

"You're going to learn what happens when you don't obey Daddy's rules," I told her.

Her only response was a jerky nod and a tensing of her backside, but it was all I needed. Pulling the paddle back, I let it fly, using about half my strength, and smiled when she reared up as it smacked across her bottom.

"Holy crap! Ouch!"

"It's supposed to hurt. Otherwise it wouldn't be much of a deterrent, now would it?"

"I guess not," she admitted meekly.

I let the paddle fall again, watching her bottom bounce under the force of its weight, enjoying watching it pink and bounce back up again. This time I left no pause for her reaction, letting it hit again and again, all across her bottom and sit spots with no pattern or reason to where it fell next. When I was sure that every inch of her bottom had been covered by its surface, I began to lecture between swats.

"Why did you decide to hire a Rent-A-Daddy?"

"I already told you," she muttered, wincing when I smacked the paddle hard against the tops of her thighs.

"I'm asking again."

"Okay, okay. I guess it was because I needed a change. I needed to feel something, and I guess deep down I've always been interested in a man who was dominant." She gave a soft sigh. "My ex was controlling. He wasn't abusive, but he also wasn't dominant, and I do realize that there is a difference."

As she talked, I continued spanking, but let the paddle fall with less force so I could listen. When she seemed finished, I spoke again.

"You wanted a change. You recognized that you needed a change. And if you're honest, is not creating one of the things you want to change?"

"Yes, I guess so," she admitted softly. "But it's so hard."

"And that is why Daddy is taking control of it. Sometimes when things are really hard for us, the extra accountability helps." I punctuated my statement with five hard smacks across the center of her bottom and smiled when she moaned and squirmed in response.

"Yeah, I guess you are right."

"So, starting today, what are you going to do?" I prompted, pulling the paddle back, ready to swing if she took too long to answer.

When she faltered, I let it fly, coming down hard with a crack that echoed through the room.

"Owwwwie!" she cried, glaring at me over her shoulder.

"Well, when Daddy asks you a question, he expects a prompt answer. So, shall we try that again? Starting today, what are you going to do?"

She sighed and hesitated, and I punctuated my question with a swift, hard, swat across the tops of her thighs.

"Ahhh!" she yelled. "I'm going to create, okay? I'll paint or something, I promise!"

"Oh good, now we're getting somewhere."

"Can we be done now? I promised I'll be good." Her voice was pitiful sounding, her words spoken between sniffles.

I rested my hand on her lower back, but kept a firm grip on the paddle. "No babygirl, we cannot be done. A good spanking doesn't even start until you wish it was over."

"What?"

Her indignant cry had me holding back a smirk.

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"It makes perfect sense to me. Now, I want you to think about why you didn't obey the rule, and what you could have done instead of ignoring it and acting like it didn't exist all week."

"Yes, Daddy."

She turned her head again, facing the front like she'd been originally instructed, and with my lecture done I let the paddle do the talking for me, bringing it down again and again until her shoulders began to shake and her bottom was nice and red. My babygirl needed this. She needed Daddy's help to unblock her, she needed the accountability to do the hard thing that had once come so naturally until it wasn't hard anymore. Zoe needed to create to be the best, fullest, and most fulfilled version of herself, and as her Daddy it was my job to make sure that happened.

I continued to swat her backside until her arms gave out on her and she laid her head on the table, completely giving up the fight. I slowed the pace and intensity a bit.

"Stop trying to hold yourself back, little one. It's okay to let go. It's okay to fall apart. Daddy's got you."

My words seemed to have the desired effect as her body almost completely collapsed and she began to cry.

Dropping the paddle, I scooped her up before her knees buckled. Hugging her to my chest, I took her back to the couch in the living room to hold her. I didn't say anything else. I didn't need to. Which I was thankful for, because my throat was clogged with emotions. I knew this was hard for her, and I was so humbled to be the one to help her through this. Her tears soaked through my shirt as she sobbed for a worrisome amount of time.

I rubbed her back. "Zoe, I need you to breathe with me, baby. Can you do that please?"

She nodded, but I wasn't sure I believed her.

"Good girl. Take a deep breath with Daddy." I modeled what I wanted her to do and she followed suit. "Good girl. Again."

We repeated the exercise a few more times before I noticed it was actually working and the worry began to subside.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," she forced out.

"Unless you want me to go and find that paddle again, I suggest you refrain from apologizing for having emotions. Especially emotions I forced out of you. You're doing exactly what I'd hoped you would do. I'm so proud of you."

She didn't answer, just curled into a tighter ball on my lap. Her hands gripped my shirt like it was some kind of lifeline. I liked being her lifeline. We sat in silence until I heard tiny little snores coming from her.

Poor thing had exhausted herself. I considered moving us to the bed, but I didn't want to jostle her awake. Hooking the coffee table with my foot, I carefully pulled it closer to me so I could prop my feet up. I wished there was a blanket within reach, but it was warm enough between the temperature of the room and our reflected body heat. With nothing else to do, I laid my head back and let myself drift. I still had plans for our day, but a short nap wouldn't hurt either of us.