Chapter 5

I'd been patient,given far more warnings than I normally would have, and tried to avoid what I'd known deep down was inevitable, but with a woman like Zoe you couldn't give an inch. You had to take charge, and you couldn't waver. Threats needed to be made and swiftly followed through on. If she saw an opening to gain the upper hand, she'd take it. Not out of spite or any nefarious purpose, but out of habit.

She dug her heels in when she realized where we were headed. "Lennon, no," she begged. "I'm sorry."

"Are you? Because you called me by my name again."

"Crap." Her hand clapped over her mouth, and she looked about thirty years younger with the guilty, chagrined expression that passed across her features. "I'll do better, I promise."

Pulling her close to me, I whispered in her ear. "I know you will, because the plug in your bottom will help you remember."

Her cheeks flushed and her gaze dropped. I could see her eyes shining with unshed tears, and for a moment I faltered. But no, she was okay, just embarrassed, and acclimating to not being in charge. If it was anything other than that, she had a safeword.

I waited patiently for her to accept her fate and was rewarded with a whispered, "Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl. Come on." I turned us toward the store again, but she was frozen in place.

"Can I just… wait here?"

"Oh no, my naughty little one. Picking it out and being embarrassed, thinking about Daddy pulling you into the restroom and parting your cheeks, shoving it inside you… that's all part of the punishment."

"Eep!"

She uttered a high-pitched squeak, but allowed me to pull her into the store, past the beaded curtain that separated the novelty items from the adult section of the store, and over to the wall of cheap sex toys. It wasn't where I typically purchased my stuff from, but it would do in a pinch.

The selection was limited, but I quickly found what I was looking for: a small but heavy metal plug with a jeweled base. I picked it off the shelf, enjoying the flush that rose on Zoe's cheeks and the look of surprised arousal that she couldn't mask. Adding a tube of lube, I made my way to the register with her dragging behind. I'd planned to make a bigger deal of the selection, mull over the options out loud, maybe even ask her opinion and watch her squirm a bit, but I could see how out of her element she was. Simply requiring her presence had been punishment enough.

When my purchases were made, I handed her the bag and took her hand again, leading her to the center of the mall, near the food court where the family bathroom was located.

As soon as the door closed behind us, I flipped the lock, set the bags down on the small bench, and took the one containing the plug and lube from her hand.

She whimpered. "I'm sorry."

"I warned you several times, and I let quite a few things slide. But you are not in charge here, and you need to remember that, and be conscious of it at all times. Hopefully, this will help you keep that in mind for the rest of the afternoon. I'd hate to have to spank you again once we got back to my place."

I saw the hope fade from her eyes as resignation set in. She accepted her fate.

I made a show of using my pocketknife to cut open the plastic packaging, then inspecting the metal plug before throwing the packaging away in the garbage can. Holding the base between my fingers, I looked at her. "Turn around, pull up your skirt, lower your panties, and bend over, with your hands braced against the wall."

My commands were met with a soft whimper, and instant obedience. Good. She was learning.

"There are so many germs in here," she muttered under her breath as she braced herself against the wall and let her panties fall down her legs.

I saw the complaint for what it was: a stall tactic. The bathroom was immaculate, smelled like lemon Pine-Sol, and actually sparkled. "That's what hand sanitizer is for," I replied glibly as I popped open the jar of lube I'd purchased, squeezed a quarter-sized dollop onto the head of the plug, and slathered it liberally across the surface.

Holding it by the slender base, I reached down to pull her cheeks apart, exposing her puckered hole. Her whimpers grew louder.

"This is so humiliating," she whispered.

"That's what will make it a good lesson."

Wasting no time, I pressed the tip of the plug against her back entrance. "Push your ass out more."

Her stance adjusted, her hands moved lower on the wall as she did what she was told. "Le—Daddy…" Her voice cracked, and I stilled my actions.

"Yes?"

"Please… be gentle. I've never…"

Realizing what she wasn't saying, I closed my eyes. An anal virgin. Shit. Had I known that, I might have eased her in over time, and not taken her anal virginity in a mall bathroom with a metal plug, but it was too late to adjust now. I had to follow through.

Popping my eyes open, I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "I'll be careful," I assured her. "And I'll go slow."

Her head jerked in a motion of resigned understanding and her shoulders tensed, but she stayed still, hands on the wall, ass out, presenting herself for my discipline. I pushed the tip of the plug slowly inside, breaching her back entrance.

The pressure was met with a soft cry and a shudder down her back. "Bear down," I instructed. "Try not to resist. That will just make it hurt more."

There was a slight shift in her body language, and when I pushed further, my ministrations were met with little resistance. It would have slid in easily and settled between her cheeks nicely, but I went slow, twisting the base as I wiggled the plug inside of her, filling her slowly.

"It hurts." Her voice was barely audible above the hum of the fan system.

"It will only hurt for a moment." I pushed deeper, and soon it was all the way inside, the slender base resting in her crack while the bright jewel poked out between her cheeks. "There you go." I patted the center of her bottom, my hand popping against the plug, firmly seating it inside her. "That should help you remember what I expect from you. Do you think you can be a good girl now?"

"Yes, Daddy." She squirmed in place, and I could tell she was uncomfortable but not in pain. I knew she wanted desperately to grab her skirt and panties and pull them over her exposed bottom, but she knew better than to make a move I hadn't told her to make.

After a moment, I did it for her, adjusting the fabric of her panties over the jewel, and pulling her skirt down to cover both. Then, and only then, did I turn her to face me.

She stared at the floor, and when I gathered her in my arms, she buried her face in my chest.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled. "I know you're trying to help, and that your rules have importance, and that you want to make my life better, but this is all so new to me, and it… feels weird to let someone care." She straightened, squared her shoulders, and looked into my eyes. "It feels weird to have someone care. So… thank you."

"Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for letting me take care of you." When she looked down at the floor again, I caught her chin in my hands and lifted it so that she was looking up at me once more. "You deserve to be taken care of, and you deserve to take care of yourself."

She nodded slowly, as if she couldn't quite make herself believe it. "That's… hard. But I'll try."

"I'm gonna help you. Now, go wash your hands, so we can continue our shopping mission."

She groaned. "There's more?"

"Just a bit."

The ‘more' turned out to be a craft emporium that was new to the city. "Have you been here before?" Lennon asked, as we strode toward the front doors.

"No," I answered. "I've been meaning to check it out, but…" I shrugged. "I don't paint much anymore. Or do anything artistic, really, outside of class."

"That's another thing that's going to change."

He spoke with such confidence. I couldn't bear to tell him that it wasn't a matter of taking the time. When it came to creating, I seemed to have a major block these days.

The store was huge. The inside must have covered a city block, with enormous aisles and floor-to-ceiling shelves, boasting every craft medium known to man, as well as some home decor and novelties. Even blocked, it was hard for the artist in me not to feel inspired.

"Paint, I assume?" Lennon asked, grabbing a cart.

"Sure." I followed him mindlessly as my eyes roamed the depths of the store. In the paint section, he was a wild man. Canvases went into the cart, followed by easels, palettes, brushes in every size, and even a few smocks. "Daddy…" I tugged on his shirt, poised to tell him that it was too much, that I had a lot of it at home in storage, and that it probably wouldn't get used, anyway.

But he looked at me sternly, and all of a sudden, I felt the weight of the plug in my ass. The thought died on my lips.

"Watercolor or acrylic?"

I just stared at him, hoping he'd hear what I wasn't saying and take the hint.

He didn't. "Both it is." He grabbed vials and tubes in every color under the sun and tossed them into the cart, two at a time.

I sighed.

"I really haven't been doing much art lately," I said again. "I don't know if I can." It was a statement of fact, not a protest, and I hoped he would take it as such.

To his credit, he did. Sort of. All the items stayed in the cart as he steered us into the next aisle. Painting kits. Child art sets and paint-by-number.

"Zoe, with me as your Daddy, you will not be setting aside this part of yourself. You will make time, thirty minutes each day, to work on creating. And to be clear, I'm not expecting you to churn out the next Mona Lisa. I don't even care if you throw it straight into the trash once you've finished. You can finger-paint like a toddler, or use a paint-by-number, even, if it will make it easier. But you will let me purchase these items, and you will take them home, and you will use them. And of course, if you don't, there will be consequences. Tell me you understand."

"I understand," I conceded with a sigh. What else could I say? In just a few short hours I'd learned that my Daddy was not one to be argued with.

"Good girl." Standing behind me, Lennon wrapped his arms around my waist and dropped a kiss on the top of my head, a simple gesture that made me feel loved and cared for, and meant more to me that I could possibly explain. "Now," he said, turning us toward a row of advanced paint-by-number kits. "Do we need to get some of these, just in case?"

I smiled as a paint-by-number of the Mona Lisa caught my eye, as well as a quaint bookstore scene, complete with cats. "These look fun."

He tossed the two I'd pointed at into the cart, and added a few more for good measure. "We could paint together," he offered. "If that would make it easier to start."

I wasn't sure if it would or not, but it still made me smile. "That would be fun."

His grin spread across his face, bringing out his deep dimples that had me swooning. "It would be fun. Alright, I think we have gotten the most important things. Shall we head out?"

"Yes please." I'd had a nice time, despite the plug in my ass and my emotional and physical discomfort, but I was not used to all the doting attention, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could shop, or how much more money I could let him spend before I fell back into old habits and ended up in hot water.

Thankfully, he seemed to be done, and after we checked out, we headed back to the car. I remembered this time to wait for Lennon to open the door, and was surprised when he not only opened the door, but helped me into my seat, and leaned over to buckle me up, something I could have easily done for myself. I didn't tell him that.

Despite the luxurious comfort of his car and the soft leather of the seats, sitting down with a plug in my ass was not pleasant.

I shifted from side to side as Lennon drove, looking in vain for a comfortable position.

"Can I take this out when we get back to your place?" I finally asked, as we pulled into the garage.

"Not a chance. That little plug is going to stay right where it is while we go over your rules, and until I'm sure you are fully aware that you are not the one in charge."

"I ammm aware," I whined, not recognizing my own voice. And to prove my point, once parked, I stayed put and waited for him to come around to the passenger side and let me out.

Lennon carried the bags and still managed to hold my hand as we made our way back to his penthouse apartment. Once inside, I sat awkwardly on the couch, waiting to see what would come next. The plug was still making sitting uncomfortable, pinching my skin and filling me completely. My bottom, where I'd been spanked, was still sore and achy, and the hum in my pussy had not dissipated. If anything, it was worse now.

Lennon went to work in the kitchen, fixing us lunch, and I followed him with my gaze, looking at him with a fresh set of eyes, seeing him differently than I had just this morning.

For one thing, now I noticed his large, thick hands, and his bulging arm muscles. Thick biceps and broad shoulders.

Arousal pooled between my legs, and for the first time I realized that not only had I been aroused by the spanking he'd given me, and by his domineering actions, I was turned on by him!

The packet, still resting on the coffee table book, caught my eye, and I cringed when I thought about all the ‘no' boxes I'd checked. I hadn't even read the full list, and while more transparent the second time around, I'd still been guarded.

And yet, Lennon had taken care of me anyway, in exactly the ways I hadn"t known I'd needed.

Reaching for the abandoned papers and the pen, I flipped to the second page. Limits. I'd checked nearly everything that didn't have to directly do with spanking, and even some of the things that did.

Determined to open my mind this time around, I read through the list in earnest. First, it listed implements. I had chosen about half of them as acceptable. I changed that so that only two were not.

The next things were a mish-mash of BDSM activities, ranging from public play to bondage to breath and electric play. I had checked no on everything. I changed public play to a solid maybe, gave bondage a thumbs-up, and kept the others as big fat nos.

And then it came to the sex questions. That gave me pause. I knew Rent-A-Daddy was touted as a platonic, no-strings-attached, power-exchange accountability program. If it hadn't been, I probably wouldn't have signed up, and as my pen hovered above the section header, I wondered why sex was even a part of the questionnaire. But even I knew that some people had trouble separating the two things, and who was I to judge, just because I didn't think I would have the same problem? This was probably just an insurance policy; including these questions was just a way to cover their asses.

For a moment I considered leaving the section as it was. It wasn't like Lennon would want to have sex with an old woman like me anyway.

But he wanted my honesty, and the honest truth was, if he wanted to, I'd have a hard time saying no. I wanted to. Kind of. Maybe. I wasn't sure.

But even as I argued with myself in my head, I went down the list again and changed the majority of my answers to ‘yes'.

I was filling out a short answer section about my sexual history when I realized that Lennon was standing behind me, reading over my shoulder, holding a plate of food.

"Ahhh!" I jumped, and quickly shielded my answers with my hand, but it was too late. I could tell by the expression on his face.

"You've only had one partner?" he asked incredulously.

Out of everything on that page, of course that would be his take-away. Of course.

"Don't read over my shoulder!" I hollered indignantly, jumping to my feet.

Lennon remained stoic, his expression barely changing. "I'm sorry, but… I mean, I'm going to read it, anyway. It's kind of my job."

Rats. Of course he had to talk sense and be logical. And why did I feel ashamed, anyway? I was loyal, and I'd been in a long-term relationship. A Marriage. My lack of experience was nothing to be embarrassed about.

Somehow, I still was. "Is that bad?" I asked, afraid that it would put him off, further diminishing whatever slim chance I had that he might be interested in something more.

"No." Lennon hollered so loudly I jumped.

He quickly set the plate of food down on a nearby stool and put his hands on my shoulders, rubbing them gently. "No, it's not bad. Not at all. I was just surprised. You're a very beautiful woman."

Okay, now he was just kissing up and attempting to smooth things over. "Sure," I scoffed.

The next thing I knew, instead of being in his arms, I was face down over his knee, and he'd landed half a dozen stinging swats over the top of my skirt.

"Ow!" Rubbing furiously as he set me right on my feet, and with my hands still massaging my ass, I glared up at him. "What was that for?"

"You are beautiful," he insisted. "And you need to be able to take a compliment."

"Okay, sheesh!"

"No." He frowned, his dimples disappearing in the hard line of his jaw. "You are beautiful. And negative self-talk, even in refusing to accept a compliment gracefully, will get you tossed over my knee every damn time. The words we speak to ourselves are important, Zoe. They shape us. They can lift us up or bring us down. The world will always be hard enough on us. We do not need to be hard on ourselves."

"Geez," I grumbled, impressed by his wisdom. "I thought you were an artist. I didn't realize you'd minored in psychology."

"Well…" Lennon shrugged. "I did."

My jaw dropped open again. Every time I thought this man couldn't surprise me anymore, somehow he did. "Holy shit. Really? I was making a joke!"

Lennon smirked. "Turns out you're a woman of many talents, Zoe Kramer, but making jokes is not one of them." A smile tugged at the corners of his lips and his dimples popped into view as he picked up the discarded lunch plate and held it out to me. "Eat."

Where I'd expected a simple sandwich, or even canned soup or frozen pizza, standard bachelor fare, what I got was a simple but fresh and delicious smelling pasta dish. Bright green spinach stood out against the creamy sauce and it looked as beautiful as I'd had in any five-star restaurant.

Pulling up a stool at the bar, because his small kitchen table was covered with shopping bags, I dug in, gasping as flavors exploded on my tongue with the first bite.

Swallowing the first mouthful I gaped at him. "You made this? You can cook… like this?"

"I had to learn to cook if I wanted to eat," he explained, as if it were nothing.

"It's delicious," I gushed. "Truly amazing. Seriously. Maybe you should have minored in culinary arts instead of psychology. You could open a restaurant if you wanted to!"

"Stop," he shook his head, his cheeks pinking. "It's just noodles, a simple sauce, seasonings, and fresh toppings. It's no big deal. A middle schooler could do it."

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows at him finally. "What was that lecture you just gave me about taking a compliment? Seems like you need to learn to take your own advice."

"Oof." Lennon winced. "Touché. Point taken." He moved around the kitchen and soon he was sitting beside me with a plate identical to mine.

"After lunch you can finish the packet you were so diligently working on, and then we'll discuss your answers and decide what our next steps will be."