Helping Mandy With Her Projects

Helping Mandy

***

My daughter is beautiful. Like any responsible dad I understand this, appreciate it, and keep my hands and eyes off.

Even when I’m tying her wrists and ankles to her bedposts as I am right now, I am careful to minimize skin-to-skin contact. Combining her beauty, her short little excited breaths, and actual intentional contact would be going too far, lead to too much.

I’m helping her with her project.

Finishing up the final tie I smile at her. “Comfy?” I ask. She’s covered up to the neck and down to the shins with a blanket. “Feet too cold?”

She smiles back, a quiet twitch in her cheek. “No Dad I’m fine, thank you.”

“So… eight hours? You’re sure? All night?”

She laughs. “Yes, I’m sure.”

As though it has only just occurred to me—I’d actually wondered about this the whole time I was tying her down—I say “Wait don’t you have school tomorrow? Maybe we should wait until tomorrow night, I don’t know how much sleep you’re going to get.”

She exhales, and at the end of the exhalation there’s a little nervous quiver. Then she breathes in and says “Part of the… project… part of the project is dealing with the consequences tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll get to sleep soon and be rested up tomorrow.” She smiles evenly at me and I take the hint.

Leaning down I kiss her forehead. “Alright sweety, well, good night and… good luck?”

“Thanks Dad,” she says, amused. I walk over to her desk, and switch on the baby monitor she had set up.

Next to it is the stack of manilla envelopes she left on a little table by the door in the corner, labeled: “First infraction,” “Second infraction,” and so on through to “Fifth and further infractions.”

Seeing the direction of my gaze she says “Don’t forget you have to be… you know… you can’t be nice. You’re going to do what they say if I break the rule?”

I’m a little surprised she would ask this. I’ve never let her down before. “Yep, don’t worry sweetheart. You know I keep my word.”

She seems to hold her breath for a moment, then says with relief, “Okay good. Love you Dad.”

“Love you too sweetie, night night” I say as I switch off her light and shut her door.

Standing outside her door for a moment I shake my head and grin. So strange. What is she getting out of this?

I know what I’m getting out of it. I am helping her accomplish something even if I don’t know quite what it is, and that’s a reward in itself. And also, well yes, I do have a bit of an erection, I mean, how could I not. I can’t pretend that’s not a little rewarding. But it’s not what I’m fundamentally here for—hands and eyes off, like I said. That includes the eye of the imagination. Taking care of myself right now would just be wrong.

I adjust my pants for comfort but am mostly standing here taking a moment to calm down and center myself. Letting myself get hard is a little cheat I allow myself, because if I didn’t, I couldn’t be a helpful dad. But once I’m done helping, the erection has to end.

I’m still not sure even exactly what she’s doing. She has told me nothing and all I know is what I’ve seen. She keeps going longer and longer so it’s some kind of endurance thing. But enduring what? As far as I can tell she just likes to see how long she can stay tied up, but I don’t quite get that. Seems like anyone can stay tied up forever, where’s the challenge? I know it can be hard to sleep if you’re not allowed to get comfortable in your bed but, how is that fun or interesting?

It’s been strange from the beginning.

***

We live in a tiny apartment, from the little kitchenette you can see the living room and doors to both bedrooms. I was working on dinner and she came out of her room wearing her big puffy jacket and I assumed some shorts or underwear. All I could see was the jacket. This was strange because we were inside, and it wasn’t really even cold outside.

“Going out?” I asked, steeling myself to refrain from protectively urging her to put some longer pants on.

“No, just… feeling a little chilly I guess?”

“Huh. Okay,” I said, thinking it strange but it’s okay when things are strange. I kept flipping the grilled sandwiches I was working on.

Then she approached me holding out her hand. “Hey Dad, um, can you…”

Between flips I looked over at her hand. She was holding two small metal objects, I don’t know what they were. I’d describe them as fairly thick wire, bent into a kind of triangle shape. She hadn’t bent them, they were clearly manufactured that way, perfectly smooth and symmetric bends. At the tip of the triangle instead of joining, the ends of the wire instead went outwards, forming a line sort of perpendicular to the triangle if you can imagine. It’s hard to describe I guess! Especially when you don’t know what it is!

“Can you… hang on to these for me? For like, just thirty minutes?”

I took them from her hand. “Of course sweetie, I mean, I guess. Why exactly?”

I remember she blushed at this point and I started to get the feeling this was something private, “girl stuff” maybe. “It’s for a… project?”

“Oh like for school? Sure but again, why am I holding them? What are they?”

“Oh they’re nothing, just something I like found you know. Doesn’t matter. Never mind I’ll take them back.”

“No it’s fine!” I said, afraid I’d hurt her feelings somehow. “I’ll totally hold on to these if that’s what you need from me.”

She paused and looked down for a second, then back up at me. “Okay,” she smiled a little, “Thanks Dad.”

“Should I… do anything with them?”

“No,” she said, turning to go back to her room, “Seriously you can just put them in your pocket or something. I’ll come get them in thirty minutes okay?”

“Well, okay then” I said, sticking them in my pocket just as she suggested and getting back to my sandwiches. “Hey, your sandwich is ready!” I plated it for her while she stood at the entrance to her room.

I thought she seemed troubled but I was afraid to pry. I handed her the sandwich, she said quickly with a whispered smile, “Thanks,” and went into her room closing the door.

It was about twenty minutes later, I was in the middle of watching some show or other when she came back out of her room. Still wearing just the coat and at most, (I was sure of it now), her underwear.

“Uhh… I know it’s just been twenty minutes but can I have them back now please?”

I didn’t move from where I was sitting. “You said thirty minutes.”

“I know I… I messed up, I did part of my project too quickly and I… I just need them back now okay?”

I paused the show and sighed. “Mandy, I’ll give them back in ten more minutes. That’s what you asked me and that’s what I promised.”

I would describe the look on her face as one of quiet panic. “Uh, but I… the project is finished. I don’t need you to hold them anymore.”

“You know me,” I said, getting ready to hit play. “When I have a job to do, I have a job to do. Anyway I don’t know about your project being over or whatever but you, too, should really stick to your commitments.”

“They’re just… little metal… thingies… Dad.”

“Come finish the show with me,” I said, “It’s really funny. When it’s over I’ll give them back.”

I hit play. There was a long pause from her, and then she silently sat on a chair in the living room. We watched the show together, she didn’t laugh once even though I knew it should fit her sense of humor really well. Then the show ended, and I handed the little metal things back to her. “There!” I said. “Easy peasy, job done, commitments met!”

She smirked, mirthlessly, a little mad. “Yeah thanks” dad. And she didn’t run to her room but she walked very quickly.

That was the first time. Things progressed from there and here we are.

***

I’m at my desk finishing up some work. It’s been about forty minutes since I left her in her room. I now hear a sound from the baby monitor. Just Mandy, very quietly, whispering, “fuck.”

That’s all it takes, according to her rule. Not the cursing, the rule is just, if I hear her make a sound, that’s an infraction.

So I get up from my computer, and go to her door. Absurdly, without really thinking, I knock before entering.

“I heard that,” I say, keeping it cheerful.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, it’s not my rule it’s yours.”

“I know, I know,” she breathes.

I go over to her desk and open up the first envelope, labeled “First infraction.”

I read it. It just says “Warning.”

I turn the paper over and show it to her. “What does this mean?”

She laughs. “It’s exactly what it says, I get a warning. If I fuck up—”

“Hey!”

“Uh, sorry, mess up, again then the real… um, incentives? The real incentives start.”

I laugh. “Okay, that make sense. Good idea! So, we’re good here? Need anything? Need any water or…?”

“No, I’m okay Dad.”

“And just to make sure you know, I’m not letting it go.”

“Letting what go?” she asks innocently.

“You said the F word twice, so on Friday night there will be a spanking.”

She closes her eyes. “I know. I really am sorry.”

“I know you are, but we will follow through.”

“Okay.”

I put down the envelope and paper. Once again I kiss her forehead, and bid her goodnight.

***

I mentioned that first night where she had me hold those metal things, and tried to give up two thirds of the way into her project.

She seemed mad at me when all that was over. But then, just a few days later, there she was again—weird giant jacket, totally bare legs, metal triangles in her outstretched hand.

She asked for an hour that time. “You’re not going to come back in twenty minutes trying to make me break the rule you yourself setup are you?” I asked.

“No I… I’ll finish the project the right way this time Dad I promise. Can you just… take them please?”

I gave her a good stare, smirking in what I hope was a kindly way. Then I took them and put them in my pocket and she retreated to her room.

Hilariously, that second time she only lasted fifteen minutes before she came out of her room. “Umm…”

I laughed, “I think I know what you’re going to say.”

She grinned embarrassed “Yeah um… I finished already? I thought it would take a lot longer?”

“Forty five minutes longer!” I laughed again.

“Yeah I’m… I’m so stupid Dad but…”

“Don’t call yourself stupid,” I said.

“Okay I know, I’m sorry…”

“And you don’t have to be sorry!” I said again. These are themes I try to really hammer in, she over-apologizes and talks down on herself a lot. I don’t know where she gets it. Not from me.

“Okay but… can I have them back…?”

“Sweetie, you said an hour. I’m going to give them back in forty five minutes.”

“Dad!” she said more assertively, then walked towards me. I just kept watching my show. For me the conversation was over.

Then she was literally on her knees. “Dad. I’m actually begging you.”

She had her hands up in like a prayer pose. She had the full puppy dog eye treatment going.

“Wow!” I said. “You are adorable.”

“Please Dad,” she said, her smile desperate. “I don’t know what else to do but I’m on my knees begging, can I please have the metal things back?”

“Forty five minutes.”

She collapsed to her elbows. Her jacket scootched up a bit, and that’s when I saw what she was actually wearing on her lower parts—nothing.

“Please Daddy” she said one more time. She hardly ever called me “Daddy” anymore.

I called her what I almost never called her anymore. “Princess, it’s your project, your rule, but I’m trying to decide whether this constant begging should be made into a spanking offense.”

That got her quiet real quick.

“And I know what is already a spanking offense.”

“Wait, what?” she asked quietly.

“You’re not wearing any underwear.”

She went beet red. “You saw?”

This might seem like a harsh rule but she had made it such a habit in times past to streak around the house totally naked. I didn’t want to body shame her but it did make me really uncomfortable, and how can we not say, it was just inappropriate, right? So I asked her to stop, but she didn’t seem to take my requests seriously—she would stop for a while then one day just walk right through in the nude. So I made a new rule—if I saw her bare bottom or top, whether because she was wearing nothing or was wearing something too revealing, that would be a spanking infraction.

I felt bad for making a rule like that. I didn’t like feeling like an old school authoritarian prude. So in that one case and that one case only I made another rule that actually gave her some power. She’s never had to exercise this power but it is in fact a house rule. Just like I will spank her if I see her bare parts, she has the right to spank me if she sees my bare parts. I don’t know if I’m the first parent in history to give his kid the right to spank him but it’s not totally different from those parents—good parents—who will model self control by giving themselves a time out. But since the punishment for her in this case isn’t time out or grounding but actual spanking, that’d be the punishment for me as well.

When I’d told her the second part of the rule—that she could spank me if she saw me naked—she was completely still and silent. I know she was probably mortified. But I wanted her to know that I wasn’t rendering her powerless as a woman by controlling her clothing. She has power too.

Like I said, though, she’s never had to wield it.

Anyway, as I was saying, I’d seen her naked butt, and I told her so, and explained that would add to her spanking total that Friday evening.

Her eyes watered as she got up from her kneeling position. “Yes sir.” Something else she almost never called me. It was not said in anger or sarcasm. It was her most defeated expression. My heart almost broke for her but I never ever go back on my word.

She returned to her room and was quiet for the remaining forty five minutes. I knocked on her door. She said “Come in,” and I did so. She was sitting at her desk, still wearing just the jacket and as far as I could tell nothing else but she wasn’t showing me her bare butt so I didn’t say anything about it. Her computer screen was completely blank, so I knew whatever she’d been looking at she hadn’t wanted me to see.

“Cursing me out to your friends?” I said indicating her blank screen.

“Uh… heheh” She literally said “heheh.” “No of… course… not…” she said. She sounded sarcastic, she seemed to actually be telling me that yes, that was exactly what she’d been doing.

“Anyway I know you’re angry, but on the other hand, it’s been forty five minutes,” I said. “You made it!”

“Okay,” she said, not seeming excited. “I finished the project forty five minutes ago but okay.”

I put the metal things on the desk next to her. “Don’t beat yourself up,” I said. “You’ll do better next time.”

I leaned over and kissed her cheek. Even though she seemed sullen, she leaned in to the kiss with surprising affection.

Rising up a little I placed another little peck on her forehead and as I stood up she said, quietly but not unkindly, “I need some privacy now Dad, okay?”

“Of course sweetie!” I replied and went back to my own desk in the other room.

***

It was about 11PM when I tied Mandy to her bed this evening, and about 11:40 when she uttered her little “fuck” and I gave her her warning. I’m now getting ready to turn in. It’s 12:25. But as I sit on my bed, hear sounds, once again, from the monitor. I don’t think she’s saying anything, but there’s a very clear series of quick, high pitched vocalizations followed by several quick intakes of breath. Then a long hum punctuated by catches in her breath. Infraction number two.

When I walk through her door she cries out. “Oh my God what did you hear I didn’t make any noises I promise”

“I definitely heard you humming,” I say, “Don’t know how you thought I wouldn’t hear that.”

“Humming?” she says, her voice rising in a panic. “I didn’t hum, I’ve been totally quiet Daddy, maybe somebody else’s baby monitor nearby…”

Picking up the “Second Infraction” envelope I say “Mandy, it was very clearly you I heard, please don’t lie to me.”

Enough lies could be a spanking offense.

“Okay I did I know I made some noise but I was trying really hard to be quiet Daddy can we… can we start over?”

I look at her, eyes wide. “What do you think I’m going to say to that?”

“Please, I, I shouldn’t have started this, please don’t”

I open the envelope.

“Please don’t open the… please don’t read… I don’t want to do this anymore!”

I read the envelope. “Turn on the two fans by my bed, full blast, one oscillating and one aimed at my chest, and then take my blanket away.”

I look and see that she does indeed have a couple of fans set up, one on each side of her bed. “Are you… what are you wearing under that blanket?” I ask.

She just goes red and says nothing for a long several seconds. Then, “This was a mistake Daddy, I don’t want you to see…”

I raise my hand. “I guess you’re naked under there?”

Silently, her mouth pursed in the beginning of a sob, she nods.

“That’s okay, I can take the blanket off without looking,” I say, and that is that. I proceed to carry out my instructions.

As she moans “No, no, no please” I turn on one fan, full blast, and aim it at her chest area. I then turn on the other fan, full blast, and set it to oscillate. It ranges all the way from her feet to her face as it sweeps its cool air across her blanketed body.

“Okay,” I say. “I’m going to take your blanket, look away, and pull it off, and leave the room. I won’t see anything, you won’t get a spanking for nudity, it’s going to be okay.”

“No Daddy it’s not going to be okay. I’m going to be soooo coooollddd”

“This is the rule you set up. I’m not going to let you give up on yourself.”

“How can I ever make you stop? What If I really did make a really bad mistake?”

“You can’t. If you made a mistake, you’ll learn from it.” I lean down and kiss her temple while she cries.

“You do need to get quiet,” I say, “So you don’t have a third infraction.”

She nods and gathers herself.

“Ready?” I say.

“No,” she says, but that doesn’t matter.

As I walk towards the door I bring her blanket with me, leaving her under the care of two fans cooling every square inch of her tummy, chest, face, neck, legs and feet, with a special focus on her chest.

As I close the door I can hear her already starting to shiver. I don’t think she’ll make it long to the third infraction. I have a huge, bothersome erection. I will not take care of it, as I said before doing so while thinking about my own daughter would be unacceptable. But I don’t try to get it to go away either. Why bother? I imagine I’ll be back in her room in a few minutes anyway.

***

She kept finishing her project too early until one day she came to me with the metal things once again, and a second request. And this time she was wearing actual clothes, no giant jacket. Shorts and a shirt like a normal person.

But the way she went about asking was really bizarre. I’m still very puzzled by this. She walked out of her room while I was once again working on dinner, but she walked backwards. The entire way, keeping her back to me at every step. Granted it was a short path from her door to where I was in front of the stove but it almost seemed like she had practiced how to walk the path backwards without stumbling or hitting any walls. And her shirt—it was one of her white button down school shirts, but it seemed unusually loose fitting.

“What are you doing?” I laughed.

I saw metal shining from her hands and looked down. There was the now-expected pair of metal things but in her other hand was something unexpected—a pair of handcuffs.

“I’m changing my project up a little,” she said, with her back still towards me. “Can you hold on to the metal things? For like, two hours this time?”

I took them from her hand, “Of course, but what’s up with the handcuffs? How do you even have those, they look serious.”

Her back facing me the throughout the action she deftly cuffed herself. In one hand she held the key, and it she was thrusting it towards me. “I need you to take the key for the two hours too.” At this point, though he back was still to me, she did turn her head so we could make a bit of sort of eye contact.

“Please?” she said as I stood there looking kind of stupid.

I did take the key and put it in my pocket along with the metal things, but asked her, “What is this for? And are you going to turn around and have a normal conversation with me?”

A normal conversation with my handcuffed daughter, right?

She ignored the second question, just explaining as she started to walk forward back towards her room. “It’s so I don’t keep fucking…. Fuck… I mean MESSING up my project. Without my hands there’s no way for me to finish it early.”

“Uh… huh,” I said. “So, spanking on Friday?”

She stopped her forward motion, I thought she was about to get mad. She just sighed. “Yes, spanking on Friday. But I forgot one more thing, Dad.”

“What’s that?”

“Can you please… pull my shirt… down over my shoulders so it’s just on my arms?”

“What do you mean, won’t it rip?”

“Dad.” She said my name almost like it was a sentence. “My shirt is completely unbuttoned, can’t you tell?”

That clicked things into place for me—now I understood why it seemed so loose fitting. “Ohhhhh…” I said, trying to pass this off as humor but actually, to my chagrin, only just now realizing.

“So can you… pull it down?”

I stepped over to her after stirring the stew I was making. I took the collar of her shirt in both hands, worked my way outward and downward a little bit feeling for the topmost button, trying to avoid actually touching her. I pulled her shirt back over her shoulders, and then down along her arms, so that she was basically topless. I backed up before her hands might accidentally touch my erection.

“Thank you, and close the door behind me?”

“Why do you need to have no shirt on for your project?” I asked.

She was walking forward. “It’s partly about um, about body positivity?” she said.

I nodded though she couldn’t see me.

As she entered her room, I now remember something I hadn’t really noticed before. She had two fans going in there, both at full blast.

“Good luck,” I said, desperately wanting to kiss her bare back before she walked into her room. But I am a good Dad. I shut the door behind her.

***

I was right that she wouldn’t last long with the fans. I don’t know how we’re going to avoid constant infractions throughout the rest of the night. I didn’t even try to go to bed, knowing I’d just be back in her room in no time—and indeed, it’s less than half an hour and I hear on the monitor the quiet sound of her vocalizing her shivers, then as she realizes what she’s done, quietly saying over and over, “Shit. Shit. Shit shit. Fuuuuck no.”

I walk back to her door. I know she is completely naked in there. I don’t want to unfairly force a spanking offense on her. So I take a play from her book—I open her door, then walk in backwards.

I can hear in her voice that she is panicking. “This was a really bad idea Dad, I need to stop this!”

Glancing at my watch as I walk sideways over to the envelopes I tell her, “You’ve got about six hours to go, then you can stop.”

“Daddy! I can’t even go twenty minutes without making a sound!”

Picking up the “third infraction” envelope I tell her “So it looks like I  might be coming in here about eighteen more times through the night. And I was worried about you getting any sleep!”

She makes a frustrated squeal as I move to open the envelope. Then loudly, the panic now full blow, “Oh shit oh no Daddy don’t open that one!”

I open it and read it. “Tug hard on the binder clips without pulling them off, then rapidly release them. Then put them back on me.”

I am reading this in some incomprehension.

“What do you mean by ‘binder clips’ here?” I ask, facing the wall so as not to look at her naked body.

“Dad don’t you know what binder clips are? You use them all the time.”

An image does start to form. The clips I use to keep sheafs of paper together.

“Put them back… on you?”

“Daddy,” she’s crying, “They’re on me. On my tits. They’re on my nipples.”

Slowly, I turn. I am now looking at my crying, naked daughter whom I’ve tied to her bed, and there indeed on her nipples are two binder clips.

With metal handles. I suddenly realize what those metal things she’d been having me hold on to were. They were the handles of binder clips. She was putting them on her nipples—then making sure it was practically impossible to remove them. (At least, without hurting herself much worse.)

“Wow.” I say. “Just wow.”

She continues to cry. “Please don’t do this. I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I went way too far.”

I am, amazing even myself, considering stopping this process. While thinking, I say out loud, “By the way you said ‘shit’ earlier, and now I’m seeing your naked breasts and vagina, so that’s three additional spanking offenses. And that’s not to mention all the times you’ve tried to quit tonight.”

“I know I’m sorry, please you can spank me as much as you want just please stop and please don’t do what that paper says.”

“As much as I want?” I say.

She nods desperately. “As much as you want I promise.”

“But I don’t spank you as much as I want, I spank you as much as you earn.”

She goes still. “You can spank me as much as I… earned…”

“Of course I can,” I say. “And I don’t stop helping you with your projects because you asked me to, I hold you to your word, and I hold myself to my own.”

I’m walking towards her now.

“Oh my god Daddy you have no idea how much this is going to hurt me,”

“I’m just tugging and then letting them go? How is that so bad?”

“I’ve watched videos Daddy, I’ve tried it on myself, it’s so bad and that’s when I’m the one doing it…”

She’s babbling a bit. I sit on a stool next to her, turning a fan off because it’s uncomfortably cold and noisy. I’ll turn it back on when I leave of course.

I am still hesitating. Can I do this without touching her?

She’s wailing, “no, no, no,” and I am reaching forward. I take the handle of the clip closest to me in hand, and I watch for her reaction as I start to tug upward.

“Tug hard, but not enough to pull it off” said the paper. So I slowly increase the pulling force. She tenses her whole body and makes an “mmmph” sound. I watch carefully, ever so slowly increasing the pull until I think I see the clip just barely start to move up the skin of her nipple. I stop, holding the clamp there for a few seconds. She’s going “ah, ah, ah” now.

After holding it there, I quickly press on the metal ends of the clip, releasing her nipple in a split second.

There is a pause, then my daughter screams.

She is pulling mightily against her ropes trying to protect the nipple I just hurt, apparently hurt pretty horribly. I let her scream, let her cry, let her say her “no”s.

“You really did bite off more than you can chew,” I say.

“Yehehehes I did Daddy please don’t make me keep going!”

I take the other clip in hand, and in the same way, make my daughter scream again.

This is what she herself wrote on the paper. This was the incentive she planned for herself. It’s her own fault for setting her expectations too high and then failing to live up to them.

Now the next step is to place the clips back onto her nipples. I take the first clip and open it up, lowering it towards her nipple.

As I let it close on her nipple she screams anew, which surprises me. I figured this would just return as whatever dull ache she’d been making herself endure when the clips were on her.

“That’s not right! That’s not right! That’s not how you do it Daddy take it off!”

I recognize there’s a real problem and I take it off immediately.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I didn’t have it directly on my nipple,” she says after taking several recovery breaths. “I want to stop this whole thing but if you’re really going to do it please do it right.”

I think about how the clips were when I first saw them, and realize what she means. No directly on the nipple, but clamping down on the flesh behind them.

I am at a new level of internal discomfort at this. So far I’ve managed to do everything without making any actual contact between my skin and hers. But I don’t see how I can get the clamp placed correctly without literally taking my daughter’s breast in hand, pinching it somewhat flat and holding it in place while pushing the clip down over the nipple.

“I’m going to have to touch you,” I say.

“I know, please don’t, please stop this.”

I sigh.

I grab my daughter’s tit.

***

I did get her some water after all that. She’s lasted an amazing amount of time since then. It’s been over an hour. Considering how much I hurt her and then considering I turned the fans back on and everything, I’m pretty proud. She must be shivering like crazy and her nipples must be just constantly stinging. And yet she’s keeping it together, keeping it quiet. I’m starting to think I might get some sleep tonight after all.

As I doze in my bed I’m thinking about how the handcuffs had turned out to be crucial to helping her las the whole time during her projects. I’m not saying she never asked to stop early after she started handcuffing herself, but since she literally couldn’t finish her project (whatever that meant) without her hands, it was in a way impossible for her to finish early.

But she did still occasionally give in and beg me to release her before her time was up, and eventually, I finally decided that yes, involving me in one of her projects then asking to end it early, would be a spanking offence. Once I told her I had finally made that decision, she almost never asked to stop early again. She got all the way to four hour long sessions with just a couple of false starts along the way.

Spanking is clearly a strong motivator for her. We spank on Fridays, and it’s a three time a day thing. However many swats she’s earned that week, I give her those swats immediately when she wakes up, then first thing after she gets home from school, then last thing right before she goes to bed.

Spankings are on the underwear, with a paddle, with her leaning over a chair or with her hands on her bed.

It’s a straight five swats to the bottom for each offense. And the offenses are very clear: Lying, nudity, cursing, earning C’s or worse, and making me have to tell her to do something three times before she obeys. You may wonder why I allow even one instance of disobedience rather than three, but like I said before, I am no authoritarian. I’m willing to talk. But if it’s important enough that I remain firm three times she needs to obey, and if she doen’t, she gets spanked. The “no quitting your projects” rule falls under that last offense. If she asks me three times to let her quit, that’s an offense, and each time she asks after that is another offense.

I’ve lost count of how many times she’s asked me tonight, and I’m not quite sure what to do about that.

I think I’ve fallen asleep but I do now, finally, hear something on the monitor. Glancing at the clock, it’s been an hour and a half since last time. I had wondered if she may even have fallen asleep in there, but apparently not.

She’s trying not to cry, and it’s coming out as a high pitched squeaking sort of sob, over and over again. And that’s a sound. I get up, put my clothes back on, and go over to her room.

She bawls when I open the door, but says nothing at first. I pick up the “Fourth Infraction” envelope and she begins to speak. “You don’t have tohoohoo, you don’t have to do it,” she says.

I sigh. While opening the envelope I ask her, “Do you know how many times you’ve tried to quit tonight?”

“No,” she cries. “I lost couhouhouhounnnt”

“Me too!” I say and amazingly, we share a weird laugh over that.

“We’ll figure that out later. But please don’t make it harder on yourself.”

As I’m pulling out the paper she pulls herself together enough to say “I won’t, Dad. I won’t ask you to stop any more. I’m just telling you. It’s just information. I have something to say.”

“Okay?” I ask.

“I will never do this again. I am never going to let you be in control of my projects ever again. I’m just going to stop doing them completely. Because you’re… so… MEEEAANNN!” she screamed the last word and I had no objection.

“Maybe you’ll keep that promise to yourself after breaking this one so many times,” I say before reading the paper.

It says, “Using the cane that is under my bed, hit my tummy, my legs, and my tits, five times each. If it doesn’t bruise, it doesn’t count.”

As I crouch down to find the cane she visibly strains at her ropes. I rise with it in hand and her face is almost like something out of a horror movie. I look first at her tummy, but in the side of my view I notice something about her legs I hadn’t noticed before. Very faint lines across both legs, too many to count quickly.

“Has someone been hitting you with this already?” I ask her.

She looks down at her legs and realizes what I’m talking about. “No I, I hit myself.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Dad I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. Why did I do any of this? It’s fun. There. It’s fun.”

“So you’re going to be having fun while I hit you with this thing?”

She rolled her eyes at this. “I somehow don’t think so Dad. I thought I might but you’re proving that whole theory wrong.”

“I’m just following your rules.”

“Well then get going,” she says this imperiously, trying to be cool, locking her eyes on mine.

And I do so, bringing the cane down on her tummy and watching as her eyes go back into horror film pose and she first just makes an “o” with her mouth, then in a panick, “Oh, oh, oh no, oh no, oh fuck no” and then I hit her a second time.

Of course bruises take some time to appear but the darkness of the red lines I’m laying on my daughter’s stomach make it clear what will be happening.

“Is this fun?” I ask after the five blows to the tummy. As she yells “No” I land the first blow on her left leg. After four blows—two to each leg in alternation she is breathing like she’s having a panic attack. I give her a moment to calm down before hitting her a fifth time. Then as I raise my arm again for another blow to the leg she yells “Wait that was five!”

“Five times each,” I say. You wrote “five times each.” Always teaching lessons. Always.

After laying five separate lines on each of her legs, I give her some water and again let her calm down.

True to her word, she doesn’t ask me to stop. She is resolved. I know she thinks she’s never going to do anything like this again but I’m still proud of her. Even if it feels like a kind of defeat to her, it’s still her owning the experience she has laid out for herself, just being in it, letting it happen.

I hit her left breast.

I hit each one, hard, twice, with the clips still in place. And then I decide to use a little discretion. It seems clumsy trying to aim clear of the little things, so I remove them. Not quickly like before, as she didn’t name this as part of her infraction incentive. I very carefully and slowly remove them so she just hisses a little. “Why did you take them off?” she asks.

Then I hit her right nipple.

***

After it’s all done, I replace the clips while she weeps openly. She still is managing not to beg, so that’s good. She’s just crying a lot. I give her more water and wait for her to show she can be quiet.

She’s badly bruised all over, she has had these clips on her nipples—tugged, removed, replaced—for four hours. She has fans pointing directly on those nipples and sweeping across her whole body. She’s going to be a sniveling, shivering, crying wreck. I am not sure she can even make it ten minutes. I’m really curious, almost scared myself, to find out what’s in that fifth envelope.

After a few minutes of quiet I lean down and kiss her cheek again, half expecting her to move away but she doesn’t. “You can do it,” I whisper, and somewhat to my surprise she whispers back “I know. I will.”

I smile gently. “Where did this newfound strength come from?”

“It’s like I’ve given up,” she says, with no negative judgment evident in her tone.

“I understand!” I say.

“And Dad?”

“Yes?”

“I really. I really. REALLY. Don’t want you to read the final envelope.”

“Must be really terrifying?”

“It is.”

“Okay, well, great incentive then!”

Exiting her room I stand by the door for a long while, as I’m expecting to have to just go right back in. But I don’t hear anything. Eventually I move to my room and lay down. I don’t hear anything as I doze off, and finally I’m sleeping, and I wake up to an alarm.

Her time is up.

Did she make noises that I slept through? Maybe but I doubt it. I had the monitor up loud and right next to me on the bed. I think she actually made it. After all that fuss, she managed four hours being chilled, laying bruised, her nipples surely in total agony, without making a single discernible sound.

I open her door quietly. She is awake. “Mandy! You made it!” I say.

She actually smiles. “I know.”

“Did you… did you get any sleep?”

She laughs. Amazing. “Ha, no, not a wink. I just did math in my head until you came back in.”

“I am really proud of you,” I say as I begin untying her legs.

“I was a complete fucking wimp,” she says.

“Ah,” I said. “Speaking of fucking.” I continue untying her leg. “It is Friday you know.”

“I was half hoping you’d forget.”

“I have no idea how many swats you’ve earned. You’ve cursed and begged to quit, it has to be at least 250 swats worth and that’s being conservative. There’s no way I’m going to swat you 750 times in a day.”

“That’s…” she exhales. “That’s a relief.”

“I want to give you a choice. We can split 250 into weeks of 50, so 50 swat spankings every Friday for the next five weeks. Or alternatively, we can make it 30 swat spankings every Friday for the next ten weeks.”

The most she’d ever had was fifteen.

“But that second option, that would be 300…”

“Consider it a fee for taking the easier option.

She nods. “I’m taking the easier option.”

“Perfectly valid,” I say, finishing the untie on her second foot.

She looks around the room. “Did you forget the paddle?”

“We’re going to do it a little differently. Scootch up now that your feet are free, and then flip over so your arms are crossed.”

“Wait, what?”

“For a second time: Scootch up, then flip over. Your arms will be crossed because they’re still tied down.”

She has presence of mind not to make me say it a third time.

I stand behind her while she strains her neck trying to see what I was doing. “I’m looking at your bare bottom now so that’s going to be 35 swat spankings today, you understand?”

She flops her face into her pillow. “Okay. But I still have my clamps on. And where’s the—”

I hit her ass with the cane.

***

She reacted so strongly to being hit with the cane on the ass and the backs of her legs she actually scooted the bed over a foot. I considered tying her down again and starting over (moving away from spankings invalidates them of course) but I knew this was all a big shock to her system so I just went with it.

When I was finished and she had cried it all out, I untied her wrists and let her get ready for school. As soon as they were untied she covered her tits with her hands, I think not out of modesty but to begin removing the clamps. “I need privacy. Now Dad.”

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” I sid, leaning down to kiss her forehead. She accepted this quietly. “You need to finish your project, right?” I’m finally starting to understand what that means, stupid old man that I am.

She stiffened. “Yes.”

I nodded and left.

I fixed breakfast, she ate silently, not sitting down, and then left without a word. I wasn’t surprised, she’d been through a lot. I’ve been sitting in my house resolutely not masturbating to thoughts of my daughter, trying to do something to take my mind completely off of her and what all had happened last night. This is of course a practically impossible task and I’ve had a really shameful erection going pretty much all day.

It’s about that time and Mandy walks in the door coming home from school. I am facing away from the door, and I am hesitant to see her face. I do fear that I broke something last night, went too far.

“Hey Dad,” she says and she sounds… normal. Cheerful even.

I slowly turn and she’s smiling, walking briskly to her room.

She goes in, squeals in a happy way, and comes back out holding a manilla envelope. The fifth infraction envelope.

“I meant to take this with me, I was afraid all day you were going to read it. Thank you for respecting my privacy.”

“I was tempted, but of course I didn’t.”

She still seems upbeat. “I could not stop thinking about last night, all day. I mean, the way you whipped both sides of my body made it pretty hard to forget. And the constant ongoing pain in my nipples. It’s still there. It all made me think of last night over and over again. I couldn’t stop.”

“And…” I hesitate, trying to be careful. “What are your feelings about what went on?”

“Uh,” she looks up at the ceiling. “Well, Dad, I’m making a new rule for myself.”

She walks towards me, unbuttoning her shirt. “Mandy!” I yell but she is doing what she is doing.

The shirt comes off and under it I can see she already has clamped them tightly. “I put them directly on the nipples this time,” she says, “It’s fucking agony. That was really stupid. But I can’t take them off because I removed the metal handles and threw them away.” She laughs.

Her shirt is all the way off now and she’s working on her skirt.

“Mandy what are you… put your clothes back on!”

She shakes her head, standing naked in front of me, the bluish reddish lines across her body making her somehow even more beautiful. I know it’s a cliché but it’s a cliché because that really is how it works and you know it.

“Nope, like I said, new rule.”

She hands me the fifth infraction envelope.

“This shit’s not coming off my tits until you do that to me.”

As I open the envelope she turned around and grasped the arms of a chair, showing me her badly bruised ass and legs.

I’m pulling the paper out and she says “And with all the nudity and cursing I think I’m up to, what, sixty swats? Right now and right before bed.”

She’s standing ready for a spanking as I read what she had written as her fifth incentive—do be done to her on a fifth and further infractions last night. She’d managed to avoid it, but here she was telling me she was determined to go through with it.

I read the words. “Your choice. Either hit my pussy ten times with the cane, or put your cum on my mouth.”

I am the one turning red now. “Like I said,” she repeats. “These clamps are staying on my nipples until you make your choice. You can hit my pussy, or you can cum on my mouth. I guess those might be bad words so, seventy swats?

Still red, I stand up. I walk over to her and take her by the shoulder, turning her gently around. “Mandy,” I say to her. “Yes?” she says, looking vaguely disappointed.

Her breasts, clamped and bruised, are impossible, finally, not to touch. I take one in hand, clamp and all, and squeeze. She winces, looks up at me, smiles, and leans in. As we begin to kiss I scan the room for the cane.