"Alright, Cara my love... ten hits, okay?Through the muffled pillow, she said, "Okay D-d-daddy." Her body was quaking now. I doubted anyone had ever hit her before. "Count for me... with each swat, my love." Her only response was her soft brown hair moving up and down: yes. "Here we go."I gave her an intentionally light swat. "One," she counted."Good girl, Cara." Then another swat, just as light."Two," she said, clearly thinking this wouldn't be too bad.Then, I smiled to myself. Time to take things to hard strength, though not my fullest. Smack! "Three!" she screamed. "Owwww, Daddy!" I had no response. "Please..." she cried out, but was interrupted. Smack! "Four!" I could tell that she was crying into the pillow. "That's right," I said, my pent-up anger releasing. "Keep counting!" Smack! I heard her count five while my eyes glowed at the sight of her precious ass jiggling right in front of me. And it wasn't just that: with each hit, she flinched, and with each flinch her knees slid. “Surely you know a better place to go.”“What? Yeah, anywhere. Why not your place? Or her hotel room?” Frieda rushed out the words.“We’re in the process of--”“Taisez-vous!“ Natasha said. She shushed the three people watching her with a finger to her lips. “Oui. Vrai. Natasha Marie-Jeanne leCarre. Quatre Janvier, mil neuf cent quatre-vingt-dix-huit.“She rambled off more French numbers and Owen’s eyes glazed over. He turned to Frieda. “Where would you go if you needed to burn an hour or so?”“Dad’s store,” Frieda said. She saw that was a bad suggestion. She tilted her head. “I don’t think you’d want to go hang out with a bunch of high schoolers playing pool.”“Good point,” he frowned. “Screw it. Let’s go see Janny at work.”“Plus vite. Plus vite.“ Natasha grumbled into her phone. Owen looked her over and frowned. He looked at Hafnan. She tried to smile broadly under her headscarf. She held Natasha’s two bags tightly against her knees. Owen turned to Frieda.She was bundled up in a heavy.
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