I hadn't heard Daddy leave, so I awoke with a start when I heard his ringtone. "Daddy?" I croaked into the phone.

"Good Morning, Goofgirl!" He sang back at me. My heart felt a little lighter at the sound of his voice, but my body felt like it was weighed down with sand bags. "Still tired from yesterday, my Slut?" He asked me cheerfully.

"MMMhmmmm," I moaned, remembering. Daddy hadn't been pleased with the job I had done on the kitchen floor and so he had me do it again-on my hands and knees with a toothbrush. I had to have my ass plugged as well, He let me keep my bra on, but not my panties, so that when he told me to, I could turn my ass to him and he could see his BabygirlSlave's ass stretched as I worked. After, he had given me a warm bubble bath and a long, slow spanking with the hairbrush. My ass, legs and back hurt down into the muscle.

"Time to get up, my Slut. You owe me some lines. Clean up and log on to the computer."

"Yes, Sir," I said, a little confused. Daddy never let me write lines on the computer, so why did he want me to log on? My brain was too tired to wonder too much as I brushed my teeth, washed my face and put my hair up. I left on my camisole and my jammie bottoms.

Daddy had given me 500 lines to write: I will be efficient and thorough in my work. While I hated writing lines, I loved having an assignment from Daddy and when I wrote lines I inevitably had to change my panties before I was halfway done. I shuffled into the living room and logged on as Daddy had told me. His words were just as bright as his voice had been.

"Hi, Baby. I'm sorry I can't be there to watch you do your punishment lines, but I installed a camera so I can see that you indeed do your lines EFFICIENTLY and THOROUGHLY." He added a smiley emoticon. I looked up and saw the cam. "Smile, Baby. And get started!" his words commanded me.

"Yes Sir," I typed back and smiled.

I toddled back to the bedroom and grabbed my lines notebook. I sat back down carefully and every sore muscle announced its presence as I did. I opened to a new page.

I showed the blank page to the camera and began my first line. I will be efficient and thorough in my work. I will be efficient and thorough in my work. I wrote the first page and looked up at the camera.

“Show me” Daddy’s words said. I showed the page to the camera. It was comforting to know Daddy was watching me. I felt good knowing that I wouldn’t slack off under his surveillance. I fell into a rhythm and as I worked on my lines, my mind started to wander to the possibilities with the camera. Would Daddy start picking out my food and picking out my clothes? I will be efficient and thorough in my work. I will be efficient and thorough in my work. Would Daddy start monitoring what TV shows and movies I watched? I will be efficient and thorough in my work. I will be efficient and thorough in my work. Would he decide how I should wear my hair and what earrings to wear and if I should wear makeup and how much?

I watched my hand move across the paper mechanically. I felt that my nipples had started to grow hard at the fantasies of Daddy’s increasing monitoring and control in my life. I reached into my camisole absently and stroked my left breast with two fingers. I grabbed my breast and squeezed the nipple and pulled. An electrical current ran from the nipple to my clit. Being watched by my Daddy, being watched over made me feel so hot, that I started to squirm in my chair. The bruises on my ass felt tender and I remembered being over Daddy’s knee last night. I will be efficient and thorough in my work. I will be efficient and thorough in my work. I tugged harder at the nipple imagining Daddy biting and pulling on it. I imagined the hungry look he gets when he looks up at me, monitors me as he chews and pulls on my tits. That looks makes me so—

The key turned in the lock and Daddy walked into the room in one swift motion. I jumped down from the chair and rushed to him. “Daddy!” He was undoing his belt and had a dark look in his eye. “What the matter, Daddy?” I said, stupidly. Obviously something was wrong and by the looks of it, I would know soon enough. Daddy pointed to the chair and I sat down, my heart racing. “What is it, my Daddy?” I looked up at him and he cocked his head to one side. He yanked my camisole down roughly revealing the red squeezed flesh of my tit. “Daddy! I’m sorry! It was a reflex. I didn’t mean to!”

Daddy did something to the camera and turned the chair around so the back was to the camera.

He pointed to the seat and I got on all fours. There were no preliminaries. Daddy raised the belt above his head and brought it down swiftly across my ass. I was grateful for the jammies because the sting was intense. I grunted and lowered my head. The next blow came before I was recovered and the blows kept coming. Daddy said nothing as he whipped my ass over and over with slow, strong swipes. He only paused once, to grab my chin and raise my head. “Look into the camera, Goofgirl. Let the people see how you can take a beating from your Daddy.” I felt my pussy muscles tighten.

I looked into the camera and realized that Daddy had somehow changed the setting. I realized we were broadcasting live. What did the viewers see? A red-faced white woman, close to tears, her hair falling from its tie, her left tit hanging out of her camisole getting a belting from her Black Daddy, standing behind her, his hand on the small of her back, his arm raised high. What did they hear? What did they think when they heard the unmistakable sound of leather hitting cloth, her grunts and moans as he beat her harshly like a disobedient child or slave?

My hips tilted up as Daddy pressed on the middle of my back and when he grabbed me around the middle and drew me to him, I knew I was drenching my panties. The complicated sensations of pain and comfort never cease to cause my pussy to flood. I leaned against Daddy as a flash of sweat broke out under my hairline, under my armpits and behind my knees. The smacks came in sets of 4 or 5 or 10 and my moans morphed into cries and then to screams and then to howls.

“OOOwwww OOOwwwwww, Da---ddeeeeeee. I’m soooorrreeeeee. Pleeeeasseeee!” I howled as the straps rained down. Daddy finally stopped and rubbed my ass and kissed my temple. He whispered in my ear,

“Tell them why your Daddy is giving you a licking, Little Girl.” I nuzzled against his words.

I didn’t want to, but I said, “My Daddy is giving me a licking now because I played with my tit without permission. I belong to Daddy and I have to ask for and receive permission before playing with this body. When I disobey Daddy, he punishes me. Is that good, Daddy?” I looked into his face. His eyes sparkled at me, but his expression was flat.

“Take down your pants, Krystenah,” he growled.

“But Daddy!” I looked helplessly from the camera to his face. “I told them,” I whined.

“If I have to do it myself, you’ll be very sorry,”

“I’m already sorry,” I muttered under my breath as I pushed my pants and panties down past my sore and stinging ass to the floor. He pushed me back onto the chair and brought the strap down against my thighs. I shrieked and raised up against the pain. I lowered myself down and he grasped me roughly around the middle. He brought the strap down over and over. If I squirmed more, the blows were harder. My skin stung and itched and felt numb and then stung again. My chest hurt from screaming but I kept my head up looking into the camera because that is what Daddy wanted.

“Tell them who you are, Krystenah,” Daddy commanded.

“I’m your Slut, Daddeeeee.”

“What else?” He laid the belt across my thighs and strapped them hard, slowly, again and again and again.

“Your Bitch, your Fucktoy, your Slave, MasterDaddy, your Slave…Owwweeeeee, please Daddy, fuck me, fuck me, Master” I started to bawl openly, desperate for my Master’s cock inside me and his forgiveness at my stupid disobedience. Daddy stopped spanking me and he pushed my head down onto the chair. I felt his hard-on pressing against my screaming flesh and I felt some juice escape from my flower petals. Daddy slid his cock inside me and all the tightness in my chest went away, all the pain in my muscles and my flesh went away. He pressed himself deeper and deeper inside me with excruciating slowness until his thighs were flush with mine. When he began to pump, the pain returned and the pleasure of his fat dick inside me coalesced with the pain of his flesh hitting my red, damaged skin.

I began grunting like a senseless animal as all thoughts fled my brain. All I wanted was this moment to continue and to be fucked and reclaimed as Master’s slave and princess, to be monitored, checked and corrected as he saw fit. As Daddy fucked me I could only imagine what it looked like on the other side of the camera. Did it just look like a black guy fucking the shit out of a white girl? What would people imagine: that they were married or that they had just met? By any chance could it look like what it really was—a Master reminding his slave that she was completely owned inside and out?