God, Susan is so loud. Even when she’s just sitting there paying bills, her energy is stressful.

I was leaning against the granite island, microwaving a slice of three-day-old pizza and nursing a neon-lime energy drink. I was scrolling TikTok at full volume as some girl explained why her aura is slime green.

I was wearing an oversized slime-green mesh top over a black lace bralette, paired with micro-shorts and platform boots that made me look like I’d just crawled out of a rave in 2004. Toto, my bug-eyed teacup Chihuahua, was tucked under my arm in his cashmere sweater, trembling like a leaf. It was my whole vibe.

“Kaia, honey, can you please—please—turn that down?” Susan sighed, rubbing her temples. “I’m trying to focus. And I found three empty bottles of that sickening neon green sludge in your room. It’s a mess in there.”

Here we go again, that bitch always found something to complain about.

I didn't even look up. “It kind of is my space, Susan. I own the place—well, Daddy does, which is the same thing—and you’re his little wifey. I’m pretty sure house cleaning is your department.”

I took a sip of the sludge. “Besides, my energy drink consumption is integral to my personal brand.”

She put down her pen. I could feel her trying to pivot, probably using some technique she read on a blog about ‘parenting adult children.’

“Look, I know we clash. I know you think I'm ‘cringe,’” she started, voice going all soft. “But I want us to be close. You’re my daughter, and I miss...”

She cleared her throat.

“I miss my Kitten.”

I froze. The TikTok loop played over and over, but I didn't hear it anymore. The word hung in the air like a bad smell. It felt like a violation.

I turned slowly, letting the cool girl mask slip just enough to show her the ice underneath. “Excuse me?”

“I—I just thought... your father calls you that. It’s sweet,” she stammered, clearly realizing she’d stepped on a landmine.

I stepped closer, clutching Toto tighter. “No, Susan. Daddy calls me that. And you don't get to. That’s his name for me. It means something between us. It isn't for you.”

"It’s just a name, Kaia! You’re acting like a spoiled brat, and I’m tired of it."

I smiled. She made it so easy. “Exactly. You can call me a brat. You can call me spoiled. But you don't get the gold star, Susan. You don't get the access.”

I turned on my heel and walked into the living room, collapsing onto the pristine white sofa. I needed space from her energy.

But of course, she followed me. She just couldn't let it go.

“You aren't a guest in a hotel, Kaia!” she shrieked, looming over the sofa. “I am your mother, not your maid. I am done picking up your filth and pretending your 'aesthetic' isn't just pure laziness!”

I took a long, slow sip of my drink, staring her down over the rim of the can. “I'm eighteen. My mess is the aesthetic, Susan. Get over it.”

Then, the office door opened.

Daddy walked in. He looked impeccable, as always, but was annoyed that we were disturbing his peace.

“What is going on in here? I’m on a call.”

Mother immediately started flailing. “Your daughter refuses to respect me, she refuses to clean up her trash, and she’s treating me like... like an intruder in my own house! Tell her, Richard!”

He didn't look at her. He looked at me. His eyes locked onto mine, and the air in the room instantly changed. It got heavier. Better.

“Kitten,” he said. His voice was firm, calm, and totally commanding.

I perked up instantly, shifting my legs on the couch. This was the game. This was the check-in.

“Look at me,” he commanded. “Your mother is right. We don't live in a landfill. Put the phone away and apologize to your mother.”

I felt that delicious spark of defiance. I wanted to see how far I could push it. I wanted to see if he’d actually make me stop.

“Oh, Daddy is here to enforce the law?” I pouted, tilting my head. “That’s so hot of you, Daddy, but honestly, Susan is just being hysterical. I’m just hydrating. Why is everyone so obsessed with me?”

“She’s mocking you, Richard!” Mother shrieked. “She’s mocking both of us!”

I snapped. She was ruining the moment. She was ruining the dynamic.

“Shut up, Susan!” I yelled, glaring at her. “You’re just jealous because he actually talks to me!”

“Kaia! That is enough!” Daddy’s voice boomed as he stepped forward.

I felt cornered. The adrenaline spiked, and I decided to burn it all down. If I were going to be the villain, I’d be the best God-damned villain they’d ever seen.

“No! You know what? You're right. I have a bad attitude. I'm a nightmare. Because you two are honestly just a couple of self-righteous, clueless fucking assholes!”

I reared back and hurled the can. It hit the hardwood with a satisfying CRACK, exploding neon green juice everywhere—all over the white baseboards, all over Susan’s sensible shoes.

“I hate you! Both of you!” I screamed, scooping up Toto and sprinting for the hall.

I slammed the door of my room so hard it rattled the glass in the windows.

I set Toto down on his satin pillow and pulled out my phone. I flopped onto my stomach on the bed, my heart hammering in my chest. My hands were shaking a little, but the rush was undeniable.                                

I heard muffled voices in the living room. Then, the front door opened and closed, and the sound of Susan’s car starting. Good. She was leaving.

He had sent her away.

I wished he would send her away for good. She had done her job -  she had given him me – and I wasn’t willing to share him. Not with her, not with any woman.

I was crushing hard on Daddy, and in my eighteen-year-old fantasies, he would notice that I was so much better than Susan, sweep me off my feet, and make me his forever lover.   

I lay on my belly, kicking my feet in the air, scrolling through Reddit porn videos I wasn't actually watching, waiting for him.

I heard his footsteps. He was coming. He was probably going to yell at me for treating Susan like shit or threaten to ground me. What I secretly craved was his discipline. I needed him to take me by force and make me be Daddy’s good girl.

The door handle turned. He didn't knock – of course he didn't – he walked right in.

The door to my room didn't just open; it swung inward with the heavy, rhythmic weight of someone who owned the air in the hallway. Daddy stood in the frame, his silhouette sharp against the light, his eyes moving over the neon posters and the discarded energy drink cans with a look of clinical detachment.

I ignored him, remaining sprawled out on my bed, looking at my phone.

"We’re done, Kaia," he said. His voice was a low, steady vibration. "The games, the 'aesthetic,' the constant disrespect toward your mother. It ends now."

I didn't even look up. I let out a long, theatrical sigh, my voice thick with vocal fry.

"Whatever, Daddy. I don’t have time for this bullshit today. Susan is stepping on my aesthetic. Tell her to stay in her lane and off my ass."

The silence that followed was thick. The only sound was the frantic yapping of Toto, who had sensed the shift in the room and was now standing on the edge of the duvet, his tiny teacup frame vibrating with anxiety.

Daddy took two slow, measured steps into the room.

"Is that right?"

I finally looked up, a bored smirk playing on my lips.

"Yeah. It's right. I'm eighteen. I'm a brand. I'm not some suburban housewife-in-training. If you want me to play nice, maybe tell your wife to stop acting like she—"

"I told you once, Kaia," Daddy interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, becoming that immovable object I both feared and craved. "I am not your fan. I am not your follower. I am your father. And since you’ve decided to make this about your 'ass,' I think it’s time we addressed it."

I smirked, ready with a response. "What are you—"

"Phone. On the nightstand. Now."

"No," I snapped, my Electric Lime bravado flaring. "You can't just—"

In one swift, predatory motion, Daddy reached down. He didn't snatch the phone; he simply wrapped his hand around my wrist with a grip like a velvet-lined vice. The strength was immediate and absolute. He set the phone on the nightstand without breaking eye contact.

"I gave you the chance to be an adult, and you chose to be a brat," Daddy said, his tone devoid of anger, which made it ten times more terrifying. "Now, you're going to be a daughter."

He sat on the edge of the bed. Before I could scramble backward, his arm hooked around my waist, hauling me toward him.

"Daddy, stop! You can't!" I shrieked, my cool-girl voice cracking into a high, panicked pitch.

"I can," he replied simply. "And I will."

He didn't hesitate. He reached down, and with a firm, mechanical tug, my shorts were gone, pooled around my ankles. The cool air of the room hit my skin for a split second as he draped me face down across his knees.

Toto let out a piercing, high-pitched howl and scurried to the corner of the bed, his ears pinned back. I was upside down now, my raven hair brushing the rug, my vision filled with his polished black shoes and the steady, terrifying rise and fall of his knees beneath me.

"This is the last time you will speak that way in this house," Daddy said, raising his hand. "Do you understand?"

The only answer was a sharp, terrified intake of breath.

The room felt smaller, the air heavy with the scent of Daddy’s cedar cologne and the ozone of my neglected tech. Daddy didn't rush. He settled his weight, ensuring I was draped securely across his lap. My world was a blur of his dark trousers and the distant, frantic yapping of Toto in the corner.

Then, the first strike landed, and a total sensory takeover began.

CRACK!

The sound was sharp, like a gunshot in the quiet room. My body jerked, my hands flew out to catch myself against the bed frame.

"Ow! Stop it!" I shouted, my voice still laced with the bravado of my aesthetic. "Daddy, seriously! I’m eighteen! You’re going to—" My protests fell on deaf ears. My ass stung from the force of the blow.

CRACK. CRACK.

The next two came in rapid succession. The sting was immediate—a white-hot flash that made my vision swim. My words died in a sharp gasp. I tried to kick my legs, my Jeep’s oversized tires, and my boss-girl persona felt like a lifetime ago.

"You're going to learn, Kaia." Daddy’s voice was a calm, low anchor beneath the violence of the sound. "Every time you think you’ve outgrown your respect for this family, I will remind you exactly where you stand."

As the spanking continued, the rhythm became a metronome of discipline. Daddy wasn't swinging wildly; he was delivering heavy, flat-handed strikes that carried the full weight of his authority.

THWACK. CRACK.

I heard the sounds begin to change as the skin on my backside reached a fever pitch of heat. The stinging was now a deep, radiating burn. My yelps transitioned into jagged, rhythmic breaths.

"I hate... I hate you!" I whimpered, my face buried in the charcoal wool of his slacks. But the 'hate' had lost its edge. It sounded like a reflex, a dying gasp of the brat I had been ten minutes ago.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

The room was filled with it now—that percussive, inescapable sound of palm meeting skin. It was the only sound in my universe. Toto had stopped barking and was now making a thin, high-pitched whine, sensing the total collapse of his mistress’s ego.

By the twentieth strike, the defiance was gone. The heat was so intense that I felt a strange, dizzying rush of adrenaline and shame. The psychological wall I’d built with energy drinks and social media followers – my aesthetic - crumbled.

My breath began to hitch in my throat, turning into small, wet hiccups. The yelps of pain softened into something much more vulnerable.

"Daddy..." I gasped, my fingers knotting into the fabric of his trousers.

CRACK.

"Please... it’s too much..."

He didn't stop. He delivered three more, each one slower, heavier, and more deliberate than the last, marking the end of the lesson.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

"Daddy, please..." I whimpered, the words muffled against his leg. It wasn't the mock-patronizing "Daddy" from earlier. It was a high, thin, broken plea—the sound of the Kitten finally coming home to the only authority she truly respected. "Daddy, please... I’ll be good. I’m sorry. Please stop."

The final strike seemed to echo for an eternity. I finally broke. The last of my "Electric Lime" armor shattered, leaving only a trembling, eighteen-year-old girl who was desperately overstimulated and utterly defeated.

Daddy finally stilled his hand. He didn't move me. He kept me there, draped across his knees, the steady rise and fall of his breathing the only movement in the room. He rested his large, warm hand over the center of the heat he had created, a heavy gesture of completion that felt both like a brand and a weirdly intimate comfort.

I just lay there, my hair brushing the floor, my chest heaving with silent, tearless sobs. My rear end was a map of fire, throbbing in time with my racing heart. I was small now and in the dark, secret corners of my mind, the shame was already beginning to twist into that dangerous, secret relief I would later have to process alone.

Daddy finally withdrew his hand. The warmth of his palm lingered on the fire of my rear end for a heartbeat longer than necessary—a silent, heavy reminder of who owned that heat—before he stood up.

The bed groaned as his weight left it. From my position facing down, I saw his polished black shoes move across the floor. He didn't look back. He didn't offer a hug or a comforting word to the "Kitten" he had just broken. Instead, he stood by the nightstand, his movements smooth and unhurried as he adjusted the cuffs of his charcoal shirt and checked the time on his watch.

"I expect you in the kitchen at 07:00 sharp to report for chores, Kitten," he said. His voice was once again the level, professional tone of a CEO delivering an ultimatum. "The navy coveralls are in the laundry room. You will wear them. No jewelry, no phone, and no makeup. Your mother will have a list of chores. If you are a single minute late, we will return here and double the length of tonight's session. If you disrespect your mother in any way, we will return here and double the length of tonight's session. Do you understand?"

I whimpered, my face still pressed into the duvet.

"Yes, Daddy," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the ringing in my ears.

"The Jeep stays parked for two weeks. If you need a ride, take the bus. Are we clear?"

Taking the bus? Oh my fucking God.

"Yes, Daddy," I whispered.

"Good girl."

Daddy turned and walked toward the door. As he passed the corner where Toto was hiding, the tiny Chihuahua flattened himself against the floor, his tail tucked so tight it disappeared. Daddy didn't even glance down. He stepped out into the hallway, and the door closed behind him with a firm, metallic click of the latch.

My eyes were wet with tears, and my skin was screaming, but there was this other thing... this heat that wasn't just from his hand. It was heavy and low, and it made my stomach flip. I hate it, but I wanted him to keep going. I wanted him to keep his hand on me forever because, as long as he was spanking me, I was the only girl in the world to him.

I didn't move for a long time, lying exactly where he had left me, face pressed into the duvet, my breath coming in slow, jagged catches.

I lay quietly, but the quiet wasn't empty; it was filled with the rhythmic, heavy throb of my body. My butt felt like a map of glowing embers, a sharp contrast to the cool, designer sheets beneath me. Every heartbeat sent a fresh wave of warmth radiating through me, and with it, a heavy pull deep in my belly.

He did it. He actually did it. I pushed, and I pushed, and he didn't blink. He just... took me. The adrenaline and the heat began to cross-wire in my brain. I had always craved Daddy’s discipline, but I didn’t realize how much it would turn me on.

I closed my eyes, and the darkness didn't bring peace; it brought a high-definition replay. I didn't see the room; I saw the charcoal-grey wool of his slacks inches from my face. I felt the terrifyingly steady rise and fall of his knees beneath me again.

He didn't give in. He didn't yell back. He just... handled it. He handled me. I don’t have to be the Boss Girl right now. I’m just a girl who got caught. And God, it feels so good to just be caught.

The heat from my spanking radiated through my pelvis, warming my entire core. My hand moved almost of its own accord, sliding over my belly and into my panties to find the heat he had created.

The memory of the sound—that sharp, percussive CRACK—echoed in my mind. But now, without the fear of the next strike, the sound made my toes curl. I wasn't thinking about the pain anymore; I was thinking about the power.

He called me 'Kitten.' Not the fake way I say it. He said it like he owned the word. Like he owns me. I’m eighteen, I have my Jeep, I have my life... and he just stripped it all away with ten minutes of his time. He made me say 'please.' He made me small.

I began to move, my breath hitching not from tears this time, but from a desperate, focused need...