Thread: A Discussion of Theology (SnowGlassRoses)

The pause Aramis' hand found between strikes had little to do with mercy toward his daughter, for her mercy would come from God, not from him, and everything to do with how much a man could endure. Be firm, he would tell himself after every sharp blow to her pale bottom, after every sharp wince that followed. It is the only way she will learn her errors and grow up into a proper lady. A fourth blow. Her high-pitched feminine shriek which filled their home, echoing off the walls, did little good for a father's heart. I love you, he whispered, eyes closed, his voice so low that barely he could even hear it. They were for himself rather than Yvette. I simply wish you would behave. A fifth strike, open palm coming sharp across his blossoming teen's bare backside. And blossoming she was, he thought, beautiful and growing more so. After the first few initial strikes Aramis paused in the punishment, but not to let her up. His left palm lowered again to that soon to be reddened ass, to those cheeks his hand would strike at the center of, not yet giving specific attention to either. His palm came to brush upon them, his touch gentle this time, a sharp contrast, before gliding to Yvette's left cheek, encompassing the breadth of it in an outstretched hand. He caressed it, moved in a slow circle about her skin, rubbing, almost massaging his little girl's intimate area. It was important to him, even in the depths of punishment, that she know she is loved, a young woman's heart fragile, easily shifting, yet worth the world. Firm, he thought approvingly, his hand giving her bottom a light squeeze. She would make some man very happy one day. A sixth strike, sharp and sudden. Aramis' hand released its grip on Yvette's left cheek to quickly raise up, and to twice as quick descend, sucking in a breath as he struck her. The first prayer had been a wonderful choice. She would need several more to get through this, though. A seventh blow, his hand very much concentrating on the left side of her curved skin now. An eighth, in quick succession. He took note of his daughter's squirming about, as she would, as she ever did, Aramis' right hand doing what it could to reach to her far shoulder, to hold her upper body across his lap as much as one strong hand could. She would know not to get away though. Squirm all you care, but run and Papa's belt would crack you before you even reached the door. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. The shrieks and choked tears saved her from her fourteenth, though she would not know it. The aging man's heart couldn't. He just... he couldn't, may God forgive his weak lapse. Aramis has indeed raised his arm in the air again but there it paused, breathing in and out, waiting a few seconds until Yvette's pained howls died down before another swing. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. He switched to her other cheek, to her right. Spank. Spank. Spank. Spank. The minutes passed, as slowly as they ever could. It was amazing how quick they seemed at times, though now, now it amazed him even more at just how much heartache could be fit into a single one. The tears that dotted Aramis' cheeks were silent ones, his face otherwise firm, his eyes closed, never breaking composure for fear a single crack may lose it entirely. They would be wiped away before she could ever see, the sadness trickling on his cheeks. Then, in a sudden spike of frustration, teeth clenched, his right hand moved from her shoulder to her hair, gripping full to Yvette's dark blonde curls. Aramis jerked her head back as his left hand raised up high, forcing her neck taut, forcing her throat to expose. And like that he continued her beating, fast, fast and unrelenting, each new strike coming in swift, hard tandem, allowing no reprieve. Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Another pause. Aramis' breathing came strong and deep. His grip laxed on her curls and took to stroking her instead, running fingers through her soft, very well taken care of hair. The other fell to Yvette's cheeks again, no longer lily white but a considerably brighter color a degree of blush one rarely possessed on the cheeks on their face. Aramis did what he could, all he could, sadly, to assure her without words that she was loved. Should she come to hate him for this, for even a moment, then the shattering of his heart may prove him not as strong as he may outwardly seem. I am sorry, he muttered, again to himself, fingers drifting from her hair back down to her dress, again to her back where his touch could caress up and down the length of her dress, from her neck down between her shoulders, down to just above her bottom and back again, tracing tender along the fabric. His other hand did what it could to soothe her backside, ever so soft, light squeezes one might receive from a lover followed by the gentle caresses of his fingers. But then he felt something, something that made him positively shiver. Yvette's more intimate blonde curls. The proof of her blossoming womanhood. Eyes closed the entire time, Aramis hadn't been thinking how close he was until he felt several loose curls from her tuft of hair against one of his digits. His heart froze. His hand instantly pulled away, a quick pang of shame washing over him. Her innocence. It was unintentional. She... she likely didn't even feel it, it was just a few hairs and not her skin. He told himself that, taking yet another deep, heavy breath, though his hand on her back had ceased its ministrations in accordance with the sudden burst of shame. A minute passed where nothing was said. Where nothing was done. Then, his mind forced to steel, his back ever straight against the chair, Aramis silently retook to his task. One hand on Yvette's far shoulder to hold her somewhat steady, the other raising and lowering in an unforgiving spank. It had been seven minutes so far, though he wasn't keeping count. It would be another four more before his little girl's thorough punishment was through. Several paced, spread out strikes would be followed by a brief reprieve followed by several more blows to her opposite cheek. When it was done, when it was finally done Aramis took in a sharper breath, eyes still closed as he spoke. Stand up, Yvette. ...when you can. A heavy tone to match a heavy heart, eyes never once opening through the lot of it. Your punishment is over... Please, I want you to stand up in front of my chair with your skirts still raised.