Chapter 4: The Straw That Broke
The silence that followed Lisa's final swing was almost worse than the noise. The paddle hung limp at her side, her chest heaving with exertion and barely contained glee, and the only sound in the room was Robert's ragged, animal breathing. He remained draped over the arm of the leather sofa, his knuckles white where they gripped the cushion, his forehead pressed into the worn leather as if he could somehow melt through it and escape.
His backside felt like it had been dipped in molten metal. The heat radiated outward in waves, crawling down the backs of his thighs and up into his lower back, a continuous, throbbing burn that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Underneath the baggy sweatpants he'd so stupidly chosen to wear, he knew the skin was a wreck—swollen, mottled, and angry.
"Alright," he wheezed, his voice cracked and barely audible. "Alright. That's... that's four hundred. Done."
He started to push himself up, his arms trembling with the effort, but a warm, firm hand pressed between his shoulder blades and shoved him back down. He didn't need to look up to know whose hand it was.
"Not quite, darling." Mary's voice floated down to him, smooth as honey and twice as sweet. "You're forgetting someone."
Robert's stomach dropped. He turned his head, peering over his shoulder through the blur of tears that still clung to his lashes. Mary stood behind him, arms crossed over her chest, that infuriating half-smile playing on her lips. Jennifer and Lisa had retreated to the kitchen doorway, whispering to each other with the giddy energy of schoolgirls who'd just pulled off a prank. And Ava—Ava was perched on the armchair across the room, phone in hand, her hazel eyes glittering with anticipation.
"No," Robert breathed. "No, Ava, come on. You don't need to—"
"See, that's where you're wrong, Daddy." Ava pushed herself off the chair with the casual grace of a cat stretching after a nap. She tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and sauntered toward him. "I've been waiting all night for my turn. You didn't think you were gonna get off easy just because your friends here got to play first, did you?"
"Those are your friends, not mine," Robert muttered, but the protest was weak, pathetic even to his own ears.
"They're my sorority sisters," Ava corrected, stopping beside her stepmother and looping her arm through Mary's. "And we've been having a lovely time, haven't we, Mary?"
"We certainly have." Mary's smile widened. She reached over and smoothed a strand of blonde hair behind Ava's ear, a gesture of such genuine affection that it made Robert's chest ache with a strange mix of love and dread. "Although, I've been thinking, sweetheart. A hundred seems a little... impersonal, doesn't it?"
Ava's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? What did you have in mind?"
Robert didn't like the way they were looking at each other. It was the same look they'd exchanged at dinner last Thanksgiving before they'd roped him into a game of charades that ended with him wearing a pink feather boa and reciting Shakespeare in a falsetto voice. They were plotting something.
"Well," Mary continued, tapping a finger against her chin as if in deep contemplation, "you missed the main event earlier. Jennifer and Lisa got to warm him up nice and proper for you. A hundred on top of that won't really give you the full experience, will it? The satisfaction of hearing him truly beg?"
Robert's blood ran cold. "Mary. Mary, no. Don't do this."
But Mary ignored him completely, her sharp green eyes fixed on her stepdaughter. "I want you to make him ask for it. Every single one. He wants to be a good boy and take his punishment? Fine. But he's going to earn each smack with a proper, heartfelt plea."
Ava's face split into a grin so wide it looked almost painful. "Oh, I like the way you think." She released Mary's arm and walked around the sofa, positioning herself directly in Robert's line of sight. She crouched down, bringing her face level with his. Her eyes were bright and merciless, and Robert could see the faint outline of a phone in her front pocket, no doubt still recording.
"You hear that, Steppy? Mary wants you to beg. So go on." She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Show me how much you want it."
Robert stared at her. At this ridiculous, beautiful, absolutely wicked girl who he'd helped raise since she was fourteen years old. He remembered teaching her how to drive, how she'd nearly killed them both by slamming on the brakes instead of the accelerator, how she'd laughed so hard she'd cried. He remembered walking her down the makeshift aisle at her high school graduation party, her hand squeezing his so tight his fingers had gone numb. And now she was crouched in front of him, practically vibrating with sadistic delight, waiting for him to degrade himself.
"You can't be serious," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Deadly serious," Ava replied. "And just so you know? My girls are still watching." She pulled her phone out and waggled it at him, the screen glowing with a FaceTime call that showed a grid of laughing, cheering college girls. "They're loving this. Jennifer's roommates joined in about fifty licks ago. I think we've got like twelve viewers now."
Robert turned his head away, humiliation burning hotter than his backside ever could. He'd been spanked before, of course. Mary had been administering her particular brand of discipline for years now, and he'd grumbled and complained and taken his licks like a man. But this? This was something else entirely. This was being put on display, paraded like a trophy, forced to strip away every last shred of dignity while a gaggle of twenty-year-olds watched him crumble.
"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Fine. Ava, you win."
"I don't hear a beg, Robert." Mary's voice was calm, almost bored, but there was a sharp edge beneath it.
Robert squeezed his eyes shut. The words felt like broken glass in his throat. "Please," he forced out. "Ava... please. Please let me take my punishment."
"That doesn't count, Dad," Ava said, drawing out the word with exaggerated sweetness. "You gotta be more specific. Tell me what you want. Tell me why you deserve it."
A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, tracing a hot path down his cheek. "I want you to paddle me. I deserve it because... because I forgot to take out the trash. Again. And because I left my dirty socks on the bathroom floor."
"What else?" Ava pressed, leaning closer. Her breath was warm against his ear. "What did Mary say you were being punished for?"
Robert let out a choked sob. "For being a thoughtless, lazy... asshole."
"Language," Mary said mildly.
"A thoughtless, lazy man," Robert corrected, his voice hitching. "Please, Ava. Please. I'm begging you. Please take your turn. I need it. I deserve it. Please."
For a long, agonizing moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were Robert's ragged breathing and the faint, tinny laughter coming from Ava's phone. Then Ava pushed herself upright, her knees cracking, and held out her hand toward Jennifer.
"Paddle," she said simply.
Jennifer crossed the room in three quick strides and pressed the heavy wooden paddle into Ava's palm. It was the same one Mary had used countless times before, a handcrafted thing with a smooth, contoured face and a handle worn glossy from years of use. Robert knew every grain of that wood intimately. He'd spent many evenings contemplating it from this exact position.
Ava tested its weight, swinging it experimentally through the air. It made a soft whooshing sound that made Robert flinch despite himself.
"Okay, Steppy," she announced, her voice carrying a theatrical ring. "Let's make this official. One hundred smacks, and you beg for every single one. I'll count, and if you miss even one plea, we start the whole set over. Sound fair?"
"No," Robert whimpered. "It doesn't sound fair at all."
"Good. Then we're on the same page." Ava positioned herself beside him, paddle raised. "You ready?"
Robert let his forehead fall back against the cushion. He thought about his recliner, about the remote control just out of reach on the coffee table, about the quiet evening he'd imagined when he'd walked through the door three hours ago. He'd been tired from work. He'd been hungry. He'd been thinking maybe pizza, maybe settling in to watch that hockey game, maybe—
The paddle cracked against his backside with a force that stole his breath.
The sound echoed through the living room like a gunshot. White-hot pain exploded across his already-blistered skin, and Robert's hands shot backward instinctively, trying to protect himself. Jennifer grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the small of his back before he could even think of defending himself properly.
"That was one," Ava said cheerfully. "And I didn't hear a plea, so we're gonna pretend that didn't happen. Ready to try again?"
"Please," Robert gasped, the word torn from him. "Please, Ava. I want you to keep going. I want you to spank me. Please."
"You can do better than that," Ava teased. She ran the flat of the paddle lightly over his swollen cheeks, and Robert wouldn't have imagined it possible, but the mere sensation of that wood touching his damaged skin made him wince. "Tell me who you belong to."
Robert's face burned as hot as his backside. He could hear Mary's soft, satisfied laugh from somewhere behind him. "I belong to Mary," he whispered. "And to you, I guess."
"You guess?"
"To you. I belong to both of you. I'm—" His voice cracked. "I'm your stepfather and I'm your responsibility to keep in line and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I should've been better, please—"
Crack.
This one landed lower, catching the fullest part of his cheeks where the skin was most tender. Robert cried out, his body jerking forward against the sofa arm, and Ava laughed—a bright, musical sound that chilled him to the bone.
"That's two," she said. "But that plea was pretty weak. You're gonna have to do better than that if you want me to keep going, Steppy."
Robert sucked in a shuddering breath. The pain was building now, layering on top of itself, a symphony of fire conducted by his own damn stepdaughter. He could feel every single one of Jennifer and Lisa's amateur smacks as a distinct bruise beneath Ava's more professional strikes. She might be young, but she'd clearly learned from watching Mary do this over the years. Her swings had intention. Precision. Malice.
"Please, Ava," he groveled, hating himself for it. "I need you to keep going. I need you to make me feel it. I need this—I need you to make me remember."
Crack!
"That's three," Ava sang.
"Please, hit me as hard as you can. Show everyone watching what happens to a man who disappoints his family. Please, make me pay for forgetting. Make me pay for being so stupid, so careless, so undeserving of the best wife and the best daughter a man could ever hope to have—"
Crack.
"That's four. But you forgot to say please before you said the girl watching were going to enjoy it. Pretty sure the rules are that every sentence has to end with a plea, Steppy."
Robert sobbed. Not just from the pain—though God, the pain was incredible, blooming outward like a supernova across his entire lower body—but from the sheer, unrelenting humiliation of it all. He was forty-eight years old. He had a mortgage and a 401(k) and a collection of antique fishing lures in his study. He'd given a TEDx talk once at a local community college. And here he was, bent over his own goddamn sofa, begging his college student stepdaughter to hit him harder.
"Please," he wept. "Please, Ava, I'm begging you. I'm on my knees, I'm begging you, please keep going, please don't stop, I need this more than I've ever needed anything in my life, I need you to paddle me until I can't sit down for a week, until everyone watching knows that I'm nothing but a naughty, worthless man who doesn't deserve an ounce of respect until he learns to behave, please, please, PLEASE—"
Crack.
"That's five," Ava said, and there was something almost reverent in her voice now. She paused, and Robert felt her hand rest on his trembling back, a gesture almost tender. "Look at you, Steppy. You're doing so good. I'm so proud of you."
The words hit Robert harder than any paddle could have. A fresh sob tore from his chest, and beneath the shame and the agony, he felt something else—something sick and twisted and deeply buried that blossomed in the warm glow of her approval.
Mary appeared in his peripheral vision, crouching down to meet his gaze. Her green eyes were soft now, warmer than they'd been all night. She reached out and stroked his sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead.
"You're doing so well, baby," she murmured. "Just a few more hours of this, and you'll be forgiven. You know I love you, right? You know this is because I love you?"
Robert nodded weakly, unable to form words.
Mary kissed his temple, then straightened and nodded to her stepdaughter. "Keep going. He's ready."
Ava raised the paddle again, and as it whistled through the air toward his battered flesh, Robert heard the faint, tinny sound of applause coming from her phone.
His dignity was gone. His pride was shattered. But somehow, in the wreckage of it all, he'd never felt more loved. The paddle connected with a sound like thunder, and Robert screamed his plea into the hollow, waiting darkness of his own living room.