Chapter 15: Daddy's Discipline
She woke to the smell of bacon. For a disorienting moment, Sadie couldn’t place the heavy arm across her waist, the warmth at her back, the second body creating a wall of heat in front of her. Memory returned in a flood of sensation—the machine, the straps, the utter collapse into their care. She was nested between them on the garage floor, a rough blanket scratching her cheek.
Rhett’s arm tightened, a silent good morning. Jace, facing her, was already awake, his eyes tracing her face. “Sleep okay, princess?” he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep.
She nodded, her throat tight. She felt scraped raw, not just physically, but emotionally. The performative sarcasm that usually coated her words was gone, dissolved in sweat and tears. She was just… present.
“Rhett’s cooking,” Jace said, nudging her chin up with a knuckle. “Figured you’d need the protein.”
They untangled themselves. Rhett stood, pulling on his jeans without a word and heading into the house. Jace helped her up. Every muscle protested. She walked gingerly, a dull ache between her legs a constant reminder. Jace watched her slow progress, a smirk playing on his lips. “Sore?”
“Fuck off,” she said, but there was no bite.
“That’s my girl,” he chuckled, handing her Rhett’s discarded shirt from the floor.
The kitchen was bright, domestic. Rhett stood at the stove, his tattooed back flexing as he flipped eggs. He didn’t turn around. “Sit.”
She did, at the small square table. Jace poured her orange juice. The normality of it was staggering. They ate in near silence, the clink of forks loud in the room. Rhett watched her eat, his gaze a physical weight. He finished first, pushing his plate away and leaning back. “You’re quiet.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“You were quiet yesterday. You’re something else today.”
She poked at her eggs. “What am I?”
“Mine,” he said, simple and absolute. The word hung in the air.
After breakfast, Jace announced he had to head to the shop. He cupped her face, kissed her hard on the mouth. “Be good for him.” He winked at Rhett and left.
The silence in the house after the door closed was profound. Sadie stood at the sink, rinsing plates. She felt Rhett approach, a shift in the air pressure. His hands settled on her hips. He nuzzled the hair at her nape, his breath warm.
“You let go last night,” he murmured. “Finally.”
“You didn’t give me a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. You chose to break. It was beautiful.” He turned her around, his hands firm on the lip of the sink behind her. His eyes were dark, intense. “But today, you’re holding onto something again. I can feel it. That leftover spark, that defiance. We’re not done.”
A flicker of the old her ignited. “What does ‘done’ look like?”
“Obedience,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Not just your body. That’s easy. Your head.” He tapped her temple. “That chatter. That sarcastic shield. I want it quiet. I want you so sure of who you belong to that the thought of anything else is a joke.”
“And you get that by what? Bending me over that machine again?”
“No.” His thumb brushed her lower lip. “That was for you. To empty you out. This is for me. To fill you back up with the right things.”
He took her hand and led her back to the garage. It was different in the daylight. Less a dungeon, more a workshop. The machine had been covered with a tarp. He walked her to a cleared space near the workbench.
“Over my knee,” he said, sitting on a sturdy stool.
Her heart kicked against her ribs. “Rhett…”
“Now, Sadie.”
It was the use of her full name that did it. A line drawn. This wasn’t the chaotic play with Jace. This was something else. Deliberate. Pedagogical. She hesitated for only a second before positioning herself across his lap. The denim of his jeans was rough against her belly. The floor swam below her.
He pushed her shirt up her back. His hand, warm and broad, settled on the curve of her ass. He just left it there, a heavy, possessive weight.
“You trust me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You trust that this hurts me more than it hurts you?” His voice was low, tinged with something that sounded like regret.
She didn’t answer.
The first smack landed with a crisp, loud crack. It wasn’t a playful tap. It was a firm, stinging blow that shocked a gasp from her. Heat bloomed instantly.
“Count,” he said.
“One,” she gritted out.
The second landed on the opposite cheek. The sting deepened, radiating outwards. “Two.”
He settled into a rhythm. Slow. Measured. Each spanking was delivered with controlled force, leaving a patch of searing skin that built upon the last. It wasn’t about pain for pain’s sake. It was about focus. All the chaos in her mind, the residual fear, the stubborn independence, it all narrowed to this single, burning point of contact.
“Seven,” she whimpered, tears welling.
“Why are you here?” he asked, his hand pausing.
“Because you told me to be.”
The next slap was harder. “Wrong. Try again.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Because… because I want to be.”
“Better.” The spanking resumed. “Ten.”
By fifteen, she was crying openly, her body pliant over his lap. The pain was a cleansing fire, burning away the last of her resistance. She was just sensation and sound—the crack of his palm, her own ragged sobs, the low, steady sound of his breathing.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice softening. His hand stroked the heated skin, a gentle contrast that made her cry harder.
She heard the garage door open, footsteps. She didn’t care. She was past shame.
“Well, look at this,” Jace’s voice came, amused. He’d returned. “Starting the party without me?”
“She needed a lesson,” Rhett said, his hand still circling on her reddened flesh.
“Looks like she’s taking it real well.” Jace’s boots came into her view. He knelt in front of her. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down. The cool air on her hot, sore skin was a shock. “Open your legs for me, sweetheart.”
She did, without hesitation. Rhett’s hand resumed its stroking, gentler now, almost apologetic.
Jace’s thumbs spread her labia. “Fuck, she’s dripping.” He said it with a kind of reverent awe. “All this, and she’s soaked.” He leaned in and licked a slow, broad stripe from her perineum to her clit.
She jerked, a fresh moan torn from her.
Rhett’s hand came down again, three sharp, quick smacks on her already tender flesh. “Stay still. Take it.”
Jace’s mouth was on her in earnest now. He wasn’t gentle. He ate her with a hungry, sloppy intensity, his tongue fucking into her while his nose ground against her clit. The mixture of pain and pleasure was disorienting, overwhelming. The sting in her ass was a bright, sharp counterpoint to the relentless, building pleasure between her legs.
Rhett’s fingers joined, sliding into her cunt from above, his knuckles brushing against Jace’s tongue. He curled them, pressing up into that spongy spot inside her. “This is where you belong,” Rhett growled, his voice thick. “Right here. Between us. Taking what we give you. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” she sobbed.
“Yes, who?”
She faltered. Jace sucked her clit hard, making her back arch.
“Yes, who, Sadie?” Rhett’s fingers pushed deeper.
The word came out, broken and true. “Yes, Daddy.”
The effect was electric. Rhett let out a sharp breath. Jace groaned against her pussy, his vibrations pushing her higher.
“Come for Daddy,” Rhett commanded, his fingers working in tandem with Jace’s mouth. “Let it go. All of it.”
She shattered. It wasn’t the violent, machine-forced rupture of last night. This was a deep, rolling quake that started in her core and radiated out to her fingertips, her toes, echoing the heat in her ass. She gushed over Jace’s face, her body convulsing against Rhett’s restraining thigh. She cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound of surrender.
Jace lapped at her through it, gentler now, until she was whimpering from oversensitivity. Rhett carefully pulled her up, settling her shaky body onto his lap, her sore ass cradled against him. He kissed her temple, her hairline, her closed eyelids. “Good girl,” he whispered, over and over. “My good girl.”
Jace wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, watching them with a satisfied smile. He moved to lean against the workbench, lighting a cigarette. “Damn,” he exhaled.
Sadie burrowed into Rhett’s chest, spent. The chatter in her head was gone. There was only a profound, quiet certainty. This was her place. In his arms, under his hand, with Jace as their sharp, grinning shadow.
Rhett held her for a long time, until her breathing evened out. He looked over her head at Jace. “The Henderson job?”
“Frame’s welded. Needs your touch on the custom tank.”
Rhett nodded. He shifted Sadie, standing with her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. He carried her to the ragged couch in the corner of the garage and laid her down on her stomach. He grabbed a tube of arnica from the bench, squeezed a dollop onto his palm, and began to gently massage the cooling salve into her hot, red skin.
She moaned into the couch cushion, the touch now purely medicinal, tender.
Jace watched, smoked, and smiled. “Quiet now,” he said, not to her, but to Rhett.
Rhett’s hands never stopped their gentle, circular motion. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “She is.”