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Withholding Tax

The Sacrament Of The Sacred Salt

There's a certain beauty to the intensity with which her whole body arches back, clenches, and he sees the left side of her face in profile, also clenched and tight, her eyes sealed with bodily concentration to hold back, to fight it back... to withhold, to fight against being emotionally exposed... despite how exposed the rest of her is in this position.

And he won't have it.

He gives her four more very sound hand-spanks, cracking loudly around the small bedroom, all purples and pinks, that is her room, in addition to the master bedroom that they, of course, share, then reaches to the Tinkerbell nightstand for the wooden hairbrush, with her Liddel name burned into its back, and sets it on her bare back, now hunching with ragged breaths which sound so raw and natural and real, given the circumstances.

But still her flushing, wincing, clenched face remains dry.

She withholds.

He leans in close to her pretty left ear, kisses it lightly, and strokes her already-quite-tended-to bottom with the fingertips of his right hand.

He whispers, low-register.

"My love, you're fighting me here. You know what's going to be required. And you know why."

Her eyes clench even tighter, her head drops, forehead to the cool bed, in some semblance of Submission at least -- but her pretty cheekbones remain unsatisfyingly dry. Which means something more than the merely physical -- it is a symptom. And he knows the cure.

"Are you permitted to deny Daddy access to any part of you?"

She whispers through her huffed breathing, as her body goes limp finally at the overarching point behind the question, draping her across his lap like a rag doll, unclenching everything at once.

"No sir."

"Well that goes for your insides too... and you know that."

"And you know why Daddy has to give you a bad punishment."

There is no inflection at the end -- it is not really a question.

"Yes sir."

She bites her lip -- she knows that he knows that she knows where this is going. Which charms him.

His slight stubble is brushing her cheek, as he murmurs from deep in his chest, his lips just lightly touching her ear, like a spoken kiss.

"What did Daddy tell you was going to happen. What would have to happen. Because of my Vow to you."

There is a long pause, but just before he must ask again, she whispers it so lightly that he cannot really hear it -- but her pretty lips show that she's brightly answered correctly, perhaps with the gravitational honesty which dangling helplessly over someone's knee can bring.

"Big-girl punishment."

"That's right. Good girl. Because we both know how yucky you've been feeling in your tummy about what happened. Don't we."

No inflection again.

She just nods softly, her eyes still clenched... still trying to hold back.

"And that's not good for your heart, is it."

Her lips tremble, just slightly, he leans down and kisses the left corner of her mouth, before brushing his lips lightly at her ear again.

"And I'm here to do anything I can to keep your heart from feeling yucky... To make sure your heart never feels punished... Aren't I."

Both lips curl in, she bites them tight against the rising swell in her throat.

"Even if I have to make other parts of you feel very punished... huh. I won't let you keep in the yucky stuff, Little Treasure. I know how to get it out of you..."

She twists her face at that, it is the swelling realization that he's right, and that he's not going to give her a reprieve... and that she does need this, much as she hates it, too.

"I won't ever forsake you, with half-measures of my Love, little one..."

She knows both of the ways he means that, and the rising swell finally bursts out through her face, she breaks into a sudden, explosive sob at both of them, before he'd even picked the hairbrush up of her back... which he now does.

It sends a stab through his heart -- the sound of someone Adored crying cannot help but move any Real heart!

But he knows that she knows that he knows what its meant to have Love that's never contingent on her not making mistakes, it's made its way into her deepest places... And what's driving the aching poignancy of the tears which have finally, finally begun, as well as all of those that he'll coax from her for the next ten minutes of no-nonsense, truly punishing paddling that will Purge every bit of her reserve, wash her in the Sacrament of the Sacred Salt, completely overcome her ability to withhold anything... anything at all, from him... and leave her, finally, in that drained, floating place of Forgiveness and lightness and Innocence, once again.