Chapter 8: Brent
Ellie was silent on the way home, and Brent allowed it. He was admittedly impressed with her, but knew that their night wasn’t over. She had atoned for her lies, but there was still the issue of her missed curfew to address.
Brent had been using his belt to correct any mistakes in protocol, with five lashes per mistake plus ten for maintenance delivered each night before bedtime. He had found this strategy to be effective, particularly in light of the fact that the day prior Ellie had not needed a single correction.
The breach of curfew, however, was not a mistake- it was a deliberate choice. Brent’s punishment, therefore, needed to do more than correct- it needed to remedy, and prevent. This wasn’t about teaching her, it was purely about punishing her. Ellie needed to accept that choices were no longer hers to make; it was time for Brent to break her.
When they arrived home Ellie removed all of her clothes and stood in Inspection pose as usual. Brent left her while he set something up in his home office, then returned to see that she hadn’t moved- he was pleased to see that her earlier ordeal hadn’t distracted her from duty. He took his time admiring her ruined makeup and the crusted remnants of spit and cum on her face and breasts. He cupped her between the legs just because he could, his fingers pressing her chastity belt into her warm center.
“Open your eyes, Ellie,” Brent commanded, “look at me.” His daughter’s eyes met his, communicating a world of regret, fear, and exhaustion. He kissed her on the lips, then wrapped his arms around her in a tight bear hug. “I am so proud of you,” he whispered, “you did so well.” He felt her body relax into him as he praised her, her breath becoming shorter as if she were about to cry. “I forgive you for lying, Ellie. Tonight you demonstrated your worth, and your commitment to Service. I know that you are going to make mistakes; the important thing is that you are willing to atone and learn from them,” he said gently.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said, her voice as fragile as glass as she clung to his embrace.
“You are forgiven for lying, Ellie, but there is still the matter of your curfew,” he said, an edge returning to his voice. Ellie tensed, pulling away from him slightly.
“Y…yes, Daddy, I know that I need corrections tonight for missing curfew,” Ellie said defeatedly.
“No, no corrections, Ellie. Corrections are for mistakes. You made a choice; the punishment for choices is much more severe. Slaves don’t have choices, and you need a lasting reminder of that,” he said coolly.
Brent released his daughter and walked slowly to his office, leaving her naked and afraid in the entryway. “Come, Ellie,” he said finally, “you are about to learn your lesson.”
The heavy bag was already opened, patiently awaiting its occupant. Ellie’s eyes widened with delayed understanding as she entered the room. “Daddy, please no- you’ll hurt me, Daddy- I can’t…” she stammered, her body freezing in the doorway to the office.
“Your lesson here, Ellie, is that slaves do not have choices. You do not choose whether or not to get into the bag, you obey. I am telling you to get into the bag, just like I told you to come straight home after class. You have already made one choice today, Ellie- if you make another, it will be your last as a slave. No one will ever want you if you insist on clinging to choice.” Brent knew that his threat had landed when Ellie’s lower lip trembled.
“Daddy I’m scared,” she whimpered as her legs carried her toward him.
“I know baby, it’s okay to be scared. This is going to be scary; it will be a lot better for you if you submit. Do what you did tonight when you were face fucked- just surrender to the sensation. Don’t fight it, just absorb it. Slaves don’t have needs, they don’t have wants. Slaves don’t make choices; they obey, they absorb, they do what they must to please,” he reminded her as he zipped up the heavy bag, leaving his daughter in the dark.
Brent hoisted the bag off the ground, securing it to the anchors in the wall. The couple of inches of padding obscured Ellie’s shape, but the way the bag hung gave its prisoner away. “Ten minutes, Ellie. This is going to hurt, but it’s for your own good,” he said as he landed the first blow.
He was sweating by the time the ten minute timer rang.
Chapter 9: Ellie
Ellie tried to count the blows as she sometimes did with her dad’s belt to anchor her mind, but lost count after two. The padding in the bag did little to shield her from her dad’s strength, each kick and punch landing with the force of a thousand straps. Where his belt was a sharp flash, his legs and fists were much more concentrated, reverberating pain deep into her core with each contact.
She started screaming, and wasn’t sure that she would ever stop. Her arms, shoulders, breasts, stomach, hips, ass, and legs were all targets, absorbing blow after blow as the bag spun. She couldn’t tell where the next impact would land, which churned immeasurable fear. Ellie was disoriented, hurt, and terrified. She tried to get to her quiet place as her dad had suggested, but the cold grip of terror prevented her from detaching.
She was filled with self loathing as the realization that this was her fault settled deep into her mind. Her dad had been clear about his expectations and rules, and she had purposely disobeyed him. He was doing exactly what he said he would do, because she hadn’t. Ellie had forced him to hurt her. This was all her fault.
Slaves don’t have choices. Slaves don’t have choices. Slaves don’t have choices.
Chapter 10: Brent
When he opened the bag, Ellie fell into his arms. Her body was limp, her face blank as she mumbled something over and over. She flinched at his touch, then grasped his embrace as if he were saving her from drowning. He brought her to his bed, gently sitting her on the side. He lifted her arms slowly, leaning her forward to check her back, then inspecting her legs to ensure that she didn’t need medical attention. The welts were just starting to form- welts that would morph into multicoloured bruises over the next couple of weeks, serving as a reminder of the consequence of choice.
Ellie began to tremble. It started in her feet, washing over her until her whole body seemed to be teetering on the edge of a cliff. Brent gently tucked her into bed before taking his own clothes off and getting in beside her. He carefully wrapped himself around her to quell the trembling, and finally felt his daughter break.
The sobs came first; ferocious, feral, and visceral. He made a mental note that he would need to double her water intake tomorrow. She cried a storm of grief, exhaustion, fear, and myriad other emotions while clinging to her tormentor’s arms. Brent’s hold never wavered, his fingers gently stroking her hair as she fractured.
Hours later, the last of her energy expended, she burrowed into him as closely as she could. “Slaves don’t have choices,” she whispered into the night.
“That’s right, Ellie,” Brent whispered back, “now your training can really begin.”
Down the Rabbit Hole 