<div class="floatleft">(https://www.urbasm.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/Elizabeth-Turner-bikini.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong><br/><strong>Date/Time:</strong>June 5th, morning.<br/><strong>Location:</strong>By the Pool<br/><strong>Mood:</strong>Very nervous<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Mar<br/><hr/><hr/><br/>Celeste had her mouth open, no doubt ready to continue her pleading, when Daddy's simple<em>'Ah'</em>put an end to it as effectively as a firm spank ever could have done. The raised hand earned another stamp of the girl's foot, but she closed her mouth back up with a small whimpery noise. She didn't argue, though, and she certainly didn't try to pull away. Oh no. Not from her Daddy.<br/><br/>Not now.<br/><br/>The calm with which Mar spoke to her, even more than the<em>strength</em>with which the older woman had spoken earlier, told Celeste that now was not the time for arguing or resisting, not even pleading. Now was the time for listening. And listen she did, though far from happily. But that was likely the point. She wasn't supposed to be happy about this. After all, she was in trouble.<br/><br/>Later, perhaps, she'd marvel at how<em>'in trouble'</em>she actually felt. What they were doing now, she and Mar, did<em>not</em>feel like play at all. And even though it was never supposed to be<em>fun</em>, Celeste had always imagined that she'd feel much more excited than anything else the first time she got spanked. That wasn't at all the case right now, though. Oh, there was some excitement. The tingle between her legs was not insignificant. But that was secondary. She felt, more than anything, like a little girl who was in big, big trouble with her Daddy.<br/><br/>And she was not happy about it. Neither did she have any intention of arguing, however. Oh no. Celeste felt so very, very small and submissive. And her Daddy, more than ever, seemed, even sitting in her chair, like a giant: strong and imperious. Someone not to be trifled with!<br/><br/>"I don't want a spanking." Celeste whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper, when Mar took her hand and guided her a few steps forward. She stamped her foot again and bounced nervously where she stood. Her eyes, though they kept flickering back to Daddy's, remained mostly locked on the ground. She didn't like that stern gaze.<br/><br/>For a while, she stood there like that, wiggling nervously, neither resisting nor obeying. She didn't argue or protest; she didn't pull away. She was a little girl, stuck between a sore bottom and . . . well, what other option was there? None, she realized. Not that that made it any easier to obey. She stamped her foot again, made a whimpering noise. A few more seconds passed. Then, finally, Celeste lifted her downcast eyes to Daddy's,  and whispered "I don't want a spanking" so that it was barely even audible. But even as she did that, she leaned herself forward and, for the first time in her life, lay her body down across her parent's lap to present her bum for a well-earned spanking.<br/><br/>