Ageplay is edgy for me.

This one is for naughty Barristers.

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She was always surprised when there was a bruise. Inky dark, like twin spots of black velvet.

It was the Daddy fantasy. That was the most severe, where she was harshest with herself: when she was a naughty teenager caught masturbating.

She imagined being caught in public. Age thirteen, or fifteen, waiting in the car while her Daddy was shopping. The secret horniness that might lead a teenager to put her foot up on the dash. Skirt sliding up a leg, hand hesitantly following the fabric to her center, where she desperately needed to be touched. Fingers tracing the warm cleft in her panties, trying to be subtle at first, alert to the movement in the parking lot, watching for the return of her Daddy. And then, furtive fingers slipping under elastic, finding that slick spot that it felt so good to rub.

Only too late realizing that the driver's seat in the truck next to her was occupied.

The man in the truck always watched her finish, watched with conspirator eyes. Encouraging her to move the edge of her skirt up a little more, to pull aside her panties, to improve his view.

And that bastard always, always got out of his truck when her Daddy came back and reported what she had been up to.

Daddy would be furious, the silent kind of furious all the way home.

Then came the scolding. "I'm very disappointed in you. You know how I feel about my precious little girl touching herself, but to do it in public! You're in for the strapping of your life, young lady!"

Sometimes she protested. Protesting would earn the masturbator a double dose.

Daddy started with a paddling, hot quick stings that built a flash fire in her flesh. Then came an irrevocable smear of capsicum cream. She was sent to the corner with her quivering, pinkened bottom to think about what she had done. And the impending consequences.

She stood there, sweating, making those soft noises in the back of her throat, trying not to squirm as the unrelenting heat worked its way through her sex. Because that's where Daddy put it, on her naughty sex. "That will teach you to keep your hands off it," he said.

And when the heat of the cream had finally burned through her, when it was only the pleasant part of the warmth that remained, her angry Daddy strapped her.

On her back, one knee drawn to her chest, she counted out the strokes that naughty masturbators should get on each cheek. And if a stroke didn't have enough of a bite, it didn't count.

The arrowed tips of the folded leather caught the fatty part of her sit spots. That's what caused the bruising.

That harsh, secret kind of pain.

And when she was finished, when her bottom was hot and swollen and well punished, her Daddy would say, "Touch yourself for me."