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"Ready?" Padma asks with a raised eyebrow, sliding her belt out from the loops of her jeans.

Lavender pulls the covers of their bed up under her chin and nods, smiling. Just hearing Padma say that word, that way — Ready? Like an incantation, such magic in one small word. Ready. To let Padma take control. To say things she'd never say otherwise. To go deep. Ready. Lavender wriggles a bit, enjoying the feeling of the sheets against her bare skin; except for a pair of boys' Y-fronts, she's naked.

Padma is wearing the clothes she's had on all day, blue jeans with a chain for her wallet, and two T-shirts on top of each other that hide her shape a little. There's an extra swagger in her step as she approaches the bed, looking down at Lavender with a wry smile and a little shake of her head. Look at you, her dancing eyes seem to say. And, Oh, the things I'm going to do... She places her belt down on the nightstand with a distinct click in the quiet room and sits down on the edge of the mattress.

"All ready for bed?" she asks. Not in the same tone as when she asked Ready?, but different now. Her voice is gentle, genial, yet commanding.

"Yes, Daddy," Lavender answers in a whisper. It's been a while since she's played this part, and she's a bit uncertain, not fully inhabiting it yet.

"Did you wash your face? Brush your teeth?" Padma prompts.

Lavender breathes a slight laugh, letting out some anxiety. "Yes, Daddy," she repeats, more sure of herself this time.

"Good boy," says Padma softly, her eyes shining with pride and care as she slips her hand beneath the covers and strokes Lavender's arm.

Drawn to her, Lavender turns, curling her body round Padma where she's sitting on the bed, her knees bumping up against her. She reaches for Padma's hand and grasps only her fingers, like a young child with a tiny grip. The edge of a smile turns Padma's lips.

"You're always good for Daddy, aren't you?" she says.

Lavender nods vigourously. She wants that. Wants to please, to be good. Wants, more than anything, for Daddy to decide what being good means.

"And since you're good..." Padma's hand breaks away from hers and moves to touch her hip, running along the top of the elastic on her Y-fronts. “...I know you wouldn't do anything naughty. Like touch where you're not allowed."

Lavender shivers at Padma's fingertips tracing along the seams of her underpants. It's amazing how different boys' underwear feels, the elastic so thick and pressing into her in strange places, seeming to mould her into another shape.

"No," Lavender says, and then adds with a hint of a stammer, "D-daddy said not to. Daddy said touching myself like that is bad." Talking a bit more helps settle the character's voice in her mind, helps her find that boyish pitch — young but not too breathy, the consonants a bit harder than her ordinary speech.

Padma chuckles knowingly. "Well," she says, drawing the covers down, "we'll just have to see about that."

After being under the blankets, the cool air coming off the wintery windowpanes is a thrilling chill on Lavender's bare skin, giving her gooseflesh and tightening her nipples. "I've been good," she insists, rolling onto her back and holding her hips still, resisting the urge to wriggle. "I haven't touched at all!"

Padma hums dubiously as she pushes Lavender's thighs apart. "That may be. But you know, just not touching doesn't mean you're being good. You're only little, you know, and there are thoughts you shouldn't have."

Lavender's breath comes out shivery at Padma's warning tone, at her suspicious gaze and warm hands on Lavender's hips.

"Tell the truth, now," Padma cautions, a stricter edge creeping into her voice. "Have you been having naughty thoughts?"

Lavender quivers; she can feel herself getting wet. "Oh... I try not to, Daddy, but it's so hard..."

Padma smirks. "Is it, now?" She draws her finger up over the crotch of Lavender's underpants, and Lavender gasps, twisting her hips under the touch. "What's this, here? Does my little boy have a naughty penis?"

Lavender's clit feels so stiff and full, it really isn't much of a stretch of the imagination. She breathes out in hard puffs. "Hnh— Yes— I'm sorry, Daddy, I can't help it!"

"Oh, yes, I know," Padma drawls with a note of amusement. She's stroking lightly up and down, and Lavender is so sensitive now, the little bump when Padma's finger passes over the seam in the Y-fronts makes her jerk. "Your penis gets you in trouble sometimes, doesn't it? When it stands up like this, Daddy knows what naughty thoughts you have."

Lavender bites back a moan. "Mm— Daddy," she says hesitantly. "Maybe it wouldn't stand up so much if you just... let me touch it... just once."

"Now, son, we've talked about this," Padma warns, and in that moment she does sound so much like a dad that Lavender almost laughs. "You really mustn't touch yourself, even once! That's for grown-ups. And what's more..." Padma gives her a hard look. "...if you were really good, you wouldn't want to touch."

The profound inevitability of her punishment settles comfortably in Lavender's body, even as her boyish voice trembles. "Oh, but Daddy, I don't do it on purpose! It just gets hard by itself, and then I want to stroke it so bad..." She arches her back, relishing the imagined agony of a boy never allowed a single release.

Padma tuts, slowly shaking her head. "I'm very disappointed in you," she says gravely. "Very disappointed indeed."

Lavender swallows noisily, her face burning. The shame is real, twisting in her stomach. Yet it is also play, like letting yourself get frightened of scary stories even though you know they're not true.

"Up-up," Padma orders briskly, sitting up straight and patting her thighs. "You need a spanking."

"No, please, I'll be good." Lavender's eyes slip over to the glint of metal on the buckle of Padma's belt where it lies in the nightstand. "I d-don't need..."

"No excuses. Up."

Lavender tries to restrain her eagerness as she crawls up to lie across Padma's lap. Padma pulls her Y-fronts down with a no-nonsense jerk; Lavender goes very still.

"Please don't, Daddy," Lavender whines. It's so comfortable to beg, knowing there will be no mercy, no change of heart. So safe. "Not with the belt. I'll be good!"

Padma chuckles darkly. "Yes, you will be good," she says. There is the sound of the belt being dragged up from its place, and then the soft caress of leather across her bare arse. "After what you've got coming, you will be very, very good."

The first strike blooms sharply, like a starburst. Then again, and again, the way Lavender likes it — hard and steady, with no time to brace herself. Each slap of the belt rings out in their small bedroom, each blow stinging her skin and making her body jerk.

The fresh and satisfying initial hits quickly give way to the harsher sensation of blows on top of skin that's already burning. Lavender lets out a small, helpless cry with each one, the rhythm of it sounding like she's being fucked.

"You make Daddy do this, you know," Padma says, breathing hard like she's running. "Naughty boys need to be taken in hand."

Padma's going harder than usual, Lavender suddenly realises — being tougher on a boy than she would be to a girl. That thought makes Lavender bite her lip, hold her hands in tight fists. The boy can take it. She feels each stroke vibrate a little between her legs, a shudder of pleasure echoing the pain.

Padma is pushing her. Not a lot, but a little, just nudging the line where Lavender has needed to stop before. When Lavender lets out a sob, she finds herself surprised; she's actually not crying, her face is dry, but the little boy within her is crying, and is furious about it. Imagine, crying in front of Daddy!

One more hard stroke drives out another sob that's half a squeal, and then Padma's hand is there, softly caressing Lavender's punished flesh.

"Oh," she says, faintly amused, "is a little boy crying?"

Lavender shakes her head, sniffling. Padma's hand is driving her insane — that gentle touch that hurts now, even the lightest pass of her palm bringing rippling after-images of pain. She writhes against Padma's lap, desperate for more.

"Is this what you need?" Padma murmurs, sliding two fingers easily into Lavender's dripping pussy. "Is it time to feel all better?"

"Please, Daddy, please please please," she babbles, humping against Padma's hand, arse on fire, Y-fronts round her knees. "I'm so sorry, Daddy, just touch it better!"

There is a very tiny part of Lavender that knows that sounds silly and barely even makes sense, but the glory of it is that she doesn't care, and Padma doesn't either, and oh god her fingers, and Lavender can hear how wet she is as Padma's fingers slick in and out of her.

"What a sissy little boy you are, getting so excited from a spanking," Padma says, breath ragged and the composure of Daddy's voice flagging. "One of these days I ought to just put you in a skirt."

Lavender lets out a choking little laugh, not because it is funny, but because it is mind-bendingly fantastic, that they can talk this way, that they can be this way, and she comes on Padma's fingers, part-laughing and part-moaning and part-little-boy-crying, and it is the most beautiful that anything in Lavender's life has ever been.

For a long time after, Padma strokes Lavender's back, her palm warm and soothing. Lavender's breath slows, and she starts to notice things like the feeling of the sheets beneath her lips, and the denim of Padma's jeans against her stomach. It's dark now — the sun has gone down behind the hills outside the window of their flat.

When she's ready, Padma helps her up. A little shaky, Lavender sits down on the edge of the bed beside her and says, "Ow."

They both laugh a little.

"Aw," says Padma, her eyes tender and very much herself, and she strokes Lavender's braided hair. They kiss, softly.

This, too, is beautiful.