My Happy Family: The Mother And The Daughter III
Lana knelt trembling before Luo Yi, the weight of his icy stare pinning her in place. The interrogation came first, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “What have you done?” he demanded, his tone low and unyielding.
Her hands twisted nervously in her dress as she swallowed hard. She knew better than to hold back—concealing the truth or stumbling over her words would only worsen what was to come.
“I… I let Jie slack off on her studies,” she admitted, her voice quaking. “I didn’t push her enough… and I kept it from you.”
Luo Yi’s face remained a mask of stone, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You know the rules,” he said, his voice chillingly calm. “Over my lap. Now.”
Her stomach twisted, but she obeyed, stepping forward and lowering herself across his knees. The familiar position sent a flush of shame through her, her dress settling over her thighs as she braced herself, hands gripping the fabric of his trouser leg. Her breath hitched, shallow and unsteady.
“One hundred,” he declared, raising his hand high.
Smack!
The first strike landed dead center on her buttocks, a sharp, resounding crack echoing in the room. Even through her dress and the thin layer of underwear, the force jolted her forward, a stinging heat blooming instantly across her skin. She gasped, her fingers tightening around his leg as the pain sank in, sharp and immediate.
Smack!
The second blow followed swiftly, overlapping the first. Her buttocks tingled as the sting deepened, the fabric dulling the impact only slightly. She clenched her teeth, a faint whimper escaping as the heat began to build.
Smack! Smack!
The third and fourth strikes came in quick succession, targeting the lower curve of her cheeks. Each one drove the pain deeper, her skin prickling beneath the layers. Her body tensed instinctively, her legs twitching as she fought to stay still.
“Stay in place,” Luo Yi warned, his voice a cold lash of its own.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Five, six, seven—his rhythm was unrelenting, each slap landing with precision. The right cheek took two, then the left, the force rocking her forward. The sting morphed into a steady burn, her dress offering scant protection as her buttocks warmed under his hand. Her breathing grew ragged, a quiet groan slipping out.
By the tenth smack, her skin felt alive with heat, the repeated blows layering a dull ache beneath the sharp stings. She squirmed slightly, earning a firm grip on her waist to hold her steady.
Twenty came and went, then thirty, each striking a thunderclap against her tender flesh. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched his leg, the pain pulsing with every heartbeat.
At fifty, Luo Yi paused, his breath even while hers was shallow and quick.
“Enough of this,” he muttered, and with a rough tug, he yanked her dress up to her waist.
The cool air brushed her skin for a fleeting moment before he hooked his fingers into her underwear, pulling them down to her thighs in one swift motion. Her buttocks, now bare, quivered slightly, already pink from the first half of her punishment.
Smack!
The fifty-first strike hit her naked skin, the sound louder, crisper, the pain searingly clear. She yelped, her body jerking as a fiery welt flared across her right cheek. Without the fabric’s meager shield, the blow felt like a brand, the heat sinking deep into her flesh.
Smack! Smack!
Fifty-two and fifty-three landed in a ruthless pair, one on each cheek. The sting was sharper now, her skin reddening visibly with each impact. Tears pricked her eyes as she bit her lip, the raw sensation overwhelming her senses.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Fifty-four through fifty-six targeted the same spot on her left cheek, the overlapping strikes turning the area a deep, throbbing red. Her legs kicked faintly, a reflex she couldn’t control, as the pain burrowed into her muscles. A sob caught in her throat, her hands trembling against his leg.
By seventy-five, her buttocks were a swollen, crimson mound, each smack igniting a fresh wave of agony. Her skin felt taut, stretched tight over the inflamed flesh, and every blow sent a jolt through her frame. “Please…” she whispered, her voice breaking, but Luo Yi’s hand rose again.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two—the final stretch was merciless. Her right cheek bore the brunt, the repeated strikes leaving it swollen and tender, the heat radiating outward. Tears slipped down her cheeks, her breaths coming in short, ragged bursts.
The last ten were the hardest yet.
Smack!
Ninety-one cracked across both cheeks, a wide, punishing blow that made her cry out. Ninety-two through ninety-five followed in a flurry, alternating sides, her buttocks now a blazing, swollen mess. Ninety-six through ninety-nine built to a crescendo, each one a hammer against her fraying resolve.
Smack!
The hundredth landed dead center, a resounding finale that left her gasping, her body slumping across his lap, spent and shaking.
“We’re not finished,” Luo Yi said, his voice devoid of warmth. “Up. Over the table.”
Her legs wobbled as she slid off his lap, the ache in her buttocks making every movement a torment.
He pointed to a small wooden table, and she shuffled toward it, dread pooling in her gut. She bent forward as instructed, her wrists soon locked into metal cuffs at the table’s edges. Her dress, still bunched from before, was tugged higher, exposing her battered buttocks fully. Immobilized, her swollen, red flesh trembled in the open air.
Luo Yi stepped back, picking up a thin bamboo cane. He gave it a test swing, the faint whoosh chilling her to the bone. “One hundred more,” he announced.
Thwack!
The first strike sliced across her buttocks, a thin, biting line of fire. She cried out, her body straining against the cuffs as the cane’s sharp sting cut through her already tender skin. A bright red welt rose instantly, stark against the handprints.
Thwack! Thwack!
The second and third landed in quick succession, one high, one low. The bamboo’s rigid edge bit deeper than his hand, each strike a needle-sharp jolt. Her buttocks quivered, the welts swelling as the pain flared hotter, her voice breaking into a sob.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Four, five, six—the cane danced across her flesh, targeting the fullest part of her cheeks. Each blow left a thin, raised stripe, the red deepening to purple where they overlapped. Her legs shook, her wrists tugging futilely at the restraints as the agony intensified.
By twenty, her buttocks were a lattice of welts, the cane’s precision painting a brutal pattern.
Thwack!
Twenty-one struck the underside of her right cheek, a particularly sensitive spot, and she screamed, the sound raw and desperate. Thirty came, then forty, each thwack a fresh torment, her skin splitting faintly at the edges of the worst welts, tiny beads of blood dotting the surface.
At fifty, her voice was a hoarse whimper, her body sagging against the table.
Thwack! Thwack!
Fifty-one and fifty-two crisscrossed the center, the overlapping strikes turning the area a deep, bruised purple. The pain was a living thing now, pulsing through her, her tears soaking the wood beneath her face.
Seventy-five brought no reprieve.
Thwack!
The cane lashed her left cheek, the welt swelling instantly, hot and tight. Her sobs grew frantic, her pleas—“Please… no more…”—lost in the air as eighty approached.
The final ten loomed.
Thwack!
Ninety-one sliced across both cheeks, a wide, searing blow that tore a ragged cry from her throat.
Thwack!
The hundredth was a thunderous finale, dead center, the cane sinking into her ravaged flesh.
Lana collapsed against the table, her cries fading to broken whimpers, her buttocks a throbbing mass of red and purple, striped and bruised beyond recognition.
Luo Yi lowered the cane, his expression unchanged. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice flat. He uncuffed her wrists, stepping back as she slid to the floor, hands hovering over her battered skin, too tender to touch. The silence swallowed her ragged breaths, the pain a cruel echo of the discipline she’d endured.
Watching Lana wince in pain stirred a pang of sympathy in Huang, but he couldn’t afford to waver. Punishment was necessary—if he went easy on her now, the warm home he’d worked so hard to build might unravel in an instant.
He remembered their early days together: Lana had been so sweet and compliant then, her only faults a tendency to drift off in thought or fumble through tasks. Even so, she’d never once talked back to him. When they were just dating, Huang had kept her in line with a firm hand, doling out spankings for any slip-up. He didn’t care where they were—public or private—if Lana stepped out of line, discipline followed.
Once, at a noodle shop, no excuses, Huang grabbed two chopsticks, pressed them together, and swiftly landed ten sharp smacks across her hand. The sting made her yelp, drawing startled glances from nearby diners. Back then, it was simple—light taps on her hand, a few swats to her backside, or a stint kneeling as penance.
Now, though, the punishments had evolved, growing stricter and more deliberate. Each time Lana faced the rod, she had to shed every stitch of clothing, letting the whip kiss her bare skin—a raw, unforgettable lesson in accountability. It was Huang’s unrelenting discipline that had shaped her into the obedient wife she was today, one who cooked meals and kept the house in order, even if her absentmindedness still crept in now and then. Seeing her linger there, sniffling with tears in her eyes, Huang’s expression turned stern.
“Still standing there whimpering?” he said sharply. “Want a few more lashes? Straighten your clothes, wash your face, and start dinner. Jie needs to eat soon so she can study.”
Lana turned to go, but Huang’s voice cut through the air.
“Lana!” he snapped. “Forgot who you owe an apology to? Hold out your hand—four lashes to jog your memory.”
She hesitated only a moment before extending her palm, bracing herself.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
Four crisp strikes landed in quick succession, each one a biting sting that made her flinch. As soon as it was over, she clasped her hands together, dipping her head in a respectful apology to her husband. Then, still smarting, she called softly for Jie to help with the meal.
When the food was laid out on the table, steaming and ready, Huang’s voice rang out again, calm but firm.
“Neither of you had good attitude today. You’ll both kneel to eat. Kneel straight, or you’ll feel the consequences.”
His command was absolute, and Lana and Jie sank to their knees on the floor, aligning themselves carefully. As they ate, Huang kept watch.
Whenever Lana’s posture faltered or Jie slouched, he’d flip his chopsticks around and deliver a swift thwack to their shoulders—a quick, sharp reminder to sit up. In that moment, Huang seemed like a king presiding over his realm, his authority unwavering and absolute.