Mom's Favorite Toy

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Part Six: A Spanking Good Time [06ASGT]

"Alright, well, this one's not going to discipline himself," Michelle said nonchalantly, withdrawing a wooden spatula from the cart.

"What were you counting earlier?" Daisy asked, eyeing the tool in her mother's hand. "What's fifty mean?"

"It'll all make sense in a moment," Michelle assured her daughter, going around behind Mark. His reaction to all this, surprise surprise, clearly indicated that he knew that this was going to be bad for him, as he tensed up and tried to lean away from her.

"Remember, I've never been much for counting, so you'll be keeping count," Michelle said, holding the spatula up as she kneeled down close to his nude rear end. "And if you lose count, we start over."

"Y-Yes, Mistress," he sobbed, nodding his head up and down.

With that, Michelle started bringing the spatula down onto his buttocks with great force, drawing a sharp and satisfying slap of sound on impact that was coupled by a yelp of pain from Mark.

"AHHH! One!" he forced out, which prompted Michelle to repeat the strike on his rear with the spatula. "AHHHH! TWO!"

So it went on, Mark forcing out an incremented number from his mouth on every stroke. Daisy just watched, letting herself forget how she was 'supposed' to feel at this sight, and simply allowing herself to feel whichever way she actually felt. It was certainly odd. Daisy had never been spanked by Michelle, nor had any of her siblings. She wasn't that kind of parent. And as Michelle continued to beat on Mark's tender ass, Daisy found herself very grateful that she wasn't. But it was those agonized yelps from Mark that stuck with her, really.

After ten spanks, Michelle got back to her feet. Mark remained tense, face contorted and eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of eleven, but it didn't come. Finally, he cracked open one eye, blinking away the tears just in time to see Michelle stand up right in front of him.

The middle aged brunette lifted her right foot up right in front of his face. Clearly, Mark knew exactly what this gesture meant, as he leaned forward and kissed it. "T-t-thank you, Mistress, I am honored and humbled that y-you would...take the time to correct my behavior," he sobbed out, clearly working through pain to force the words out.

Daisy was just about sold now. Forcing him to kiss her foot in total supplication, making him profusely thank her for spanking him into a sobbing mess. The complete and utter domination that she had over every single aspect of him, just watching it was exciting her almost as much as her Shenzhen Open victory had. Not only did she get it, she wanted it.

And then, with one final move, Michelle had her daughter on the hook. She extended her right hand out towards her, spatula offered to her. Daisy stared at it, quickly putting together what was being offered.

"Oh, don't think you're getting off that easy," Michelle said. "I said fifty, you're getting fifty. I just thought my daughter might like to give it a try."

"O-oh," Daisy said. All things considered, she certainly should have at least been hesitant to take her up on the offer. But she simply wasn't. In fact, it took her maybe a second to grab the kitchen utensil from her mother's grip, and then start waving it around, feeling the weight, and swinging it back and forth in the air. "Well, alright."

She could feel the dejection and despair in Mark's facial expression as she wielded the spatula and clearly indicated intent to use it. It was yet another injection of heart-pounding excitement to Daisy, seeing that hope be snatched away.

As Daisy went around behind Mark, Michelle bent down in front of him, giving him this genuinely sweet look and playfully running her fingers through his hair.

"You wouldn't happen to be familiar with my daughter, would you?" she asked him, voice honeyed and pleasant, as if she was talking to a small child. If Daisy wasn't so taken by this perverse scenario, she would have contemplated how it was exactly how Michelle had talked to her when she was a small child, and perhaps been disturbed by it.

"N-No, Mistress," Mark stammered, shaking his head.

"Fair warning, baby," she continued, glancing up as her daughter took the position. Unlike Michelle, Daisy remained standing, going through the follow-through of an uppercut-like swing that would allow her to strike across his buttocks while standing. "I'm just a housewife. My daughter, however, is a professional tennis player, so you might say this is her area of expertise." She glanced up at Daisy. "What's your record serve? One hundred and twenty-three miles per hour?"

"One twenty-five," Daisy said, winding up.

Michelle gave Mark a look best described as sarcastic sympathy, conveying the agonizing experience he was about to have and mocking him for it all the while. Daisy, meanwhile, let loose with a mighty swing, even adding the loud grunt characteristic of tennis players.

SLAP!

"AAAAHHHHHH!"

It wasn't exactly the same thing, of course. There was a difference between swinging to hit a tennis ball, which was certain to be sent rocketing across a court by the force, and striking something that was meant to remain stationary and simply absorb the force, and she had to adjust accordingly. She would have died of embarrassment if she actually injured herself doing something like...this, and would have never forgiven herself if the injury had been significant enough to cause her to miss a major tournament, or even practice time. But the difference between her strikes and her mother's were abundantly clear.

"ELEVEN!"

It took Mark at least three seconds to manage to yell out the number, as he had spent those three seconds screaming through gritted teeth.

Oh God, it was everything she imagined. His helplessness, his inability to move so much as a muscle to lessen the agony, his animalistic howl of pain, and the cherry on top, him having to validate the whole thing by helping her count the number of spanks. It was that perfect cocktail of torture and humiliation. She was immediately sure that this was her kind of thing.

SLAP!

And so it went for several minutes, Daisy using her exquisitely-toned arm muscles to apply a thrashing to the toy's buttocks that put her mother's previous disciplinary spankings to shame. Every single time, he would scream bloody murder, and make all manner of visceral noises that thrilled Daisy as he tried to cope with the pain. He was able to scream out the appropriate number every time, although each callout was less coherent than the last.

On three different occasions, the spatula would snap in two on impact. Michelle would wordlessly produce an identical one from the cart each time, clearly indicating that there were plenty of spares. She'd toss the new one to her daughter, and she'd deftly catch it before resuming.

When Daisy got to forty, Michelle raised her hand up towards her daughter, prompting her to stop. Daisy assumed that she felt that the toy had gotten the point, and didn't want to push things too far.

Not so.

"I like to mix things up for the final ten," Michelle said, reaching back into the cart and withdrawing a large wooden paddle. Mark, who at this point was bawling in sheer agony, found another level of dread to express via a moaning groan.

Daisy went over to her mother, carefully taking grip of the paddle's handle, feeling the strong wood between her fingers. But what really got her attention was the fat part of the business end. One side was covered with smooth leather, and the other was pocketed with rawhide knots. She didn't know the first thing about spanking, but she could guess that this latter side was the more severe one.

"Smooth side, sweetie," Michelle said. "The 'nuclear option' gets saved for special occasions."

Nodding, pursing her lips as she gave the heavy weapon a few practice swings. A good deal different than a spatula, but her muscular, toned arms had no problem wielding it. If anything, it was more 'racket-like' than the spatula. She went behind the toy and squared up, unable to contain her unabashed glee at being permitted to cause more agony without repercussions. The toy was decidedly less gleeful.

WHAM!

He screamed like a little girl, filling the large concrete chamber with his shriek, echoing off the walls, bouncing all about in the eardrums of all present. It was almost unthinkable that he had nine more swats like that to face, but Daisy had apparently left her pity in one of her other pairs of shorts, because all she wanted was to hear the toy scream out a number before taking another swing.

"Don't tell me you've lost count," Michelle said, a clear warning that he was about to have to start the whole thing over.

"F...f...forty...one," he sobbed out. Of course, all he earned for his compliance was another mighty wallop.

By the time Daisy was done, his entire rear end was one giant bruise, and his 'fifty' was so incoherent they would have been well within their rights to not accept it and start the whole procedure over again if they were feeling extra cruel. The toy was still heaving out massive sobs, as if the spanking hadn't stopped, so strong was the pain that continued to come from his rear end. Experimentally, Daisy gently touched her right index finger on one spot of the bruise, drawing an agonized hiss and shout from him before she pulled away.

"Don't forget," Michelle said, gesturing down towards his head. Daisy took half a second to realize what she was talking about, then headed up to in front of him.

Daisy stopped before him, looking down at her feet for a second and thinking. They weren't anything like her mother's, several sizes larger. Still feminine and attractive (not that Daisy herself knew very much about what made a foot attractive, they were about as erotic as elbows as far as she could tell), but a size twelve and a half. They had always been bigger than typical, even when she was young, something that she remembered being self-conscious about when she was a small child. Again, not ugly, but not exactly the body part she imagined would be getting kissed by a guy.

She lifted her right foot up, putting it right in front of his tear-streaked, snot-covered, drool-leaking face. He leaned forward, moving his lips on the skin of the top of her foot in a way that roughly resembled a kiss.

"T-t-thank...thank you...Mistress." He wheezed out, forcing his words out through gritted teeth. "I am...am...I am...h-h-honored and...humbled that y-you would...take the time to...to...correct my behavior."

It was like a damn drug. His total and complete supplication, the embarrassingly pathetic state of his face, being forced to act grateful for having his butt spanked into next thursday...she loved it. She wanted more of it. She wanted to go behind him with the paddle again and go all the way up to a thousand, while forcing him to kiss her foot and thank her between every single swat. She had successfully ceased to see this toy as a human being anymore.

"She's not your mistress," Michelle said sternly. "I am."

He looked up at Michelle, terrified that he had just earned a second round of spanks.

"I'll let it slide," Michelle said just as quickly, causing him to slump over in relief. "Miss Daisy will do for her in the future." She bent down in front of his face, giving him another sickeningly sweet look. "And just be happy it was my oldest daughter instead of my oldest son, he hit eight home runs in twenty-one games of high school baseball this year."

Daisy bristled just a tad at the implication that her younger brother could do something better than she could, even if it was very obviously true. Daisy's swats most certainly did some serious damage, but a two-handed swing from fifteen-year-old Troy Scott would have caused permanent damage, and possibly even killed the target.

"U-Uh..." Daisy looked over at her mom. "Does dad know about this?"

"Of course," Michelle answered quickly, with a smoothness that gave every reason to think she was telling the truth. "I could never have done all this without his assistance."

Daisy reasoned that, given how elaborate her toy's captivity was, what with the hidden passageway and secret chambers, this was almost certainly true. As quickly as she had done a complete one eighty on the obvious human rights violations her mother was committing, she would have been a little uncomfortable if this was happening without her father knowing about it.

"Trust me, he's quite happy with the arrangement," Michelle added.

"Mmhm," Daisy grunted. "So, uh...what else do you do with him?"

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Part Seven: Tickle Time [07TT]

Michelle had rinsed her toy off with a hose brought in from the main room, drenching him in a flood of cold water for several long seconds to help rinse off the sweat, saliva, and snot. Then, she had allowed him to suck down a large amount of water through a straw from a large sports bottle. By the time she was done toweling him off, he almost resembled a respectable human being again.

Well, that wouldn't do at all.

Michelle kneeled down next to the side of the semi-recovered prisoner, flexing her small fingers around. Her toy moaned in dread, knowing what was coming. Daisy eagerly watched.

To her surprise, Michelle's next move was to simply dig her fingers into her toy's side and start kneading into his flesh. Somehow, she was expecting something a little more vicious. Quickly, he started to laugh, offering only a second or two of attempted resistance before bursting out into loud cackles, body fighting with his restraints to try to get away from her touch. She was tickling him.

Really? From spanking to this? Daisy's nose wrinkled a bit. If she wanted to tickle someone she had plenty of younger siblings, and half of them would have probably enjoyed being tickled. Hell, she had been tickled plenty in her life. Her parents, uncles and aunts, siblings, friends, the usual suspects. Sure, it made you squeal and try to flail away, you wouldn't have called it pleasant...but it was fun on some level. Not exactly what she had in mind.

"HehEEHEeeeh...NOO...NAHAHAAAHAHA! STAHAHAP!"

Although, he did have a pretty loud and shrill laugh. Especially for an adult male. As Michelle dug into his flanks, in fact, his raucous laughter and violently shaking against his restraints did get Daisy's attention. She could recall going to a sleepover when she was nine and being held down by four of her friends, one to each limb, with a fifth one tickling her stomach and a sixth tickling her feet. That had only lasted maybe thirty seconds, but what if it hadn't?

Meanwhile, some degree of resistance shattered for the toy, as his sporadic attempts at holding in his laughter stopped in favor of a constant flow of ear-splitting cackles. He was fighting his bondage so hard it had to have hurt.

"NAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAOHGAAAAAAAAWDHAHA! AHAHAHAHAAHAHA! PLAHAHAHAHAHAEEEZZE!"

Watching as the toy's laughter became more and more frenzied and his struggling more desperate, she thought about it. Remembering struggling to breathe and being forced to expel whatever oxygen she managed to suck down in chaotic laughter, not being able to get out coherent words. For thirty seconds, just a harmless prank. But for longer? Say, much longer?

Michelle now stood up over her captive and snuck her fingers into his armpits, playing her fingertips across the sensitive skin there. He reflexively did all he could to squeeze his arms to his body, trying to protect the hollows, but the pillories saw to it that there was always a tiny sliver of an opening that he could not close. Daisy bent down in front of him, noting that tears were starting to leak out of his eyes.

Michelle, all the while, had this pleasant smile on her face as she worked, clearly enjoying herself as she tickled her toy silly. She looked up at her daughter. "Are you just going to watch?"

"O-oh, uh..." She looked him over, trying to figure out the best place to start. She still wasn't entirely sold, but was willing to reconsider, and maybe some hands-on experience would change her mind. Well, her own most ticklish spot was her feet, so she may as well start there.

"Help yourself," Michelle said as Daisy went around behind the bound toy. "Trust me, he's extremely ticklish just about everywhere. Aren't you, baby?"

He continued to howl in laughter from Michelle's work as Daisy kneeled down behind him. With a shrug, figuring she had nothing to lose, her fingers found his defenses soles and started to stroke along them.

His reaction was immediate, shrieking, feet wriggling around madly in surprise. He wrenched his ankles against the straps. Daisy couldn't help but instinctively withdraw her hands away, as if scalded. But quickly, her expertly-manicured fingernails returned, attacking his soles with rapid scribbling.

It was an unfocused, uncoordinated attack, just haphazard scratching all over his feet. But the effect was still drastic. The toy's laughing became louder and more desperate as four hands started attacking him all at once. Daisy marveled at how smooth and soft his soles were, finding them an absolute delight to touch and tickle. A malicious little grin played along her face as she continued, padding both her fingertips and fingernails along the sensitive skin over and over.

"Look at you," Michelle said teasingly, still looking at her toy with an almost motherly look, a disturbing contrast to the agony she was causing him. "The center of attention for two amazing women now!" She jerked her head over towards Daisy. "You know she's ranked in the top twenty-five in the whole world? For women, I mean. You should see the size of the trophy she got from Shenzhen!"

Daisy gave a tiny chuckle through her fast-developing wicked grin. Her mother sounded as if she was trying to engage her toy in conversation so she could brag about her daughter's accomplishments. As if she was suddenly sitting on a yacht in the Mediterranean, or some VIP lounge at a five-star restaurant in New York City, trying to one-up the other rich women who also had accomplished children. She had the instinctive urge to be a little embarrassed, but then remembered the only 'person' present wasn't really a person.

She watched her victim try to curl up and protect his feet, but in his position, there wasn't really anything he could do to make it better. Even wrinkling up his soles just allowed Daisy to playfully run her nails along the grooves in maddeningly teasing ways, and invariably he would be forced to flex his feet back the other way anyway. Between his flesh feeling so soft under her fingers, his addictive chaotic laughter starting to become accompanied by begging, and mad struggling, Daisy was already starting to get it.

"AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAH STAAHAHAHAAHP! AHAHAHASTAAAAAHAAP PLEEAAAAAAAAHAAHAHASE!" he screamed. He sounded every bit as distressed and agonized as he had been when Daisy was spanking him.

In fact, there really wasn't that much different. Sub out yells of pain for banshee-like laughter, and it was kind of the same thing, really. He was sweating, crying, desperately trying to break out of his restraints so he could get away from it. There was a humiliation aspect, it displayed complete and total power over him. As the toy started to run out of oxygen needed to continue laughing, his vocalizations became more stunted and heaving. Long pauses between bursts of cackling. Daisy didn't know how long they had been tickling him, but he was clearly being pushed past his limits. Yes, tickling could be torture.

Soon, he had been reduced to a state that was every bit as pathetic as the one he had been in after the spanking. He couldn't even laugh anymore, vocal chords not producing anything other than an occasional squeak or whine.