Laundry

Today Daddy gave me a super simple task.

Fold. The. Laundry.

Not building a cabin, not solving quantum equations, not going to the forest to hunt ninja raccoons. No. Just fold laundry.

And what did I do?

Exactly. I wrapped myself up in the softest blanket, turned into a bunny burrito, and stayed there watching TikToks with the quietest giggle while the shirts just got more and more wrinkled in the basket.

When Daddy walked into the room, he found me fully wrapped up in the pink burrito, with only my little ears sticking out. Literally. The plush ones. The ones with the little white bow that he says make me look unbearably cute.

I, trying to hide the fact that I’d been cocooned for like half an hour, said:

“I’m folded in the blanket, that counts, right?!”

Spoiler: Nope. It did not count.

Daddy didn’t get mad. Worse. He smiled. That dangerous smile that makes me feel scared and ticklish at the same time. He unwrapped me like a tricky present and made me sit on the edge of the bed, nice and straight.

“Since you wanna play instead of folding clothes, I think you can spend some time over my lap.”

And that’s how the lesson started.

He pulled my panties down slowly, with that calm voice that’s even scarier than yelling. He touched me gently at first—like nothing was gonna happen—and then it did.

The first five were slow. Warnings. Then came the firm ones. The ones that make your fingers grip the sheets and make embarrassing little noises.

I, of course, dramatically counted under my breath. Because yeah, it hurt, but I liked it. Because yeah, I’m a brat. But I’m his brat.

After twenty, I had no excuses left. No dignity. But I did have rosy cheeks—on both sides—and a Daddy who hugged me when I finished counting.

“Now, little bunny, let’s go fold the laundry together. And no more burritos.”