Part 3

The man spent the next few hours leisurely enjoying his day, attended to hand and foot by his maid daughter. After a short walk through the grounds he enjoyed a blowjob while sitting on a concrete bench, his daughter kneeling in the dewy grass. He watched a bit of the news, his daughter bouncing in his lap, wincing every time her bruised backside met his pelvis as he fucked her ass.

Her second strike happened while she was preparing lunch. The man was doing his best to distract her while she worked, fingering her, slapping her raw bottom, and even a bit of cunnilingus while she tried to busy herself around the kitchen. Eventually it worked, an orgasm distracting her long enough that she forgot about the sourdough she had started toasting for sandwiches. She had only just turned off the toaster and opened it to let the smoke air out when her father ordered her to the basement. She opened her mouth, as if to protest that this wasn't a fair strike, but then closed it. She averted her eyes and her face flushed, it seemed she welcomed the excuse for punishment just as much as he did.

In the basement, the man affixed two iron shackles to his daughter's wrists. The chains were attached to winches in the ceiling and the man pulled her up until the girl was standing precariously on just the toes of her heeled shoes, her arms stretched in a Y-shape above her. The man retrieved a whip from where it hung on the wall, moving into position behind his daughter and letting the whip unfurl to the floor. He stayed like that for a long moment, his daughter shaking with anticipation.

A loud crack was immediately followed by an anguished cry, the girl almost losing her footing, an angry red welt now visible on her back. The man continued, the same way he had done the paddling, with no consistent force or rhythm. Welt after welt bloomed on the girls back, her tube top tearing with each strike that hit it until it fluttered to the ground. Rivulets of blood began to run down the girls back, dying the white trim of her skirt. She had completely lost her footing, nearly her entire weight now hanging on her wrists. The man had planned to pause after a while, to stick a vibrator in her to mix in pleasure with her pain until they became indistinguishable, to turn it off just before she came and to bring her to climax from just the business side of the whip. This proved unnecessary however, her anguished cries becoming more tinged with pleasure with every strike, her arousal dripping quite evidently onto the floor without any added genital stimulation. The man was amazed at how magnificent and sexy a pain slut his daughter had become in just a single day.

It seemed his daughter was on the brink of orgasm, and so the man brought the whip down hard, perpendicular across several welts that had already split and begun to bleed. The girl let out a harrowing wail, screaming out her agony and ecstasy. She lost control of her bladder, urine streaming from under her skirt to the concrete floor. Her scream became strained and her voice failed, and after a few more seconds of the overwhelming sensation wracking her body she went slack in her bonds, the basement silent save for the sound of urine splashing against the ground.

The man gently lowered his daughter to the ground with the winch controls. He unshackled her wrists then grabbed a first aid kit. He disinfected the wounds on her back and then dressed them, bandage wrappings encircling her torso. His hands roamed the slight swell of her chest much more than was necessary and the nipple tweaking hadn't been necessary at all, but he got the job done and he did it adeptly. He applied some ointment to her chafed wrists, adjusting her cuffs to cover the damage. He wiped off the sweat, blood, and piss then gently carried her unconscious form to the living room. He laid her on her stomach, her head resting on his lap. Between her ass and her back she'd be sleeping on her front for weeks. The man cracked open a book, settling in, idly stroking his daughter head while he read, waiting for his birthday present to awaken.

***

"Daddy?" a weak voice asked blearily, about twenty minutes later.

The man looked down to see unfocused eyes looking up at him. He smiled back.

She shook her head side to side and suddenly stiffened.

"Ahh! I mean Master!" she said bolting upright.

"Ahh!" she cried as she put weight on her wounded posterior.

She bounded to her feet, for a moment it seemed she was about to fall back over, but she somehow managed to find her footing.

"Relax, don't worry about it baby girl." the man said, smiling and patting her head from where he sat.

***

Lunch preparations were resumed and eaten. The rest of the afternoon and then dinner passing without major incident, the man continuing to leisurely enjoy his day and his daughter. The red sky outside the window was steadily dimming, and the man sat sprawled on couch. His daughter lay lengthwise across the couch, her head in his lap. She had her mouth around his rapidly deflating dick, cleaning him off after having just blown him as he watched some evening television. When she finished she let the dick drop from her mouth and laid her head on her father's thigh. The pair stayed like this, the man gently stroking his daughter's head, until the episode finished.

The man turned off the tv, just sitting their for several minutes, his daughter's warm breath tickling his thigh.

"Thank you." the man said. "I don't think I've enjoyed a birthday like this since I was your age, maybe not even then."

The girl twisted around to look up at him and smiled.

"You're welcome Da-, Master." she replied.

"I know it's a little early, but I think it's about time for me to head to bed, I haven't fucked like this since college, and your dad was a lot more fit back then." He said, poking his stomach with chuckle.

The girl looked up at him, expression a little forlorn. The man could guess what was bothering her. He smiled and patted her head.

"Tomorrow you'll be back to just being my daughter, but I'm sure we'll be fucking even more than before, and now that we've both had a taste I'm sure we'll find an excuse to get you in the basement every now and then too." the man chuckled.

She didn't respond, her face screwing up into a deeply contemplative expression, the girl apparently thinking very hard about something. A full body shiver went up her body and her face relaxed for a moment before hardening into an expression of determination. A tremble of her lip and eyebrows belied her nerves, but whatever she had been thinking about, it seemed she had reached a decision.

She pushed herself up from the couch, wincing as her back tightened. She walked over to the entrance to the hall and turned around to face her father. The man admired his beautiful daughter as she stood there, seemingly working up to say or do something, her hard nipples quite plain to see through the bandages wrapping her chest. The man said nothing, patiently waiting for his daughter to gather her nerves.

She took a deep breath and reached her hand out to her side, resting her palm on the side of an expensive vase sitting on a pedestal. A long moment passed, father and daughter staring at each other with bated breath, and then she pushed.

The vase fell to the ground and shattered. The third strike.

The man rose from the couch. He thought he was completely tapped out, that he'd need one, maybe even two, full nights rest before he would even think about seeking relief from a maid, but as he followed his daughter out of the room he felt his blood begin to rush and he began to stiffen once more.

There was many different ways that the man liked to punish his errant maids. Generally, each subsequent strike was met with a harsher punishment than the last, but beyond simply being the harshest of all the third strike also had a defining theme. The third strike, the point at which a maid has thoroughly demonstrated that she no longer had any redeeming value as an employee of this household. She has proven herself so incompetent that her only remaining value was that of the meat on her bones.