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His hands are large as they cup your entire ass, and his arms are strong as they lift you and deposit you in his lap.
He’s rugged, much more rough-hewn than you, and his scars speak of wisdom, not of sloppy wielding.
He doesn’t give you his name, but you know who he is.
He’s known only by a title: the Signless, or the coined Sufferer.
He instructs you to call him something else, though—something that makes Kankri squawk in umbrage.
"Did you do as I asked you?"
"N—no, Daddy."
It’s a term you appropriated from human culture—the closest equivalent to a troll and their lusus.
You chose this term because it’s belittling in this circumstance; it makes you feel tiny and helpless.
To depend on this authoritative figure, to rely on him to call the shots and care for you.
To support you, to encourage and guide you…
"Lay over my lap."
And occasionally to punish you when you act out or disobey.
Grimacing at what’s to come you slowly, ever so slowly, turn to reposition yourself.
It’s not fast enough for Daddy who snatches you by the dangling ring of your steel collar and yanks you roughly down. Spluttering, you gracelessly pour over his lap, limbs scraping the floor as you try and fail to find a comfortable niche in an otherwise uncomfortable situation.
Your nudity is both deliberate and convenient, and your Daddy brings his bare hand down with a resounding slap as his palm ricochets off your plump buttocks.
You bite back a yelp and grab at nothing, unable to do much in this position.
He smacks you again clear across both cheeks, the stinging slap making your body twitch.
"You must learn to get along with Kankri, and that includes conversing with him. I will not tolerate this hatemance you are encroaching upon him."
He slaps one cheek, watching it jiggle, before sideswiping the other and repeating the action until both globes are burning bright red and you’re thrashing wildly to try to avoid the consistent blows.
"I’m sorry—I’m sorry I’ll—OH—I’ll fucking t—talk to KANKRI—"
The spankings cease, and he rubs your smarting behind, but the pressure he’s putting on your broiling ass is far more painful than it is pacifying.
He knows it too.
"Promise me."
He squeezes one cheek, hard, and you snarl, barely resisting the urge to bite his thigh.
Your impudence does not go unnoticed; he spanks you swiftly for even thinking about it.
"Augh—OKAY I PROMISE."
He lets up immediately, and you feel the cool relief of a damp cloth descend upon your overworked derriere which only incites pleasant shudders.
You glance askance to the door to catch Kankri’s lithe form retreating through it, leaving you to wonder if he’d been there the whole time.