Page 6 of Daddy’s Naughty Little Lesson

“I’ll do anything you want me to.”

He chuckles at that and steps away, backing up until he’s back at his desk and seated in his chair again. Now that I know what he thinks when he looks at me, I can see the hunger behind his contempt, the fact that he still wants me even though he’s ostensibly disgusted by what I am, what I’ve made of myself on his behalf.

“Take off the shoes.”

I do, bending down and making a bit of a striptease out of it, though he seems unimpressed and doesn’t respond again until I drop them on the ground and stand barefoot on the carpet before him.

“Get on the ground,” he says, relaxing in his chair again. “On your knees.”

I glance towards the office door again to double-check that it’s still locked and then do as I’m told, sinking slowly to my knees on the carpeted floor, expectant and obedient and looking up to him for my next instruction.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, peering at me through half-lidded eyes, leaning back in his chair and resting a hand on his knee. The other goes to the top drawer of his desk and pulls out what I first take to be a pen, with a turned wooden body, until he telescopes the end of it out, and I realize it’s an old-fashioned pointer. He reaches out with it, and the point of it comes to rest beneath my chin, tilting it up with the slightest pressure. “Now, what exactly does Daddy need to teach you?”

I don’t know if he expects me to answer. It seems like something of a rhetorical question, and I swallow and shrug.

Instantly the metal tip of the pointer flits up and flicks a quick, stinging strike against my cheek so that I gasp and lift a hand to press against the place he’d struck me, genuinely startled and wide-eyed as I stare at him.

“Speak when you’re spoken to.”

“I don’t know,” I protest. I’m starting to think that he might be right and that I am a bit of a brat. “What do you want?”

“I want to make you better,” he tells me, and the tip of the pointer traces down my jaw. “So much raw potential, wasted by a shoddy upbringing. I could fix this. I want you to come to me on your knees, little girl, and beg me to fix you.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve hesitated in this whole interaction, but it doesn’t last long. Something about him tempts me, something in the way he seems to know—much better than I do—what’s going on between us and what he wants from me. I’m intrigued, and I do what he asks, crawling towards him until I’m at his feet, then leaning against his leg to rest my head on his knee. “Fix me,” I say, looking up at him. “I can be better if you’ll teach me how.”

“I told you to beg.”

I creep forward and press myself against him, sliding a hand up his inner thigh and squeezing. “Please,” I plead, laying it on thick. “Please, Daddy, teach me. I can be a good girl like you want.”

He reaches down and takes one of my pigtails in his fingers again, slowly working out the elastic that holds the braid together. It falls away, and his fingertips climb up through the plait, pulling each tress apart until he can run his hand through my hair from the scalp to the ends. I shiver at his touch and tip my forehead against his thigh as he repeats the process with the other one.

“Already better,” he murmurs, and his hand cradles my chin again. He tilts my face upward, the pressure of his hand on my jawbone drawing the rest of me upwards until I’ve straightened up between his thighs, and he can lean forward to kiss me, tenderly this time. “What a good girl.”

The praise floods through me like a drug, as his hand strokes through my hair and down my back, and I tilt my face up hungrily, wanting him to kiss me again, to tell me that I’m good. “What else?” I breathe, close enough that my lips ghost against his skin as I ask, but not daring to kiss him myself without his permission. “Daddy, what else do you want?”

“Lose the shirt. After you leave, I want you to burn it. We can do better.”

I obey immediately. Reaching down, I grasp the hem of my t-shirt and pull it off in one smooth movement, delighted in exposing my breasts and suddenly craving his approval. He looks at me impassively and then moves his hands slowly down my body until they seize at my hips and tug me closer, upward.

“Come here.”

Daddy shifts in his chair and makes room for me until I’m sitting in his lap and his hard cock pressing against my panties beneath my skirt. This drives me wild, and I moan and thrust against him, unbecomingly eager. He tolerates this before his hands close around my upper arms, and he holds me still.

“Patience, girl,” he scolds, but gently, and I can’t do anything but nod as the softness of his voice does something new to me, something I’ve never felt before. I go as still as I can as his eyes travel to my chest, and one of his hands moves to the small of my back. He presses against the bottom of my spine, drawing me up and forward so that my tits are level with his face.

The first exploratory taste of his tongue, the warmth and the wetness of it over my nipple makes me wet, and I draw a shaky breath as he continues. His lips tease the flesh of my areola, pulling it tight. His teeth scrape over the pebbled skin of my erect nipple, and the other starts to stiffen in sympathetic response, standing out from my skin like a bullet point. It’s not cold in here, but I shiver again, moaning aloud as his mouth works at my tit and lifting my hands to pull his head closer towards me, burying my fingers in his thick grey hair.

“Daddy,” I gasp. “Oh, Daddy, please. Wh—what else? What else, please, Daddy, please tell me what else to do?”

His hand yanks roughly at the waist of my skirt in response, and I promptly drop my hand to help, fumbling to undo the zipper, shifting and adjusting, and taking the opportunity to start to grind against his hard-on once again, but only briefly. The only thing left is a scanty black thong, and I already know I’m wet and ready for him, though he seems determined to take his time with me.

I settle back into his lap, and when he starts to kiss me again, I let my hands rest against his chest, against the soft fabric of his shirt. His tongue is alive in my mouth, tasting and yearning and taking, and I kiss him back like I’m starving for it. One of my fingertips glances against one of the buttons of his shirtfront, and without thinking about it, I start to undo the button. It gives way, and my fingers slip inside his shirtfront, rubbing against the coarse hair on his chest and then drifting down to the next. He doesn’t stop me. He keeps kissing me, and I hear and feel the soft growl from the back of his throat as I reach the last button and my hands find his belt.

He stops kissing me, drawing back, just long enough to say, “Get on the desk.” Then his mouth meets mine again, and I close my eyes as he lifts his body and mine out of the chair. My feet touch the ground, but only briefly, as my ass hits the edge of the desktop behind me, and then I’m lowered backward to slump onto the leather pad on top. I feel suddenly dizzy like the room is spinning around me, and then Daddy looms over me again.

“I don’t want to hear a sound out of you,” he tells me, taking off his belt as he does so, which only makes me whimper softly in urgent, impatient desire, but then I swallow and nod because I don’t want to disappoint him. I want him to tell me I’m a good girl again. “If you make a single sound, then Daddy’s cock comes out of your naughty little cunt, and I cum on your tits instead of inside you.”

This sounds like the worst thing I can imagine right now, and I nod vigorously and whisper a promise, “I’ll be quiet. Daddy, I’ll be quiet. I’ll be good.”