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“Your pretty little bottom is only pink, little girl,” he chided, and I keened with anxiety. For several long moments, his hand peppered my backside, and I did everything I could to keep quiet so that he didn’t know how much he was affecting me. He paused after that, edging his fingers along my thighs in a silent maneuver that indicated how much he was aware of the terrible way my body was betraying me.
“You’re soaking wet, little girl,” he observed, and a quiet sound of mortified desperation escaped my lips. A single rough fingertip grazed against the outer edges of my pussy and I had to stifle a gasp of arousal at his boldness.
“If you’re a good girl for the rest of your spanking, Daddy might just let you come over his knee, little girl,” he murmured, and my hips arched back just as his palm smacked my bottom hard. I whimpered loudly and it was at that moment that I realized that he had been holding back before.
This was real…
This was a very real spanking, and it hurt quite a lot more than I expected it to.
I squirmed and I cried out as his hand painted my backside red. It felt as though he didn’t leave a single square inch unpunished in the entirety of my bottom and even the tops of my thighs. Those stung the most. I tried to crawl forward and escape his harsh smacks, but his hold on me was firm.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I’ve learned my lesson, Daddy! I’m sorry I lied. I won’t do it again,” I promised, trying to play on his fantasy even more in hopes that he might stop, but it didn’t work. The spanking continued, just as hard as before and I soon feared how much longer this might go on for. Did he intend to make me cry? Did he truly mean to punish me?
“Please stop, Daddy,” I begged.
He still didn’t listen. The spanking went on and on and I didn’t know how to process the fact that it hurt, and I couldn’t make it stop.
A very real cry fell off of my lips and he spanked me at least two dozen more times before he paused once again. By the time he finished I was gasping for breath and I had lost control of my ability to hold in my cries. I begged and pleaded for him to stop, but it soon became clear that he was going to stop when he wanted and not a moment before.
“Your bare bottom is so beautiful when it is bright red and properly punished, little girl,” he mused and for some reason, that made me mad.
I hadn’t wanted this to be real.
I bit my lip, not wanting to say anything that would make him start spanking me again and not knowing how to handle the multitude of emotions flowing through me now that it appeared my punishment had ended. Anger. Desire. Raw need more powerful than anything I’d ever felt before.
I closed my eyes. My bottom was burning so hot that it ached. It stung far more than I expected, and I didn’t know how long it would take for it to stop hurting. He’d spanked me hard enough that I’d probably be sitting fairly gingerly tomorrow and that only added fuel to my ever-growing internal fire.
I couldn’t understand why, but that made me even angrier. I hated that even though he spanked me far harder than I had wanted, my body was reacting with an extreme sense of arousal. Even now, I was certain that my wetness was dripping down onto his thighs and leaving an unmistakable wet spot on his slacks.
His fingers edged along my pussy again and I couldn’t stop myself from arching into his touch. I wanted his fingers on me. I wanted the orgasm he promised and the fury inside me grew stronger and more intense with every passing moment at my wayward and entirely too sordid thoughts.
Why was I like this? A man had spanked me fucking hard and all I wanted to do was come all over his fingers. I shouldn’t want this.
There was something wrong with me. That was the only explanation for this, and I hated that. Knowing that I had only done this to myself made it all that much worse.
My anger only had one outlet. Him.
His fingers delved into the folds of my pussy and I lost the ability to speak. Every last word died on my lips as a powerful surge of desire rattled my core. With an expert touch, he found my clit with the pads of two fingers and began to circle it with skillful intention.
Fuck.
My anger served to fuel my need and as he toyed with my pussy, I fell prey to his expert maneuvers. I couldn’t think of the words to tell him what I wanted as I moaned into the couch, but it soon became clear that I didn’t need to. He already knew what that was. It was as if he could read me like a book.
His fingers on my skin felt like a drug. Each time he circled my clit, I wanted more. No. Needed more. I ground my pussy into his fingers as my body took control and ignored every last emotion hurtling through my mind.
“Please,” I begged.
What was I begging for? Did I want him to stop? Did I want to come with my bottom burning as I lay over his knee? Freshly punished and mortifyingly aroused? Would it be so wrong to give in to my body’s demands?
Fuck. His fingers played my body like an instrument, strumming my needy flesh higher and higher until I thought I was going to fray to pieces all over him. Maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe that’s what I wanted.
This was so fucking real.
“Come hard for Daddy, little girl,” he demanded, and I keened with trepidation and arousal far stronger than I had ever known before in my life. His fingers knew exactly what to do and it wasn’t long before I felt my entire core tighten with extreme need, like I was at the top of a roller coaster and there was no getting off until the ride was over.
It was too late. I was going to come over Daddy’s lap after he spanked me. I knew it and he knew just how inevitable it was.
