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I felt his right thumb move again, and I felt the left one join it, to find the edges of the untried hole, further down and further back. I sobbed in utter mortification, because my daddy spread open the entrance to my vagina with both his thumbs.
“I can see her cherry,” Daddy Jacob said with a note of satisfaction in his voice. “Marianne, honey, your pussy is so pretty. We’re very lucky daddies to have you for our bad girl.”
“Oh, God,” I whispered as my body reacted with a helpless clench down there that I knew must be completely visible to my new daddy’s eyes—and, worse, with an almost physical glow in my chest. Pride: I actually felt proud that my daddy thought the pussy he intended to deflower was pretty, and that he and Daddy Phil had gotten lucky to have such an attractive pussy to fuck.
“And she’s so wet, too. Come take a look.”
Daddy Jacob stood up and put his hand on my back to keep me in place while Daddy Phil moved around to the back of the couch. Both my daddies stood behind me, looking at my bare bottom, assessing what that part of me was good for, and how they could best make use of it. Daddy Phil crouched down just as Daddy Jacob had, spreading me and commenting on my prettiness, my wetness. It started to blend together in my head: their degrading words, my whimpers, the overwhelming sensations that seemed to divide me from myself and send my consciousness spinning into space while two huge, handsome men did whatever they pleased with my body.
Until Daddy Jacob said, “I’ll spank her now. Go ahead and take her top off and free her hands. She needs to start learning to stay still when she’s punished.”
“Oh, no,” I said, surprising myself with my first words in what seemed like long minutes. The voice that came to my ears had the same little-girl quality I had heard in it before, as if these men who called themselves Daddies had called an answering element out of me. “Please… Daddy…”
I couldn’t tell if they even heard me. Daddy Phil came back around to the front of the couch. I felt a tug on the plastic cuffs, and a snipping sound, and then my hands came free. I whimpered. Somehow the idea of their being able to see my face while Daddy Jacob spanked me seemed much worse than the spanking itself.
But Daddy Phil pulled the scrub top all the way off my head and over my arms, and I was fully naked with my daddies in their faded jeans and white t-shirts, their plaything bent over their living room couch. I tried to stand up, putting my hands out in front of me defensively, palms out to Daddy Phil, warding him off.
Daddy Jacob’s left hand on my back kept me in place. His right hand took firm hold of my bottom, so that I cried out in surprise and fear.
“Put your elbows on the cushion, Marianne,” Daddy Jacob said, “and keep them there.”
CHAPTER8
Marianne
Daddy Jacob delivered his command in a firm voice, but I heard something else besides strictness in it, something that made my heart skip a beat.
Care. I didn’t know how an abrupt instruction, intended to make sure I didn’t interfere with my punishment, could possibly convey it. But in this man’s deep, rumbling order I could perceive something else—even something more important, for both of us. Daddy Jacob’s real purpose, I understood without knowing how, lay in making certain I didn’t lose my chance at rehabilitation.
He didn’t push on my back. Experimentally, I tried to straighten up. The hand didn’t press, didn’t try to move me further downward, but it didn’t budge a millimeter, either.
I bit my lip and let out a soft whimper. I understood: my new daddy wanted to give me a fair chance to obey him on my own.
I couldn’t help it, and I didn’t know why I couldn’t help it, and that made my impulse even stronger: I tried to twist away again. I turned my shoulders to the right, and I tried to push off the back of the couch.
Daddy Jacob’s response this time came even faster than it had the last. I felt his hand on my backside grasp me more firmly there, strong fingers controlling me with their pressure on my pussy, thumb, humiliatingly, digging in between my bottom cheeks and pressing into the tiny, shameful opening there.
As I cried out sharply—before the cry could die away—his left hand had pushed me all the way down, so that I ended up obeying him by sheer reflex. My elbows landed on the couch cushion.
“Please!” I yelled. “Please—what—”
I meant to ask,What did I do?as if the answer weren’t entirely clear, but Daddy Jacob cut me off not with words but with the first spank I’d ever received in my life: his hand left my ass, and then returned with a slapping sound that seemed astonishingly loud to me.
For a millisecond I wondered what all the fuss was about, because—for that instant—it didn’t hurt.
Then it did hurt: my nervous system caught up, and I felt the first hint of the burning sting of my daddy’s firm hand.
Then ithurt. I hadn’t expected that it would build like that, or—much worse, that my daddy would have the power to add to it with another hard spank, so that suddenly my whole body seemed to light up with the flame he had ignited in my bottom.
“Owww!” I yelled. My limbs, all on their own, started to struggle hard against his grip.
“You’re… going… to learn… to hold… still,” Daddy Jacob said, accompanying almost every word with another swat, and shifting his left arm to hold me around the waist and keep me still, “while… you’re… punished.” His voice sounded calm and easy, as though it cost him no physical effort at all to spank me so hard I began to scream in agony, tears seeming to spring from my eyes as I writhed under his arm.
I flailed with my hands, trying desperately with the right to push Daddy Jacob’s rock-solid body away somehow, and to put the left behind me on my ass, to get it in the way of the tormenting hand. I tried to twist my head, too, thinking I might be able to look over my shoulder and see his face in order to plead for mercy.
“No, sweetheart,” Daddy Phil said, sternly, and I felthishands, too, grabbing my wrists so that he could imprison them in his own grip just as securely as the plastic cuffs had done.
I looked up at him, mid-wail, while Daddy Jacob just kept restraining me under his left arm and spanking me, hard and fast, with his enormous right hand. My blue-eyed daddy’s face looked terribly strict, but also somehow terriblyhungry, so that my heart raced even faster than the awful lesson from my brown-eyed daddy had made it beat. I let out a little sob just at that expression, which seemed to promise that my punishment would involve a great deal more than this spanking—and that Daddy Phil had every intention of enjoying all of it.
