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“Get up, Marianne,” Daddy Phil said, in a low voice, as if he didn’t want to interfere in Daddy Jacob’s conversation with human resources. “Push your chair back and bend over the desk.”
I looked wildly over at him. He had his belt all the way out of his pants, and he had doubled it and rolled it once around his fist.
I heard Daddy Jacob say, off to the right, “Yeah, that’s what we thought, too. We’ll definitely break in her ass tonight, after the whipping.” His voice had taken on the tone of someone ready to end a call—not impatient, really, but conclusive: a man who had more important things to attend to right now. Like punishing a bad girl and fucking her in the ass. “Good to hear,” he said in that same voice. “I’ll definitely report on her session tonight in the app.”
I had frozen in place, utterly unable to move. My eyes had remained fixed on Daddy Phil.
I wanted to look at Daddy Jacob, but I also didn’t want to, because I feared I would see not the look of reassurance I craved but a stern expression, the promise of relentless justice. Human resources, faceless and unyielding, cruel and corporate, clearly wanted to make certain I got all the discipline I deserved for what I had done to Pamela Jones, Selecta’s vice president of something or other. I could see that my blue-eyed daddy didn’t have any trouble using that as an excuse to do something he clearly enjoyed very much: whipping a young woman’s bare bottom until she begged him to deflower her ass instead.
What I didn’t know—what I feared to find out, because maybe I would find out the opposite of what part of me so desperately hoped—was what my other daddy thought about it.
Daddy Jacob. Jacob Garvey. It wasn’t that Daddy Phil—Phil Baker, as I’d learned today—didn’t get me hot and bothered: just the thought of his six pack abs rising above his jeans, and the memory of how he had brandished his long, rigid manhood in front of me when he had made me suck his cock while Daddy Jacob had deflowered my pussy… the mental image and the sense-memory of him fucking my face sent a shiver of need through my naked body. Daddy Jacob, though… he got me hot and bothered in a different, somehow deeper way.
What my brown-eyed daddy thought seemed tomatterto me, beyond the simplicity of trying to figure out whether he meant to punish me or not. Learning my brown-eyed daddy’s last name seemed to have heightened the effect even more. After all, he had just confirmed that a whipping lay in my immediate future: I wasn’t getting out of it, as far as I could tell, as absolutely unjust as it seemed. I still cared what Daddy Jacob thought, though, much more than I wanted to. The idea of looking at him now, after he had just discussed the end of my anal virginity with a faceless human resources representative, made my tummy flip over.
So I kept my eyes fixed on Daddy Phil.
Daddy Jacob, though, let me know his opinion. I heard his deep voice say, “Do as Daddy Phil says, honey. The lady from human resources just finished telling me that punishing you is the right choice, even for little things like not paying attention to the daddy who’s speaking to you.”
“But,” I said, turning to look at him, desperate now to see his facial expression. “But… Daddy, I…”
The look on Daddy Jacob’s face stopped my next word from emerging out of my throat. My mouth hung open, my heart racing. I hadn’t had any idea that a man’s face could look that way: both terribly stern and deeply concerned.
My mouth closed and I felt my forehead crease. I had to swallow down what felt like a lake of saliva. My daddy’s brown eyes seemed to make me turn my own imaginary eyes inward, to see inside me.
You do need this, a voice—my own voice said. Then,Never tell them. Even Daddy Jacob, even Jacob Garvey the heroic firefighter.
I pushed the first part away. The second part, the never telling thing: that I could accept.
I put a bad-girl sneer on my face, though I felt my hands clench into nervous little fists when I saw Daddy Jacob react to the defiant expression. Trying very hard not to tremble, I rose from the desk chair and pushed it backward on its wheels.
“Fine,Daddies,” I said, emphasizing the word as sarcastically as I could. “Whatever you say. You wouldn’t want to piss off human resources, right?”
I tossed my head and stepped towards the desk, bringing my upper thighs into contact with the edge of its laminated fake wood top.
“Bend over, Marianne,” Daddy Phil said, his voice so hard I almost regretted my sneer. He started to walk around to the other side of the desk, tapping his doubled belt against his left palm. “I’m going to wipe that naughty-girl look off your face.”
CHAPTER13
Marianne
Part of me wanted to beg for mercy. I told that part to go fuck itself. That thought made me bite my lip, briefly, before I returned my features to full brat mode. Sure, all of me, the dismayingly weak part included, would definitely get fucked, soon—and not by me.
I had spent all day at this fucking desk.Oh, God… they’re not going to fuck my asshere, are they? Over this… fucking desk?I had read about them, my brave firefighter daddies. I had started to feelsafewith them.
Theycould go fuck themselves, if they thought that turning minor shit, like looking over at one daddy when another daddy was speaking to me, into an excuse towhipme with a goddamnbeltwould turn me into some obedient little lady.
Little lady fuck toy.My tummy flipped over as the words strung themselves together in my head. It took all of my self-control to keep turning my head from side to side defiantly, flicking my scornful eyes from Daddy Phil behind me to Daddy Jacob in front of me.
My brown-eyed daddy’s face still told the terribly ambiguous tale of that humiliating conversation with human resources. He intended to watch Daddy Phil whip me, and then he intended to take my anal virginity. He had said so to the bureaucrat at the other end of the phone, some corporate peon appointed to oversee my sexual degradation and bullshit rehabilitation from afar.
He intended to do it, his dark eyes told me, for my own good. Yes, for his pleasure, also—Daddy Jacob’s face said that, too: the slight curve of his lips made my heart skip a beat, so clearly did it seem to me to indicate that my daddy’s huge cock had gotten hard at the thought of the fucking I had in store. But, his calm forehead declared, as if it could speak for itself, this man, this Jacob Garvey, firefighter, wouldn’t want to watch my first belt-whipping, or even want to deflower my virgin asshole, if he didn’t know—not think, not believe, but absolutelyknow—that in me he had the sort of bad-girl sexual plaything who needed to be become his little lady fuck toy.
It infuriated me, all the more because of the stupid little-girl voice that as far as I could tell I would have to somehow kill with the mental equivalent of a bunker buster. Or maybe extinguish, like a fire, with one of the chemical drops I had read about today. The part of me that for some impossible-to-understand reason thought that being my daddies’ little lady fuck toy was the kind of thing a bad girl like me should feel lucky to have a chance at.
So I met Daddy Jacob’s patient, stern gaze with an extra curl of my left nostril—a supremely bitchy expression I wished I could see in a mirror, both because I thought it should be eligible for an acting award and because I thought if I could see the look actually on my face, it might help me keep it there. Because, I told myself, there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to let fucking Daddy fucking Phil fucking “wipe it off” my fucking face.
I waited. Just for a moment. Just until I could see Daddy Jacob’s smile fade slightly, and I knew he was about to repeat Daddy Phil’s command to bend over.
