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Archer
The clock was ticking. I had to be in court in ninety minutes. And then meetings with girls whose names and faces I couldn’t remember at the moment, because they weren’t Audrey.
In a few swift steps, I closed the space between us. “Call me Daddy,” I whispered huskily, touching her soft red lips with my fingertips.
“Daddy.” It came out in a reverent whisper.
“Have you ever called a man that before?” I’d been called it so many times, but hypocrisy be damned, I wanted to be her first.
She giggled. “Only my father, and not since I was very young.”
“Good.” That pleased me. I took her hand, and entwined her fingers with mine. “Have you written dirty stories about other men?” I asked, fully aware I was playing with fire. Even though this was just a scene, no strings attached, practically a game at this point, I knew it would kill me if the answer was yes.
Mercifully, by some miracle of the sex gods smiling down on me, she shook her head shyly.
I took another step closer, my hand still entwined with hers, until our chests were touching. “Daddy’s going to show you what happens to naughty girls who write sex stories about their boss.”
It was a test. I saw how she reacted when I called her a good girl—now I wanted to see how she reacted to the opposite. I felt her breathing grow labored, felt her chest heave as she panted in excitement. She liked that too. Excellent.
Walking her across the room, I cleared a spot on my desk and bent her over it. My office was massive, with several chairs that would have worked just fine and a small leather loveseat in the corner, but I needed the full fantasy.
She was perfectly compliant, but I could tell she was nervous. Pushing her skirt up, I revealed old-fashioned stockings held in place with a garter belt above a lacy black thong. My Achilles’ heel.
“Daddy likes these,” I murmured, running my hand across the supple skin of her exposed ass. Sucking in a breath, I raised my hand and brought it down with a satisfying smack against her bare bottom, watching as the skin turned pink.
“Oh!” she cried in surprise, sticking her ass out farther, arching toward me.
She liked it. I might have to change that, if given a chance. I was a master at the erotic pleasure spanking, but the image of Audrey with her lips curved into a pout, tears streaking her cheeks, and her hair mussed as she cried in my arms was one I couldn’t get out of my head.
The gentleman in me said to save that for another day, but the bastard in me said this could be the only chance I would get and I should take it for everything it was worth and make sure I had no regrets.
Not knowing which side of me I would end up listening to, I began to spank in earnest, living for her soft cries and gasps of pain, watching her skin redden and her bottom bounce under each firm swat.
“Naughty, dirty girls get their bottoms… punished.” Again, not sure how far this would go, I chose my words carefully. My cock was rock-hard, straining against the fabric of my slacks. “Tell me, Audrey Lynn, what happened after you went to bed last night? Did you touch your pretty little pussy and pretend it was me? Did you play with your clit, and wish it was my fingers touching you? Did you use a dildo and pretend it was my cock? Did you come, screaming my name?”
She whimpered with each question as I punctuated it with a hard smack across her sit spots, making sure that my aim was so that it would reverberate across her pussy. At my last question, she broke.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Okay?Yes!” She panted. “Yes, I went to bed thinking of you. Yes, I played with myself. Yes, I touched my clit and pretended you were there. Yes, I used a dildo and wished it were your cock, and yes, I screamed your name when I came!”
There was something… a strain… a lilt in her voice that told me she wasn’t telling the whole truth. “My name, really? Or did you scream Daddy?” I spied a ruler on the corner of my desk and grabbed it, bringing it down hard against her reddened, swollen bottom.
“Arggghhh!” she cried. “Both! Okay! I screamed both!”
The ruler was having the desired effect. I could hear the strain in her voice as she fought back tears, and I thought about my earlier vision. I wanted to make her cry and then I wanted to wipe her tear-streaked face, and kiss her until her pouty lips were swollen and her hair was a mess.
But she reached back and covered her already flaming-red bottom with both hands, twisting the upper half of her body to look at me.
"I think I get the picture," she said, her bottom lip puffed into a pout. And she probably had. Her eyes were red and rimmed with tears, her long locks were mussed. Her face was flushed—it was everything I had wanted but it wasn't enough. My appetite for her was insatiable—like it would never be whetted. Like I could spend all day listening to hear whimpers, hearing her beg. Like I wanted to do so much more than just spank her perfect bottom…
Leaning over her, I put my face close to hers. "I just… don't want it to end. I feel like I want to do everything I possibly can because it is probably my only chance."
Her lips parted in surprise. Her chest heaved. "I don't want it to be," she panted.
"I don't either." As much as I wanted to do it all right now in fear of never being able to again, I also wanted to take my time and go slow, space it out, savor every moment and every delicious thing she let me do to her.
"So what do we… what does that mean?" She got up, twisting her whole body to face me, wincing when her bottom leaned across the hard wood of the desk. She didn't pull her skirt down and my gaze traveled to the tiny triangle of black silk covering her pussy.
"We could…" I cleared my throat and forced myself to look into her eyes. "I could be your Daddy." I actually couldn't believe the words leaving my mouth. Never had I jumped into anything so quickly.
