Daddy's Little Girl With the lights turned down romantically low, Ron and I embraced on the couch. I loved to feel the wiry strength of his arms around me, and in the six months we'd been going together, we'd spent many evenings alone exactly like this, sitting in my apartment hugging and kissing. As his hand moved up toward my breasts, the nipples grew hard with anticipation. There was no way she could have mistaken me for anything other than willing, and I actually began to seriously tingle between my thighs as he gently caressed my tits over my t- shirt. "Hmmmmm," I moaned hotly in his ear. My encouragement drove him to begin squeezing first one and then the other. His fingertips traced the slightly visible areolae around one erect nipple, and I trapped his other hand tightly between my thighs. That apparently woke up his hand that had been motionlessly resting on my upper leg. He began to lightly run his hand over the denim that tightly encased my lower half, careful to stay clear of the moistening juncture against which I had attempted to lock his innocent hand. Cautiously as to not be noticed, I looked down into Ron's lap. The length of his fully aroused cock ran about four or five inches down the front of his jeans. I smiled to myself. Despite himself, my gentle, proper boyfriend was extremely excited from touching my body. It took every ounce of my will to keep from grabbing his erection. I knew that would be a mistake. Suddenly the silence, my moaning excepted, was broken by a loud knock at my front door. Ron whipped his hands away from me as if my body was liquid fire, which it nearly was. He looked in my eyes for reassurance. "God, I love you," I thought of saying to him, "but you've got to lighten up." I patted his leg comfortingly and stood up to walk the few steps to the door. "Who is it?" I asked. "Margie, let me in." I looked frantically at Ron and mouthed "It's Daddy". I could see the terror light up in his eyes as he looked for an exit. I had told him all about my father, about how I was still his "little girl", and how he was extremely over-protective. I'm sure his life flashed before his eyes. "Margie! Open this door right now, young lady!" "Ah, just a minute, Daddy." I looked at Ron imploringly, silently asking him what I should do. My frightened expression only added to his own anxiety. "If you don't open this door right this instant, I'll break it down!" Sighing, I unlatched first the deadbolt and then the night chain. I had to quickly jump out of the way as the door swung violently open. My father rushed in looking around then stopped abruptly as soon as he saw Ron sitting on the couch. "So your mother was right." "It's not what you think, Daddy," I began defensively as I closed and relatched the locks. "No? Then you tell me what it is, Margie." He took another step toward Ron. "That," he shouted as he pointed at Ron, "looks like a young man to me." He looked at his wristwatch. "A young man in your apartment after 11 pm. To me, young lady, that looks like one thing." At this point I'd have hoped that Ron would have come to my defense, assure Daddy that nothing bad had been going on, which was basically true, but I guess it never entered his mind to stand up to a man who was at least five inches taller and about seventy pounds heavier than him. On the other hand, he probably remained silent out of respect as much as fear. As I told you, Ron is very proper. "Daddy," I whined, "Ron was just helping me with my science project." "Don't lie to me, Margie. You're only making things worse. Don't you think that if you were working on a project, you'd at the very least have a book or two out here with you? Where are your books, Margie?" He had me there. It was a bad cover on my part, but before I could think of someway to dig myself out of the hole I'd begun to die, Daddy began going into one of his tirades. "I told your mother this was a bad idea, having your own apartment. She just wouldn't listen. Girls your age are just asking for trouble when they live alone like this without proper supervision." He paused and looked me over. Then he looked over at Ron. "Well, I see only one thing to do." With those fateful words he began to pull his thick belt off from around his waist. "No Daddy, please, not that. We weren't doing anything, really," I cried as I went to him. I knew it would do no good to beg for mercy. When Daddy was determined to do something, there was no talking him out of it. As expected he ignored my appeal for leniency and instead took me by the arm and pulled me toward the desk chair. Finally Ron moved. He stood and began walking, to assist me or to escape through the door, I can't be sure. "Sit down!" Daddy roared at him. "I ought to tan your hide too, but I don't need a lawsuit right now. But you can just sit there and be still. I want you to see this. Maybe next time you'll think twice before you fool with my little girl." Daddy sat down with his leather belt doubled in his right fist as his left undid the buttons down the front of my jeans. I could see Ron in the wall mirror. His eyes were riveted on us. Daddy violently tugged my pants to my knees, and Ron's fascination was obvious as his eyes never moved from my ass. In pulling down my jeans, Daddy had also caused my panties to be partially removed. Ron inadvertently swallowed hard and licked his lips. Next Daddy yanked gown my panties, exposing my jiggling bare bottom to Ron's blue saucers. Right before being violently pulled across Daddy's lap, I caught Ron's eye. Clearly this scene was having a titillating effect on Mr. Proper. He was actually looking forward to watching my father whip my bare bottom with his belt. This knowledge sent jolts of excitement to my cunt. Something had excited my Ronnie! Crrrrack! The belt bit into my ass, and as I tossed about on Daddy's lap, I'm sure I was giving Ron quite a look at my sexy bottom. Crraaack! Another burning cut of the belt sent my exposed bottom into violent convulsions, and I cried out. "Yeoooooooooooooow!" I screamed as the tip of the belt stung the soft under curve of my helplessly squirm fanny. I managed to turn my head toward Ron at this point, and I noticed that he'd moved to the edge of the couch and was mesmerized. He was too far away to tell, but I'm sure he had a huge erection thanks to the punishment he saw my ass receiving. Smack! "Ou-oooooooo! Please Daddy, no more. I'm sorry. No more, Daddy," I pleaded. At this point, thanks to my violently kicking legs, my jeans, followed by my panties, flew up into the air, landing not far from Ron. His eyes never moved. Swaaaaaaaaaaaap! "Oh God!" I shrieked as the last blow landed violently across my tender thighs. I was crying relentlessly, and as the belt landed three or four more times on either my now smarting ass or welted thighs, my legs scissored and spread quite naturally in response to the searing pain the leather strap was inflicting. I must admit that as Daddy whipped me with all the force he could muster to conclude my punishment, I came with a rapid series of violent contractions within my sopping pussy. The whipping, combined with the knowledge that my boyfriend was watching and seeing both my bare bottom and the furry tunnel between my legs, was too much to withstand. For a brief moment I just laid there across Daddy's lap, my fierce sobs racking my body. I'm sure my once milky white bottom was deeply red, and if the little stings I felt on top of the overall burning glow, as I continued to twist about, were any indication, I'm sure I had a few angry-looking welts that would be with me for days to come, too. Daddy then lifted me to my feet. In doing so, I moved back to within a foot or so of where Ron sat spellbound. I'm sure he enjoyed a closer look at how Daddy had painted my young, shapely ass. "Get your clothes on, young lady!" Daddy ordered as he slapped my bottom hard with his hand. I think I heard Ron groan. The impact of that slap must have sent the flesh of my spongy bottom into quite a wiggle for my boyfriend's entertainment. The step I took to retrieve my panties from the floor stirred hundreds of stinging bees on the surface of my sore ass. "Ahh," I whined as bent to gather them up. Such movement pulled the lacerated flesh of my whipped bottom taut, causing new pain to join the old. Standing relaxed the stretched skin, inducing another round of stings. As I stepped painstaking into my panties, I was totally conscious of the sight this gave Ron of pretty bottom. I felt the excitement that had been released between my thighs by the last painful lash of the belt, begin to build. I slowly slid my white rayon panties up over my burning cheeks. Their coolness soothed my bottom. "Young man," my father announced to break the silence, "I think you'd better be leaving now." My back to him, I heard him reluctantly stand and head for the door. "See ya in school," I promised him as I began putting my jeans back on. He only nodded as he unlatched the door and made his way out. I think he was embarrassed. The erection that threatened the front of his jeans was unmistakable and impossible to hide. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// It isn't like I didn't give this thing a LOT of thought before taking the first step. I did. While it is true that it was largely by coincidence that I took it . . . the first step, that is, I'd wanted to do SOMETHING for a long time. I just didn't know WHAT I could do about it, that's all. When I got my account on our university mainframe, it opened up a whole world to me . . . some I wasn't particularly crazy about knowing, but some of what I discovered was great. Quite accidentally I stumbled onto rec.arts.erotica, and when I did, nothing I read for several months did much for me. There were a lot of fantasies about making love on the beach or with aliens with two penises . . . nothing I could particularly fire me up. Then one day I read "A Painful Lesson". Not only did I find myself getting excited reading it . . . I confess, I laid on my bed that night masturbating as I imagined myself as Judy . . . but it gave definition to a yearning I'd felt for a long time but could never quite get a handle on. I wouldn't consider myself a particularly experienced 20 year old college student, but I've had my share of boyfriends. I'm no virgin, but even when I was in a long-term relationship with a guy, I always felt something missing. The sex was good but never great. Like many of my women friends, I'd often felt disappointed after my boyfriend had climaxed and had either left or fallen asleep. I longed for the climax that only fictitious women seemed capable. Judy, the heroine of "A Painful Lesson" finds herself over the knee of her psychology professor. He is an older man, a father- figure no doubt, and at first she is quite surprised to find herself in such a position. Her violent protests seem to prod him on to strike her across the seat of her tight jeans with increasing severity. The more she squirms, the harder he spanks her, eventually removing his loafer and slapping her jumping butt cruelly until she's a sobbing mess, tossing about on his lap uncontrollably. Clearly the professor was aroused by the manner in which Judy's butt writhes wildly. As I finished the short tale of scholarly punishment, I discovered that I was wet. I also distinctly remember a sense of disappointment when the story ended with the spanked co-ed meekly rubbing her sore bottom as the professor lectured her. I wanted more. And as I laid on my bed that night, I treated myself to more. I closed my eyes and imagined details that I'd wished had been included. As I became Judy, the professor had my jeans and panties down just enough to expose my full bottom, and I imagined the burning pain as he whipped my butt and thighs with a paddle like the teachers back in elementary school had. My fingers manipulated my clitoris as I imagined each hard blow cracking against my helpless, bare flesh. I quickly came. Even though I felt a bit cheated by the tameness of the story, I did appreciate it enough to make note of the author. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that he was right at my campus! RJ Gray. I tried to imagine what he was like. Was he actually a psychology prof here? I tried to find his name in the faculty directory but it wasn't listed. I'd often wondered just how much of the rec.arts.erotica stories were pure fantasy and how much of them were biographical. However, I knew enough about fantasy to know that the author could just as easily be some pimply-faced computer nerd who'd never even seen a woman's bare bottom let alone spanked one as be an powerful older man. ********************************************** * * *Great story. It really moved me, if you know* *what I mean. <smile> Hope to see more. * * * ********************************************** I couldn't resist the temptation. I just had to write to him, but I was careful not to say too much. I'm not even sure WHY I wrote him, what I expected to accomplish. It was just too much to pass up . . . a story that awakened something that had always been there lurking, so to speak, within me. And for him to be right here!!! It was eerie. I downloaded "A Painful Lesson" and printed it off. I even tried my hand at rewriting it to better fit my idea of what I wanted to happen. I discovered that it's not as easy as it looks! For several days it was still very much on my mind. Well, not the story so much as the feeling it had pushed to the forefront of my mind. I tried to figure out why it aroused me so much. I was amazed at myself. Naturally I'd heard of S&M, but to me that was whips and chains and black leather. To be honest, I thought that anyone who wanted to be whipped and stuff had to be pretty bent. But I had to ask myself if this building desire to be spanked, spanked hard by an older man, wasn't also perverted. Naturally I looked back to my childhood for some answers. I had a great relationship with my father. He never spanked me. Well, once when I was six or seven he slapped my butt once or twice for mouthing off to my mother, but neither of my parents had taken me over their knee and spanked me in the fashion I now craved. I do remember kids being paddled in school. One kid in particular, Joey Wilkins, got it good in the eighth grade. I remember it because not only was it done in front of the class, but at the time I had a crush on Joey. I don't remember being sexually stimulated by the event. All I remember is feeling sorry for Joey for both the pain of the paddling and the embarrassment of having it done in front of the class. I hated Mr. Quinn the rest of my time at Jackson for doing that to Joey. There was no obvious reason for my desiring to be spanked over the knee by an older man. But the excitement I experienced just thinking about it happening was too real to ignore. At least once a week I laid in my bed masturbating and fantasizing about having my bottom exposed for a spanking, always at the hand of a father- figure. I even found a few paperbacks at the campus bookstore that dealt with erotic spankings. It was embarrassing to buy them but not enough to keep from doing it. The stories filled my mind with bare, reddened bottoms. In each and every case the spanked or whipped girl, or in some cases woman, became sexual aroused. Naturally her tormentor also grew excited by the wiggling of her bottom as he punished it, and in most cases, they ended up moving into other areas of sexual activity. Some of the stories had women spanking girls or other women, and while it was titillating to some degree, not nearly as much so as when a man was the disciplinarian. ********************************************** * * *Glad you liked it. And yes, I think I know * *what you mean when you say the story "moved"* *you. <wink> * * * *There's more where that came from. * * * *Thanks again for your encouragement. * * * *Papa * ********************************************** You wouldn't believe how excited I became just hearing back from the mysterious author, RJ Gray. "There's more where that came from." I mulled that line over in my mind. Of course it sounded as if he intended to post even more stories, perhaps he intended a whole series of "Professor Brine and Judy" stories. But beyond the obvious interpretation lurked the subliminal suggestion of something more. Then there was his signature, "Papa". The symbolism of that would have been obvious to even a child; it was almost as if he could read my mind. As my interest (I'm tempted to characterize it as an obsession!) grew, I found myself less and less satisfied with just reading and fantasizing. I felt more and more like a drug addict needing a stronger fix to get them through the day. For a fleeting moment I thought of trying to get my boyfriend to spank me, but I quickly dismissed it. First, I could never actually come out and ask him. Not only would I be too embarrassed, but I suspected that suggesting such a thing would quickly scare him away. Spanking isn't something openly discussed in our circles. I didn't want to lose him over this. I might have considered manipulating him into spanking me out of real anger, you know, letting him think it was HIS idea, but I knew it would never happen. He was just to kind and loving. Damn! One day I went down to the local toy store and bought one of those paddle ball things. You know, the little red ball stapled to a long rubber band which is stapled to a paddle. That night I experimented in front of my living room mirror. I know this sounds a little sick, but a junkie will go to just about any length to get her "fix"! Having removed the ball and staples, I lowered my jeans and panties and tentatively smacked my rearend with the paddle. I began lightly at first, watching my shapely bottom jiggle after each swat. I felt compelled to hit myself increasingly harder with the paddle, succeeding in giving myself a small amount of stinging pain, but nothing like what I thirsted for. It was too awkward for one thing, trying to spank myself on the fleshiest part of my bottom while at the same time trying to watch the effect in the mirror. After a half dozen blows or so, I gave up. My ass did tingle a little, and the sight of it's glowing redness did turn me on a little, but it just wasn't the same. I realized that the physical sensation of having my bottom paddled was only a small part of what provoked me to orgasm. I needed the feeling of being under the authority of a strict man. In addition to all of this, deep down I knew being spanked by my boyfriend wouldn't give me the pleasure I craved. I had read some stories about lovers involved in bottom warmings, but the stories that really made me wet weren't overtly about sex play. My hardest orgasms and strongest memories surrounded tales of real punishment inflicted on the unwilling bottoms of "naughty" girls at the hands of a father, teacher, neighbor or preacher. While I was completely aware that each of these stories was written, in reality, for the sexual stimulation of the reader (probably the author as well), the idea that the victim WAS a victim, rather than a willing participant in sex play, added to the excitement. *********************************************** * * *Papa, * *What do you mean "more where that came from"?* * * *You aren't suggesting, are you, that you do * *more than write? <smile> * * * *Margie * *********************************************** Having written and rewritten my second contact with "Papa", I finally decided to keep it simple. I was eager to see how he would respond. I didn't have long to wait. *********************************************** * * *Margie, * * * *>You aren't suggesting, are you, that you do * *>more than write? <smile> * * * *Perhaps. YOU aren't suggesting, are you, that* *you've been a bad girl? <wink> * * * *Papa * *********************************************** ************************************************ * * *Papa, * * * *>Perhaps. YOU aren't suggesting, are you, that* *>you've been a bad girl? <wink> * * * *I've been a VERY bad girl, Papa! <smile> Why? * * * *Margie * ************************************************ ************************************************ * * *Naughty Margie, * * * *>I've been a VERY bad girl, Papa! <smile> Why?* * * *Don't be smart with me, young lady! You know * *very well why!! * * * *You need to be properly punished before you * *become too unmanageable! * * * *Papa * ************************************************ Papa's last message to me made me think hard. It sounded like he really wanted to spank me! My panties became moist thinking of it, but it was also a scary proposition. Not just the spanking. That was an exciting kind of scary. But I wasn't naive. He might want to do more than just spank me. A lot of the men in those stories ended up . . . well, fucking their victims. I wasn't into that scene. I wanted to remain faithful to my boyfriend, and the idea of making love to Papa seemed . . . incestuous. Yet I realized that there was an element of safety in knowing who Papa was. I had his email address, after all. He had to know that he was putting himself at risk if he tried anything funny. Well, you know what I mean. ************************************************ * * *My stern Papa, * * * *You are right. I have been a very bad girl and* *need to be corrected. <smile> * * * *However, how do I find you? And I have no * *idea what you look like. * * * *Margie * * * *PS - You must know, Papa, that your little * * girl ONLY requires a hard spanking. * * Nothing more! * ************************************************ ************************************************* * * *Daughter, * * * *You are very naughty! Your bottom deserves to * *smart for even suggesting any improper behavior* *on my part! * * * *Look for a man in his forties, slightly over- * *weight with a beard. I will be wearing a gray * *overcoat, and I'll be holding a copy of TIME. * *Oh, do this at 2pm tomorrow afternoon outside * *the Arts & Letters building. * * * *If you think, after seeing me, that Papa will * *be capable of giving you what you require, * *email me and we'll make arrangements. * * * *Papa * ************************************************* Whew! This guy sounded like a man quite capable and willing to spank me hard! I nearly came just thinking about it . . . which I did constantly until 2pm arrived the next day! Actually I sat on a bench "reading" outside the entrance of A&L around 1:30. I'm paranoid that way. Finally I saw him. He was just as he described. And as he walked by where I was sitting, I noticed he was neither particularly handsome nor gruesome, which was perfect. I didn't want to fall in love with him. I didn't want to be repulsed by him. He didn't resemble my father in any way. He was several inches taller and a number of pounds heavier. Actually, if he reminded me of anyone, it was the head football coach at my former high school. Athletic but past his prime. But most importantly, he was very fatherly. ************************************************* * * *Papa, * * * *I saw you and recognized you instantly as my * *strict but loving Papa. * * * *I now know that I cannot avoid it. I have been * *naughty like you said in your last message. * *There is no reason to delay. * * * *When should I receive my punishment? You tell * *me when and I'll arrange where. * * * *You won't be too hard on me, will you, Papa? * * * *Your devoted daughter, * * * *Margie * ************************************************* I think it's pretty obvious that I was beginning to get into my role as the bad girl getting to ready for her stern Papa. I was a little concerned, but I was so overcome with the prospect of being spanked like in the stories I'd read, that I was not about to chicken out. ************************************************* * * *Dear Devoted Daughter, * * * *I am prepared to spank you as you require at * *2 pm tomorrow. I know that is short notice, * *but you have been disobedient long enough. * * * *Make sure you have a paddle handy. If you do * *not, you will pay for THAT transgression * *severely! * * * *Papa * ************************************************* Fortunately my boyfriend would not be using his apartment. He would be out all day with his student teaching. I wasn't about to let Papa know where I actually lived, so I told him to meet me at my boyfriend's place. ************************************************* * * *Papa, * * * *I will be awaiting my fate at 2 pm as you say. * *I trust that you can find 567B Maplebrook Apts.* * * *Your scared daughter, * *Margie * ************************************************* ************************************************* * * *Papa, * * * *I will be there. * * * *I must ask you to follow one basic rule: I am * *your papa. I will be addressed as your papa. * *You will be Margie, my wayward young daughter. * *At no time will we be anything to each other * *BUT papa and daughter. Any violation of this * *rule will terminate this relationship. * * * *Papa * ************************************************* Needless to say, as 2pm approached I was a ball of nerves. It had been very exciting, but as the hour drew near, I admit that I began to be frightened. I thought I understood his rule, I think it was to keep the situation as erotic as possible by staying in our roles. He may also have been afraid of my becoming too closely attached to him personally . . . or he to me. I did not want to be his lover but only his daughter, so I had no problem with the rule. At around 12:30 I skipped Restoration Theater and headed for my boyfriend's apartment. I had decided to dress in my normal, everyday attire of t-shirt and jeans. I know it sounds like a bad joke, but just in case, I put on clean underwear . . . a fairly new but not particularly sexy pair. I didn't know exactly what to expect from Papa so I felt I needed to be ready for anything, but it wasn't my purpose to turn this guy on. Anyway, I suspected no special effort on my part was needed for that, keeping in mind that he was the author of "A Painful Lesson". The last thirty minutes or so dragged on interminably. I tried watching TV, but even my favorite soap couldn't keep my interest. I must have peed a half dozen times. When a knock finally sounded at the door, I gasped and felt a lump in my throat and a mysterious, dull ache between my legs. It wasn't pure sexual energy at play down there; the best I can describe it would be to say that the butterflies were flying low that afternoon. As I rose from the couch, I turned off the TV that had to that point been poor company. I looked around the room almost as if I wanted to make sure the apartment was in order for my guest. Don't ask me why. I suppose nerves. "Yes?" I asked through the door. "Margie? It's Papa. Open up." Almost immediately I felt like a wayward little girl. I obediently opened the door. Papa stood in the hall with a stern, impatient expression on his face. He stepped authoritatively into the room as if he'd been there a hundred time. He looked around. "You alone?" I hesitated in answering him, not quite sure why he asked or even if it was he, Papa, asking. My first thought was fear. His question reminded me that I WAS alone in this apartment with a man I'd only seen once. "Yes," I eventually respond. "Why?" "Just sit down, young lady. There'll be no questions from you." With that he wandered into the bedroom. He was only gone a few seconds before he reappeared and headed for the bathroom and then the kitchen. At that point it donned on me that he was making sure we WERE indeed alone. It never crossed my mind to have someone hiding in one of the other rooms. It wasn't like I wanted witnesses to this. I never stopped to think that he might have his own fears. I wasn't the only one putting myself at risk. On his way back in from the kitchen, he opened the main closet door. He removed his overcoat and hung it up. "Strangely masculine wearing apparel, Margie," he remarked, in jest I think, but it struck me more as a comment revealing that he understood we were not in my apartment than a genuine attempt to lighten the moment. "Well, what have you to say for yourself?" he asked. "What do you mean?" I felt stupid. Was I suppose to be making something up here? I squirmed uncomfortably. "Aren't you suppose to be in class?" I looked into his eyes, trying to read if he KNEW I was suppose to be in class. Had he checked up on me? As a member of the university faculty, he probably had sources I hadn't even thought of. He probably knew where I DID live, including my home address. That made me REALLY uncomfortable. But his eyes betrayed nothing. Maybe I was worrying over nothing, afterall, I knew who he was, too. "Come here!" he commanded as he pulled the straightback chair away from the desk and positioned it more in the center of the room. "Oh God," I thought, "he's going to do it. He's going to spank me." I walked cautiously to his now seated figure and stood before him, trembling. It was no act. He grabbed my hips and pulled me closer to him, but instead of finding myself over his lap as I expected, he kept me standing in front of him. "I am not paying your tuition so that you can attend classes only when you feel like it. I am damn tired of your immature behavior, Marie. I warned you last time what would happen if I found that you were skipping your classes, didn't I?" During this tirade, he shook me by the hips. "Didn't I?" he shouted and shook me so violently that my teeth rattled. "Yes." "And what did I say would happen, young lady?" "That . . . that I'd be spanked," I replied almost as a question. "And so you shall. Get me the paddle." As I turned toward the coffee table where I'd left the paddle, I felt his eyes watching my bottom as I walked. I knew my jeans clung nicely to the swells of my bottom, and I suspected he was eager to begin swatting them. At the table I bent at the knees to retrieve the paddle, not wanting to seem to be purposefully teasing him with a seductive display of my ass. Before I could hand him the paddle, he took it from me and pulled me across his knee. For the first time in my life, a man had me across his lap and was about to take target practice on my firm but untried bottom. I felt odd lying there, facing the floor as Papa held me by the waist with his left hand, trapping my legs with his leg. His leg pressed hard against the back of my knees, forcing my bottom to a more elevated position. In no apparent hurry, he let me suffer with anticipation, my ass jutting out in tingling expectation. As I helplessly waited for the first sting of the paddle, my mind tried to imagine what it would be like. Would it hurt more than I expected? More than I could stand? Would I . . . Crack! My thoughts vanished immediately as all my energy centered on the burning right cheek of my butt. I squirmed on his lap involuntarily and cried out. "Be still, Margie. We've only begun. You will have plenty to cry about before I'm through with you!" Crack! The paddle fell violently on the crown of my left cheek, burning even more than the right. I swung my hips to the left then right as if such movement would cool the fire beginning to build on my bottom. Smack! "Yeow!", I shrieked. The paddle had found the tenderest part of my ass where it curves up from my thighs. Swaap! He directed the blow to the same place, catching more of my thigh the second time. My bottom was now in perpetual motion, the hot burning pang giving it a life of it's own, and I was no longer aware of distinct spanks across of severely flaming bottom. They kept coming, more rapidly and much more viciously each time. I was crying like a baby, but I was beginning to feel my vagina swell with excitement. The spanking hurt more and gave me greater pleasure than I had imagined. The spanking, while irrefutably increasing in potency, seemed to reach a plateau of pain, after which my bottom ceased to be where my attention centered. The pain there became a steady glow of pleasurable heat, and the paddle seemed to drive the blazing passion through the flesh of my bottom to where it pooled between my thighs. I can't be sure, but I think I would have climaxed if Papa would have spanked me just a little longer, but he forced me to my feet, and it was obvious that he enjoyed the sight of my tear- streaked face. "Perhaps now you will think twice before you decide not to go to class," Papa commented. "As you lay in bed tonight, the cool sheets soothing your naughty red bottom, I hope you will think of the dire consequences of your irresponsible actions." I did. As soon as Papa left, I stripped out of my jeans and panties and checked my bottom in the mirror. There were no welts, but the entire surface of my throbbing ass was an angry red. As I examined by bottom with fascination, I inserted a finger into my moist cunt and finished the job that Papa had only started. As I frigged myself, my bottom cheeks quivered in the mirror and twinged with stinging pain. Before long, I came violently. Surprisingly my bottom was back to its normal snowy white color in a day or two, and I was able to make love with uncharacteristic passion that weekend. My boyfriend was slightly taken back by my lustiness, but before long he stopped questioning and started enjoying. He seemed satisfied with my explanation. I pointed out to him that his being away student teaching days and preparing lessons nightly had left me horny for him. There was a certain amount of truth to what I said, but my sexual appetite had as much to do with my thoughts of Papa and what he did to (for?) me as with my boyfriend . . . Six months later I was no longer going with the same boyfriend, but Papa had become a steady influence on my life. Over that time he had punished my eight times, all but the last in the same manner as the first . . . "Young lady, your behavior doesn't seem to be improving. It's almost as if you WANT me to spank you." The irony of his statement echoed in the silence of my apartment, where our last three sessions, including this one, had taken place. Now that I knew I could trust Papa, and now that my current boyfriend lived with his parents, we met at my place. "No, Papa", I whined in earnest response to his drawing his belt off from around his waist. It was a wide black leather one that I knew would hurt like hell. Admittedly I had begun to grow a little tired of the same old thing, but I wasn't at all certain that I was ready to graduate to a whipping with a belt. "It's the only thing you'll understand. Now bend over the arm of the couch," he ordered as he doubled over his belt. I reluctantly did as he commanded, but my apprehension renewed the original excitement I'd felt when Papa first spanked me. Apparently he was not happy with how my bottom was presented to him because he picked up one of the little pillows that decorate my couch, and placed it between my bending figure and the arm of the couch. It effectively raised my bottom to a more spankable angle. "Now young lady, I am going to give you a half-dozen hard strokes with this belt," Papa began as I lay over the arm of the couch, my bottom elevated and tingling as he spoke. "If at any point I have to tell you to stay still, your jeans will immediately be lowered to your knees and two extra strokes will be added to your punishment. The second time . . . your naughty bottom will be bared to receive its punishment. Any questions?" My head was spinning from the sudden change in rules, and to be completely honest, my legs turned liquid . . . from fear or excitement I couldn't say. Swaaaap! Unexpectedly both cheeks of my ass were lit on fire. "Answer me, young lady!" Papa ordered angrily. "Yes, Papa," I responded meekly. Crack! With a mind of it's own, my bottom swung from side to side, trying to shake the sting away. "One!" Crack! The second cut hit me severely along the under edge of my bottom, lifting me up and inciting me to cry out. "Two!" Smack! "Yeow -oooooo!" I cried in earnest, violently twisting and turning my bottom in what I was sure was an arousing display from Papa's point of view. "Three!" Now my bottom was in perpetual motion, waiting for the next painful lash of Papa's belt and not all that confident that I could keep still. Pop! "Oh God, it hurts!" I cried as I experienced the most pain I'd ever had to endure in my young life. My bottom continued to frantically wiggle seductively at Papa, though that was not my intention, and as I turned to implore him to show my tender ass some mercy, the grim expression on his face convinced me that if anything, he was likely to whip me harder. "Four!" I watched as Papa's arm cranked up for the next slash, which was a BIG mistake because as I saw the blur of his belt moving toward my already burning ass, I instinctive clinched the cheeks of my sore butt tightly together in anticipation of the excruciating pain. SmaaccK! The searing cut across my tense bottom sent me to the next level of torture. Without thinking I shrieked and twisted my ass away from Papa as I brought my hands behind me in an impulsive effort to protect my flaming flesh. Wordlessly Papa step toward me and grabbed me around the waist. Holding my kicking body down against the couch, Papa used his other hand to unbutton and unzip my jeans. I was hysterically shouting and struggling, begging to be left alone. Papa ignored my pleas and soon had my jeans down below the twin curves of my lacerated bottom. For a moment the coolness of the room air comforted my stinging cheeks, but Papa immediately had me back in place for my whipping, and this time he held me tightly as he brought his belt down hard across my now nearly unprotected bottom three times in cruel succession. I lost all control and sobbed and cried like a baby, but unlike a baby, I experienced a simultaneous series of orgasms, which removed me for a time from the reality of my severely spanked bottom. I was so lost in my own pleasure and pain that I don't even recall when Papa lowered my panties for the last and most vicious lash. I do have a vague memory of lifting my hips to make their lowering easier for Papa, and I sense that I jutted my smarting ass toward him, entreating him to spank me as hard as possible. Papa acquiesced, releasing a flood of rapturous cum between my thighs. Papa required that I remain in position over the arm of the couch, my fiery red bottom presented as evidence of my naughtiness as I kissed his belt. Even after Papa left my apartment, I stayed where I was for a few minutes, touching the wetness of my cunt. After that spanking, it took a bare bottom spanking with Papa's belt to make me feel fulfilled . . . and Papa fulfilled me about once a month. Sometimes I had to refrain from extra- curricular activities with my boyfriends (I had three or four, one at a time, while being disciplined by Papa.) for a few days so that I wouldn't have to explain the welts on my ass, but it was worth it. That October I became extremely frustrated sexually. I was very pleased with Papa, but my latest boyfriend Ron was too nice, too gentlemanly . . . I decided to do something about it and couldn't wait until that evening . . . With the lights turned down romantically low, Ron and I embraced on the couch. I loved to feel the wiry strength of his arms around me, and in the six months we'd been going together, we'd spent many evenings alone exactly like this, sitting in my apartment hugging and kissing. As his hand moved up toward my breasts, the nipples grew hard with anticipation. There was no way she could have mistaken me for anything other than willing, and I actually began to seriously tingle between my thighs as he gently caressed my tits over my t- shirt. "Hmmmmm," I moaned hotly in his ear. My encouragement drove him to begin squeezing first one and then the other. His fingertips traced the slightly visible areolae around one erect nipple, and I trapped his other hand tightly between my thighs. That apparently woke up his hand that had been motionlessly resting on my upper leg. He began to lightly run his hand over the denim that tightly encased my lower half, careful to stay clear of the moistening juncture against which I had attempted to lock his innocent hand. Cautiously as to not be noticed, I looked down into Ron's lap. The length of his fully aroused cock ran about four or five inches down the front of his jeans. I smiled to myself. Despite himself, my gentle, proper boyfriend was extremely excited from touching my body. It took every ounce of my will to keep from grabbing his erection. I knew that would be a mistake. Suddenly the silence, my moaning excepted, was broken by a loud knock at my front door. Ron whipped his hands away from me as if my body was liquid fire, which it nearly was. He looked in my eyes for reassurance. "God, I love you," I thought of saying to him, "but you've got to lighten up." I patted his leg comfortingly and stood up to walk the few steps to the door. "Who is it?" I asked. "Margie, let me in." I looked frantically at Ron and mouthed "It's Daddy". Stephanie was positively *glowing*. It was her 16th birthday, and her father had thrown her a wonderful party. He had always given his little girl whatever she wanted, and her birthdays were always extra special. She felt like a little Princess. Stephanie's girlfriends had already left, and she was alone now with him. Her mother had died over a year before, so now it was just the two of them. Stephanie inherited her good looks from her mother. Although she was only in High School, she had really filled out over the last year. She had long blonde hair, bright green eyes, and a 38DD-22-35 figure. Her breasts matured at a very early age. At first, she found it quite embarrassing, and carried her school books in front of her chest. The boys were always teasing her, and the girls assumed she was a tramp. Only her closest friends knew she was a virgin. Stephanie's father, John, was sitting up on his bed. He had his daughter's pictures from the family album spread out. He was lucky, because Stephanie loved to visit the beach. Of course, that meant he had a nice photo collection of his little girl in bikinis. He was staring at a particular photo; he was obsessed. Stephanie had a string bikini top that barely covered her nipples, and didn't cover *anything* else. It was a medium-shot of her beautiful face, and the breasts of his dreams were exquisitely framed. John leaned over to the night stand, and grabbed his "family-sized" jar of Vaseline. He carefully opened it, and scooped up a dollop of his preferred lube. He smoothed it all over his rock-hard cock. He picked up his favorite picture, and started pumping his fist up and down his thick tool. All he could think about was french-fucking little Stephanie's big tits. He imagined his dick in between her magnificent melons, and picked up his rhythm. "Oh, Daddy, please let me suck your lollypop!," he heard her say in his mind, as he imagined his prick engulfed by her breasts. He pictured her licking the tip as it reached her face. Steph was feeling exhausted from her busy day, and began to ascend the stairs, up to her bedroom. On the way up, she wondered where her father was. She started down the hall, thinking about the warm comfort of her big brass bed. She noticed that the door to her father's bedroom was slightly ajar, and she heard a funny noise. John's imagination was running wild. "Oh, Daddy, your cock is *so* big!" He jerked on his cock like there was no tomorrow. "Oh, Daddy, I *need* your cum! *Please, Daddy, give me your hot, sticky load! I want you to cum all over my pretty face!," he imagined Stephanie saying. His eyes were closed tight, yet he could see his nasty little girl begging for his load of ball juice. She was pulling on her dark, rubbery nipples, while sqeezing his thick prick between her warm breasts. He could feel the cross around her neck scratching his sperm-filled nuts, and it reminded him of her innocence. He was looking directly into her deep green eyes, and his penis began to twitch, as his balls started to explode. He heard something in the background, and opened his eyes. Shit!, he thought, she's coming upstairs! He realized that he forgot to lock the bedroom door, and leapt up. Running towards the door with his cock in his hand, he tried to reach it before his daughter... As she approached her father's bedroom, to say goodnight, Stephanie accidentally tripped on a loose piece of carpet in the hallway. "Shit!," she exclaimed, as she banged her head, and fell through the doorway of her father's bedroom. She had fallen flat on her face, and was now on all fours, trying to orient herself. John was in shock. Daddy's little girl was at his feet, in his bedroom, on all fours, in front of him! He stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. He immediately removed his hand from his dick, but he was still naked, in front of his daughter. Before he could come up with a plan, his dick started doing the talking. Just as Stephanie looked up, John's cock started to squirt. Strand after strand of thick, white cum blasted all over her face. She felt it landing in her hair, and completely drenching her face. She felt totally disgusting and humiliated, yet strangely aroused. Her fathers scum was dripping down her chin, and into her deep cleavage. She wiped the gooey sperm from her eyes, and looked up to see her smiling father, who had resumed jerking his enourmous cock. End of Chapter I daddy's little girl I think I already posted this once in the wrong place. I'll try it out here... My Daddy comes into my bedroom late at night. She puts her hand under the blanket and up my nightgown and pushes her finger roughly up my pussy hole and whispers, "Daddy wants to fuck her little girl. Shh, you're wet already, you need this, don't you, that's a girl, good girl, Daddy is going to fuck her little pussy girl with her hard cock. That's what you want, isn't it?" I traveled 150 miles to play with this woman. We set it up for months, talked about it every which way. Her body pins me to the bed. I'm sleepy but aroused. "Yes, Daddy, please fuck me hard, please Daddy. I want your cock inside me." I push my tongue into her ear, but she pulls away. "I'm going to give you a spanking in the morning , you know that don't you? In the morning at the breakfast table, I'm going to pull down your pants and give you a good, hard spanking. Might even have to use a belt on you, young lady." "I'll be a good girl, Daddy, I promise." "I know you will be, but you'll still get spanked anyway. Now take off your nightgown. Okay hands up, spread your legs, that's my slut, Daddy's little slut, you just want that cock, don't you? Go on, beg for it." "Your cock is so big, Daddy, it fills me up, I want you inside me, Daddy, please put your cock inside my wet pussy hole, please, Daddy, I spread my legs for you, my hole is always ready for your hard thick cock, I want it so bad, it's all I ever want. I think about your cock all day, Daddy." "You better, you cunt. I'll teach you how to take care of Daddy's cock. You'll be the best little cocksucker around. Can you feel the head of my cock up against your pussy? Come on, reach for it, show Daddy you want it, that's a girl." "Fuck me, Daddy." But she doesn't fuck me yet. She grabs my hair and pulls/drags me onto the floor, and I'm crawling trying to keep up with her as she crosses the room to the full-length mirror. I'm confronted with the mirror image and try to look away, but she yanks me head back and says, "You're going to suck this cock, girl, and you're going to suck it good or I'm going to give you a beating like you've never felt before and wouldn't ever want to feel again-got that?" "Yes, Sir." And there we are in the mirror. For a second reality intrudes. I look up at her eyes, hidden by the brim of her cap, and her short white-blonde hair. I've never seen her before and that increases my fear. On the phone it was like a confession to a priest, kneeling in the dark booth recounting my sins. I requested my own punishment in my search for forgiveness. And she doled out the punishment over the phone. I wrote line after line for her-100 lines, 200 lines. I beat myself for her, for me, for Our Father-just another variation on a theme. But it was never enough. I never felt cleansed or redeemed or free. Finally she ordered me to come to her. Now I'm on my knees, hands behind my back, and she's thrusting this big black dildo-cock into my mouth with one hand behind my head, and in her other hand she has the riding crop. Every time I slow down or gag she hits me hard with the crop. I cower and try my best to please her. My cunt is so wet I can feel the juice dripping down my leg. I want her to fuck me so bad. It feels like she could put a fist inside me, but all I can really think about is sucking her cock, trying to push it against her clit. "That's a girl. Suck that cock. All my friends are watching you. You're making them hard, some of them are even rubbing themselves, they want to fuck this wet little mouth hole of yours. Show them how well you've been trained, you little slut. You'd suck all their cocks if I let you, wouldn't you? I'm going to let them cum all over you and make you lick it up. When I cum inside you they'll cum all over your face." I can actually feel all these people watching me-and then she makes me tell them a punishment story. "Come on little girl, that's right, spread your cheeks, we all want to see that tight little hole of yours. And tell us what happens when you are a bad little girl." "Daddy punishes me." "And where do you get punished?" "On my asshole. Daddy has a special stick and I have to hold my cheeks apart and count the strokes. After the stick, I usually get five strokes with the rubber dog whip." Sometimes as punishment Daddy sticks her finger up my ass. At first it hurts, and then it feels good, but right about the time it feels good Daddy pulls her finger out really fast. She's says it is part of my training and eventually she'll fuck me up the ass with the dildo. She loves to look at my asshole, examine it: poke, prod, and lick my tight little hole. I feel a mixture of pleasure and humiliation. The humiliation usually wins out, especially if her friends are watching. She knows it too-you can hear it in her voice. "What happens after your punishment?" "I have special insertion training each night. A dildo is stuck up my pussy and then Daddy pushes one or two fingers into my asshole and teaches me to relax." "I think it is very effective to punish girls in sensitive areas-minimum effort and dramatic effect. I'd say her behavior has improved considerably. Why don't you tell my friends where else you get your discipline?" "On my clit." "And?" "On my breasts." She puts on a latex glove and pushes three fingers up inside my cunt and pulls them out and slams in deep, so hard it hurts. Then I feel four fingers pushing up to her knuckles and I'm wet, but not that wet. "No don't fist me. I can't take it, it hurts." She says, "I want to teach you this, open up for me, do it for Daddy. We're going to work through this together. It'll hurt, but we'll handle this pain. I want you to do this for me." I could feel her skin against my back, her small tits, hard nipples, her leather chaps touching my legs. "Breathe deep and slow, breathe with me, that's it, feel the pain, through it, don't fight it, let the pain flow through you as you breathe. Stay with me, I want you to do this, it's important to me." And then she's inside of me, her whole fist. It feels so good. She starts to pull out her fist and I don't want to let go. I clench my muscles down, she grabs my hair, cuffs my ears. She slaps me across the face. "I'll teach you."Slap. And I start to cry, not because it hurts, but because being slapped gets to me more than anything else. It is so intimate;it's my face. I'm scared and caught up in the fantasy, and she's still fucking me hard, wild and I want to touch her so bad, claw her, and I start pushing against her with my body. She leaps off me, flips me over and starts hitting me with her belt, hard. My back, shoulders, ass, thighs,. I try to get away, but I can't. She holds me down with one hand and flogs me with the belt, and I finally give in and start to scream and cry and sob. There are tears mixed with snot dripping down my face and I stop struggling. She puts down the belt, turns me over, enters me gently with her fingers and brushes the hair away from my face. We're close now, she's inside me, rocking rhythmically she kisses me, kisses the tears away, lots of kisses and licks. "Shh, that's a good girl. Daddy loves her little girl, it's ok now, it's all over, it's ok,baby. You're so pretty, so wonderful, smart, sweet, you're a honey-bear, girl child. I'm here. I'm here. I'll take care of you." "I'm sorry, Daddy." "Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry about, it's okay, sometimes you have to fight and I'll have to beat you, but that's okay, that's what you need, and it's what I want and you're safe, sweetheart." "I want my Daddy." "I'm right here little girl. I got you and I won't ever let you go. It's okay, go to sleep now. You want some warm milk? Everything is going to be okay." "Yes Daddy. I love you Daddy." I curl up and sleep, secure that there will always be more punishments, but for now all is forgiven. ---