For Her Own Good

by Parker, Tamsen

  This isn’t the first time he’s added a third finger, but it still feels like a stretch, still makes me feel full and pried open.

  “Come on, Star. Relax for me. This is going to make it so much easier for me to work my way inside you. Don’t you want to be a good girl for Daddy while I stretch your hole? You can take it, love. That’s right.”

  I feel pinned in a way that’s complete and filthy and overwhelming with the movement of his fingers inside me. He’s pressing a hand into the small of my back, but there’s no need. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t think I could, but more so, I don’t want to. Ever.

  * * *

  Lowry

  God, she’s lovely—upturned bottom in my lap, with three of my fingers pressed into the most private part of her body and knowing she’ll let me have more. I’ve earned it. It took a while, and occasionally she’ll be skittish with me when she’s especially nervous, but she always comes round and it’s my goal in life to never make her worry about me leaving ever again. The platinum band on my ring finger glints from where my hand is spread over the small of her back.

  I wouldn’t have cared if she didn’t want to get married, but I do enjoy it. I am hers and she is mine and all that good stuff. My sweet little thing who isn’t going to be able to contain herself for much longer, so I ought to get down to business.

  “You know you said you’d been a good girl but I don’t think you can say that anymore, my squirmy little princess. I think you’ve had enough of this, though, because I want to feel your climax with my cock in your arse.”

  She squeaks and it’s the most delightful sound—utterly brilliant that I can feel it with my fingers buried inside her like this.

  As carefully and gently as I pushed my fingers into her, I slide them out and rub the still-pink skin of her bottom.

  “I’m going to wash up. Before I do, you’re going to take off all your clothes except these frilly panties. You’re to keep them right where they are.”

  Starla groans as I lightly pinch along her panties where arse meets thigh.

  “Up you get.”

  It’s sweetly awkward how she has to climb off me with her underwear hobbling her a bit and she stands there, face nearly as red as her bottom and then pulls her dress over her head, unfastens her bra and drops it to the ground. She’s just so pretty I hate to leave her for even a second, but needs must. I pile two pillows in the middle of the bed and gesture to them. “Over you go, bottoms up.”

  She mewls again, looking at me with those big, pouty hazel eyes, but she enjoys the embarrassment, yes, she does. And her body responds so nicely to it as well, making her cunt slick and wet and welcoming. Doing as I’ve asked, she drapes herself over the pillows and it’s a lovely sight.

  “Now stay right there and don’t misbehave. I’ll know if you’ve rubbed yourself off on those pillows like a naughty, horny girl. Don’t you dare.”

  Would I really? Who knows. Should she get a guilty look on her face or tell me—which she likely would—yes, but otherwise, probably not.

  Upon my return, she’s lying quietly, face turned away, but a slight shift of her hips and the curl of her toes tells me she’s not entirely at peace.

  I climb on the bed and there’s a hitch in her breath as I kneel behind her. Probably because she can feel I’m as naked as she is, having stripped off in the bathroom. Sometimes when we do role-play—badly behaved girl gets sent to the principal’s office is one of her favorites—I’ll keep my clothes mostly on, but tonight I want to feel her skin on mine and reassure her with the warmth of my body.

  The pale expanse of her back and hips is before me, so I take the opportunity to glide my hands over her flesh. Not too light—since the point is not to make her shiver and tremble—but firm and constant.

  “Are you ready for me, love? I’ll go slow.”

  Her voice is small when she says, “Yes, Daddy.”

  “You need to relax. Breathe. If it’s too much, say so and we’ll stop. I know you’re a brave, strong girl but you’ve got nothing to prove to me here. If it hurts, we stop. This is supposed to make you feel good, and I’ll be as patient as you need me to be.”

  Some of the tension in her shoulders unravels beneath my hands and she breathes as I’ve told her to, deeply and fully.

  “Okay, Daddy. I’m ready.”

  I doubt her a bit since there’s a tinge of stubborn in her tone but it’ll do. I wasn’t lying about being patient, but I would be lying if I said my head weren’t about to burst with lust. There is only so long a man can go on about fucking his wife’s gorgeous arse before he loses all his senses. I’m nearly there.

  Luckily, I left a condom on the bedside table, so I unwrap it, and roll the latex over my length, wincing because Christ, I’m hard. And then I lube up, coating my throbbing dick well before I edge even closer to Starla to settle my erection between her cheeks and use my slicked-up cock to rub over her tight hole, which makes her buck beneath me.

  Sweet little thing, doesn’t take much to rile her up.

  “You feel like heaven, Star. Even like this. Can’t wait till I’m buried in you to the hilt. Would you like that, sweetheart? For me to be balls deep inside your tight arsehole and fuck you until you come? Think you could do it, filthy girl? Reach your climax from having me pound my cock into your hot, slick hole, maybe while I spank you to bring the color back to your bottom while I do?”

  The dirty talk always gets her motor running, and hard. She presses her hips back against me, begging with her body, and I goad her.

  “Come on, little girl. Don’t whine about it. Tell me what you want. I could do this all night. Or maybe squeeze your arse cheeks tight around my cock and fuck you like that until I come. I’d rather be inside you, but…”

  She makes a noise of squeaky indignation.

  “No, Daddy, please.”

  “‘No, Daddy,’ ‘Please, Daddy’? Which one is it? Tell me what you want. I want to hear you beg. Just a little. Come on, then.”

  Her chest constricts on a desperate laugh and she shakes her head. I give her a few beats to work up the nerve and she doesn’t disappoint me.

  “Please, Daddy. I need you. I want you to…to…” A frustrated little cry escapes her lips as she thrusts back at me again.

  “Ah. Not until you say it.”

  “Please, Daddy, stuff your big fat cock in my ass and fuck me hard. I want to feel stretched wide open for you. Please, Daddy, fill me up.”

  “There you go. What a good girl you are, doing as Daddy asks. And now you’ll get what you asked for.”

  I take my cock in hand to get the proper angle and then I begin to apply pressure. Star is tight, so very tight, and hot. Yes, the lube helps and she’s not resisting, but good Lord. I work my way in, easing forward and pulling back to let the lube coat the inside of her arse to smooth my way and soon enough, here we are.

  It’s perhaps a bit of a caveman thing to say, but I love the way her tight hole looks stretched tight round my cock. I’ve rarely seen anything sexier. It doesn’t hurt that she’s been following my every word, breathing and relaxing to let me in.

  “Tell me how it feels, little girl, to have your daddy buried in your freshly spanked arse.”

  “Oh, god. It feels good, Daddy. So good. So filthy and good and I, I want…I want more, please. Fuck me harder, Daddy, please. Spank my bottom while you fuck my ass.”

  Who am I to refuse that? The only way I would is if I passed out from being too turned on. Christ. She’s asked to be fucked but I still start out slow because I won’t hurt her. I won’t. Pretty soon, though, I’m gripping her waist with one hand, giving her bottom forehands and backhands with the other as I fuck into her.

  Her noises make me delirious; the desperation, the pleasure, the surrender to her bodily sensations instead of being so stuck in her head. Yes, this is what I wanted to give her tonight. What I want to do for her whenever she needs it for the rest of our lives. It’s not so long of hard rutting before I’m about
to spend and I don’t think I can wait much longer.

  “Come on, little girl. Come for Daddy. I want to feel your muscles clench my cock, I want your arsehole to milk the come right out of me.”

  Her fingers scrabble against the sheets and her hips meet mine as she rocks back against me, driving me deeper than I ever thought possible. It turns into a hard pumping, ever faster pistoning, and then I feel it. Hear it.

  “Oh, Daddy. Fuck, yes, please, more. I’m coming, Daddy. Please, please, please.”

  Her chant devolves into a series of gasps and grunts and pleas as I grip both her hips and ride it out, letting myself blow now that she’s got hers. There’s a supernova behind my tightly closed eyelids and I shout. Not anything articulate because every ounce of energy I have is being used to survive the intensity of our climaxes.

  At long last, Starla’s slowing and I’m so exhausted I could collapse on top of her. Instead, I roll to the side and strip off the condom with a conveniently placed tissue. Even those three seconds are too long for me to be away from her and I take her into my arms as though I’ve been pining for her for years, famished for the touch and taste and smell of her.

  Sated, she snuggles closer, burying her face into my chest and snaking a leg between mine. She feels perfect to me, how we fit together, limbs tangled, breath coming in sync. It overwhelms me sometimes, the depth of my love for her. And whether she knows it or not, she gives me as much as I give her. I squeeze her tight and kiss the top of her head, my sweet and filthy, darling and dirty little princess.

  “Star?”

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “I love you, my precious little girl.”

  “I love you too, Daddy.”

  Simple, perhaps, but I don’t think there are words for what I feel for this woman, for what she has given me, what we’ve become to each other, so these well-worn phrases will have to do. I’ll cherish her for as long as I’m allowed, my shining Star.

  Thank you for reading For Her Own Good, I hope you enjoyed Shep and Erin’s story. If you want more elegant superfilth, you’ll want to one click Taming His Teacher. Turn the page for an excerpt!

  Taming His Teacher

  Erin

  I’m back at Hawthorn Hill, the only place I’ve ever really called home. Is it weird that it’s an all-boys boarding school and I’m only four years older than some of my students? Yes. And what makes it worse is Zach Shepherd. He’s my student, but he’s also my biggest crush. To let anything happen with him would be career suicide but to stay away from him might shatter my heart.

  Shep

  Three years after I graduated, I’m back on the Hill, this time as a member of the faculty. Some things have changed but I still think Erin Brewster is the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. I want to be with her more than anything, and I’ve picked up a trick or two while I’ve been gone. Maybe with my new skills, I’ll have Erin begging to be held after class...

  * * *

  Thanksgiving break is coming to an end. The boys will be filtering in in a few hours with hair just cut and suitcases of freshly washed clothes, maybe with a new video game or some gadget I won’t understand the point of. For now, the dorm my tiny attic apartment is in is empty and I intend to enjoy.

  I’d had Thanksgiving with a few friends in Somerville. They’re all in grad school or law school or med school. I’m the odd one out with an actual job. They’d expressed envy over the fact that I earn a paycheck, but I placated their egos by insinuating how little I get paid.

  Teaching at a boarding school has its advantages: room and board are provided, the benefits are good, and the strength of community is unparalleled. Rolling in dough is not one of them. It had been fun to see everyone and catch up, gossip about our classmates. It was good to not be alone in that in-between space: the not-quite-adult I have to be with my colleagues and not-quite-adolescent I’m not allowed to be with my students. But I’m an introvert at heart and it was a distinct relief to climb into my car at the end of the night and drive back to my own apartment instead of crashing on a futon.

  But in the stillness of the empty dorm, the silence is oppressive. I’ve finished the book I’ve been savoring—one that’s incredibly hot in a way I should be perturbed by liking because it’s hovering so close to the edge of being not okay. Followed by taking a bath in my too-small tub to wash away the slickness of my arousal and the subsequent orgasm I’d rubbed myself to while imagining all of those invasive and intimate and hotly shameful things happening to me.

  Once I’d gotten that out of my system (and put the book in the freezer), I’d watched a few movies while eating leftover Halloween candy and folding heaps of overdue laundry. I’m looking forward to the boys coming back, settling into the familiar routine that fills my waking hours. It gives me confidence to get through the day. In the meantime, my body is bouncing, full of energy. The athletic facilities are locked, won’t open again until morning, so I’ve got one alternative: Dance Party.

  I’m already decked out in my Flashdance best: cropped leggings, a tank top and a sweatshirt I’d cut the neck off. It’s a short trip to turn on my laptop, hook it up to the speakers and crank up my eighties mix. Soon I’m rocking out hard, busting out my best moves. For a white girl, I’m not too bad, thanks to the hip hop classes I’d taken to blow off steam and take up time in college.

  After a good twenty minutes of shaking what my momma gave me—one of the only things she gave me—I’m sweating. They’ve turned the heat on in the dorms though this fall’s been unseasonably warm and my apartment’s sweltering. I shove open the window that’s been painted a dozen times, the last coat still sticky from when it was painted over this summer, and open my door to let the cross-breeze in.

  My head is clearing while I’m doing my best Molly Ringwald impression when there’s a knock at my door. Or, more accurately, my doorframe. I’m startled into a shriek and clap my hands over my mouth, turning to see who my intruder is.

  Shep.

  My face flames and I hold up a finger to tell him to wait. We won’t be able to hear each other over Deniece Williams. Never mind I need a minute to collect myself. How long was he standing there? This is humiliating. Although it could’ve been worse. I could’ve been going to Funkytown. Or whipping it. Or it could have been someone other than Shep. Shep’s not going to do an impression of me in the dining hall and he’s not going to bust my chops about my sick dance moves in class. My mortification settles into a low burn of embarrassment. Shep will keep my secrets.

  “Mr. Shepherd. I thought you boys weren’t due back until four.”

  He’s standing there in jeans and one of the light fleeces all the kids seem to wear when they’re not required to be in dress code, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He stubs an Adidas-clad toe into the dingy carpet of the hallway and looks down.

  “My dad has to work tomorrow. He wanted to get home early.”

  Right. His eyes find mine and his gaze makes me flush hotter. It’s not a leer like I get from some of the boys, especially the ones who don’t have me in class, but it is an observation. A study. I have a flashback to Shep’s drawings in the art show and all the wrong areas in my body tighten when I picture him sketching me. I drag the cuff of my sweatshirt over my forehead to wipe away the sweat and shove some escaped tendrils of hair behind my ears. Don’t remember me like this. My thoughts stutter as I try not to imagine how I would like Shep to draw me. A rational thought would be great, but my head doesn’t seem willing to supply one. I’m grateful when Shep does.

  “I told Mr. Foster before I left I’d have to come back early. I guess he forgot. Dorm’s locked.”

  “Of course. I’ll get my key.” Jeez, Erin, why did you think he was showing up at your door? To seduce you? I hurry to the rack on the wall where I keep my keys, find the extra set to Ford, and shove my feet into a worn pair of flip-flops. “Let’s go.”

  Shep eyes me closely. “It’s kinda cold out there, Miss Brewster.”

  I wave a hand. “It’s n
ot far. Besides, I need to cool off.”

  He tilts his head in a way that makes me want to run back to my bedroom and grab my warmest parka, but I’ve made my call. I shut the door to my apartment and scrawl a note on my white board to say I’ll be back in five in case there are other early arrivals who come looking for me. Then I traipse down the stairs, Shep’s heavy footsteps following mine.

  I do my best not to look back at him and try to make small talk about his vacation as we cross the small quad. Shep’s not a big talker anyway, but his one-word answers tell me home is not the greatest place in the world. It’s possible he’d rather be here, feels more at ease on campus than he does with his family. He wouldn’t be the only one. The Hill is the only place on earth where I can plant my feet on the ground.

  By the time we reach the front door where a worn duffel and his familiar backpack are waiting, I’m shivering. My stubbornness has turned out to be foolishness. I use one hand to rub my arm while my shaking fingers attempt to get the key into the lock.

  It’s not that cold outside, but in my overheated state and sweat-drenched clothing, I’m freezing. My toes are thin and shivery, like they’d snap off if I stubbed my toe. The lock thunks open and I pull the door to let Shep in.

  “Leave a note on Mr. Foster’s door to let him know you’re back, okay? See you in the morning.”

  I turn to skitter across the frozen tundra to Oliver, hugging my arms against my chest and trying to rub warmth into my biceps. I’m stopped by a warm hand on my shoulder. “Miss Brewster, take my coat.”

  Shep is stripping out of the fleece, revealing a hint of plaid boxers peeking out over the waistband of his jeans and a tantalizing strip of skin and a dust of hair trailing… No, no, no no no! I clench my eyes tight to get the picture of my fingers running over that skin, the ripple of muscle, out of my head. I open them to Shep holding out his fleece, a rugby shirt settled on his frame, mercifully hiding any more skin I might covet.