by Maren Smith
“I inherited from my aunt,” Britney said, as she parked in the under-house garage and led him up narrow stairs, through the wash room entrance.
“Your aunt really loved you,” Ommin couldn’t help but note. His apartment was a grand total of 350 square feet, which was all the footage he could afford without the added headache of at least one roommate. As he followed her from the laundry, past the butler’s pantry, through a fully updated kitchen (complete with black granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances), and into a massive living room, the only thing that kept running through his head was how he could never bring Britney back to his place. His entire apartment could have fit in the first floor of her townhouse at least three times. His bed folded up into the wall, for heaven’s sake.
“I like to think the feeling was mutual.” Smiling, she waved him into the living room. “Can I get you something to drink? I have water in the fridge, maybe a beer, or I could make us both a cup of tea.”
“Water is more than fine,” Ommin answered, but he was still floored by the opulence of her place—the hardwood floors throughout, which looked like original 1906 rough-sawn planks—the fireplace tiled in the same black granite as the kitchen counters, and wrought iron bannister that lined the staircase leading up to the second floor. “This is really very impressive.”
“Thank you.”
He took the bottled water she brought him. Voss, damn. Unless being a superhero also came with a paycheck, he really could not afford this woman. And yet, when she led the way to the couch, he followed her. He sat down at one arm; she hopping up to sit cross-legged, completely facing him with an eagerness so tangible that he could taste it.
“So, what would you like to talk about now?” he asked, cracking open his water for a sip.
“Do you like to get sexual with your Littles?”
He sprayed water everywhere. It was either that, or choke.
“Oh, my God, I’m sorry!” She jumped up, running to the kitchen to get a paper towel, while he sat with one dripping hand up in front of his mouth, half-admiring her for having that kind of bluntness and half-panicking, because what the hell was a guy supposed to say to that?
Strike that. What was a Daddy Dom supposed to say to that?
Strike that again, because he already knew. A Daddy Dom wouldn’t say anything at all. A Daddy Dom would probably take the paper towel she handed him, quietly clean up his mess and then, taking hold of her hand, lead her off to the nearest bedroom and show her exactly how sexual he was planning to be.
And damn it all, he was already running late. He should have stopped and gotten the condoms.
“I’m sorry,” Britney said again as she returned. She hadn’t brought just one paper towel; she’d brought a wad. “I shouldn’t have said anything while you were drinking.”
Her cheeks were red in one of the prettiest blushes he’d seen all day, but when she dropped to her knees in front of him, swabbing first at his hand and then his knee, and finally at the mist of droplets he’d sprayed across the hardwood flooring, all Ommin could see was how gorgeous she looked in that position, and all he felt was how desperately his hands suddenly ached to reach for her, twining themselves in her honey-blonde hair while he helped guide her into the activity most guys instantly thought of when a woman they wanted as fiercely as he did Britney got down on her knees in front of him.
“I really wish you wouldn’t,” he said thickly.
She looked up from the floor, her momentary blink of confusion vanishing the minute she looked at herself, and then looked at him, and then looked openly, blatantly, down at his lap. She didn’t get flustered, like he thought she would once she realized what she’d inadvertently done. She didn’t get up, either.
Leaving the paper towels in a wad on the floor, she asked, “Why not?”
His cock was throbbing, achingly confined behind the prison of his zipper. God, he wanted to touch her. “Because I don’t think you mean to look as inviting as you do right now, and I really don’t think you mean for me to be thinking the things I am when I see you like this.”
The rise and fall of her breasts quickened along with her breathing. “What if I do mean it?”
She rose hesitantly, but only so she wasn’t sitting on her feet anymore. Shy as she seemed when she shuffled on her knees toward him, she was anything but shy when laying her hand upon his thigh. That barely innocent touch sent shocks of pure sexual voltage jumping through the muscles of his legs. It hit his cock first and from there, like a general issuing orders, those electrifying zings branched out all through him—zipping up his back, across his shoulders, down into his arms to his hands, one of which reacted as if with a life all its own.
He caught her by the sloppy bun of her hair. He didn’t hurt her, but he did hold her, guiding her up almost to the point of being off her knees and hauling her closer until she had no choice but to grab both his legs now for balance.
He shook his head once. “Don’t play with Daddy,” he warned, and he only felt slightly ridiculous when he said it. Never in a million years would he have called himself Daddy to a full-grown woman he wanted this badly to take to bed. And yet, when Britney let her hands wander high up his thighs, the heat of her palms scalded him through his jeans, and he felt anything but ridiculous when she whispered, “Wh-what will happen if… if I do it anyway?”
From that moment forward, all Ommin could see was himself, spending the rest of his life answering to the name of Daddy for no other woman but her.
He tried to rein it in, but his hand in her hair was huge, and that look in her eyes was nothing but compliance. In his mind, he already had her on her back in her bed, with her legs wrapped tight around him, her head thrown back in rapture, and her breathy cries rising in both pitch and urgency as he rocked his hips between her thighs to the sound of her ‘oh, Daddy… oh yes, Daddy… oh yes!’
Her hands gave his thighs a slow, petting caress. “Is it nau… naughty of me?” Her stammer over the word was every bit as beguiling as that sparkle dancing in her eyes. She wasn’t afraid of him. She knew exactly who and what he was, and yet she was flirting.
“Do you want me to stop?” she whispered.
“Stopping right now is the only way you’ll keep me from doing something you might not actually want,” he confessed.
It was not a trick of his imagination. This time when she shivered, her eyes almost closed.
“What happens if… if I don’t?”
His cock pulsed with arousal so damn hard he felt that thump all the way up through his belly and into his chest.
“Little girls who don’t mind their Daddies get their bottoms spanked,” he said, because he knew that much at least from having spent the afternoon reading book blurbs and sample chapters. The rest of his ultimatum he gave because he simply couldn’t help himself. “After that, Little girls get put to bed early, and while they will get to sleep eventually, it won’t be for a very long time.”
He had no idea if Daddies were supposed to threaten such things or not, but the more she kept her hot little hands on his thighs, the more he knew he was going to not only threaten, but follow through with those threats… ‘supposed to’ notwithstanding.
His consequences turned her on. He knew, because her only response was to bite her bottom lip and then, slowly, deliberately, she rubbed his legs again. Only this time, she didn’t just rub them. This time, her wandering hands moved all the way up his thighs until the tips of her fingers just barely skirted the bulge filling the front of his jeans.
He tipped his head, his whole body aching for more of that illicit touch.
“If you do,” he warned, “I will spank you.”
She caught her breath, and then she touched him. Just one finger, but it was a very deliberate and disobedient finger, and from the moment he felt the feather-soft pressure of it tap down directly on the side of his captured erection, the course of the night became etched in permanent ink. No one could say he didn’t warn her.
&nb
sp; “Take off your jacket,” he said, his tone deep and soft. He didn’t mean to growl; it was all he could do not to seize her hand and force her to cup the full of him in her hot little palm. “We don’t want anything to happen to it while you’re fussing, kicking and crying over my knee.”
She startled, blinking rapidly as she pulled slightly away. “C-crying?”
“What did I tell you would happen if Daddy had to spank?” he reminded.
She took her finger off his penis. Her breasts rose and fell faster now. Her eyebrows quirked together, betraying tendrils of her nervousness now that she had succeeded in earning what she’d thought she wanted. “I-I thought maybe this first time could be j-just for practice. Or for fun?”
“The longer you resist doing what you’ve been told, the longer and harder I am going to spank you.” He’d given an ultimatum. She’d ignored the warnings. Not only did he see no point in backing down, but when she still hesitated, he showed her his open right hand. Reminding her of the size, and the hardness, and all the things he’d said regarding what his open hand was going to do whenever she’d earned a trip across his knee.
He let go of her hair only when she bent her head to unfasten the buttons on her jacket. She would have left it in a heap on the floor, except he was neater than that. He made her fold it and put it on the coffee table, and while she obeyed, he shifted himself to the middle of the couch, bringing himself to perch upon the edge, with his long legs drawn up to make a very capable lap. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, and her fingers never once stopped wringing at one another when he snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor by his right knee.
“Stand right here.”
Standing, fingers still fidgeting, she closed the distance between them with a single small step and stood where she was supposed to.
“Take off your shirt,” he told her. “Before I leave, I’ll take care of that stain and get it put in the wash.”
She looked down at herself, startled, and then a flicker of something else moved across her face. She hesitated, and Ommin wasn’t such a social outcast that he didn’t know why. She thought he was going for a cheap thrill. On the one hand, he was going to see her boobs, and yes, somewhere deep inside him, Ommin the Perverted Sharkman was rearing his horny head. But it wasn’t just her boobs that he wanted, and it was important to him that she know that.
“Look at me,” he said and, twisting at her fingers, she did. “That guy you interviewed at the station, that’s still me. If you want to take a step back, I’ll understand, I won’t pressure you to do otherwise, and I won’t be mad. But if you want to take a step forward, then I’m going to have to ask you for a little bit of trust.”
She strangled her fingers just a half second longer, and then bent her head again and quietly unbuttoned her blouse. “Bra too?” she asked, as she slipped the garment off her shoulders.
“No, that stays on,” he said as he took her blouse from her and tucked it up beside him. “The skirt, on the other hand—”
She looked down at herself, and her blush deepened to a slow, cherry red.
“—that’s coming off, too. Coffee table,” he directed when her wide eyes found his again.
She hesitated, but not as long as she had over the blouse. Then her hands crept to the side zipper and the skirt came down. She folded it neatly, probably to delay the inevitable for as long as she could. The skirt was only so big, though. Eventually, she had nothing left to fidget with, and so ended up right back in that spot he’d ordered her to at his right knee.
“Do you know why I told you to strip down to this?” he asked.
She was back to wringing her fingers. “B-because you want to see me half naked?”
He almost said no, except he’d be lying if he did. Ommin caught himself, and then decided not to correct her. “Because I want you to know that this is what’s going to happen when Daddy has to spank you for real. I don’t want to be in a relationship where every time I say no, you start pushing to see how far you have to go before I’ll spank you. When this Daddy says he’s going to spank you, unless you’ve been a good girl, I need you to know it’s not going to be the kind of spanking you’ll want. And considering your reaction just now, I think maybe you need to know that too.”
Her nipples were tight little buds, jutting against the confines of her bra the way his cock was pushing against his fly. She’d also shivered again while he’d been talking, and goosebumps now peppered all up and down her arms.
“I’ll take you seriously,” she promised.
“I know you will.” He patted his lap. “Over my knee.”
As playful as she’d been when she’d been down on her knees before him, that was how hesitant she became as she stood contemplating his lap. Britney was slender and slight, and compared to that, his lap was more than sturdy enough to hold her and the whole of his hand could almost cover her entire bottom.
She wanted a spanking. He was going to give it to her.
The trick was, giving it to her in a way that made her still want to call him Daddy afterward.
Visibly steeling herself to endure, Britney lowered herself into position over his knees. She wiggled until she was comfortable, at which point he promptly shifted her across his lap, spreading his legs just enough so that her feet lost contact with the floor.
“Oh!” She grabbed his ankle for balance.
“No kicking,” he told her, “and keep your hands down, unless you want to make this worse.”
He’d read that in a sample chapter earlier, but that was also where the sample chapter and his education in how Daddies gave spankings ended. Still, it wasn’t rocket science, was it? And God, did she ever have a round and bouncy butt, every curve of which was amplified by the baby-blue, hip-hugging boy shorts she was wearing.
He touched her bottom, because of course he did. He had to. And it wasn’t misogynistic at all that he did so. Spankings by their very nature involved butt touching. Plus, she’d asked for this.
Still, as he measured the flat of his hand against the seat of her panties, like the very last pea rattling around the bottom of a serving pot, his only thought was: I’m touching Britney Collin’s backside. And he wouldn’t even go to jail for it.
He rubbed. He wouldn’t go to jail for that, either.
Gearing himself up, he raised his arm and gave her a soft, experimental swat. Her bottom cheeks bounced, and Britney jerked, although not in a ‘that’s too hard’ sort of way, but more like a ‘what, that’s it?’
“Oh,” she said, the lightness in her tone not quite masking what his ears could only interpret as disappointment. “That wasn’t so bad.”
It wasn’t bad at all. His hand felt nothing but electrified by this utterly forbidden, intoxicatingly erotic act, although his ears did take exception to the disappointment. Glancing at the back of her head in time to see her shoulders droop, he readjusted himself to mean business and tried again.
This time, the sharp crack of his hand bouncing off her delectable ass popped like a small firecracker. She gasped and grabbed his leg all over again. Her back bowed, an act that made her hips also arch, lifting her round bottom as if in a silent, slightly squirming plea for ‘oh yes, more, just like that please.’
Ommin gave her exactly that. More. Lots more. He peppered the whole of her ass with swats and smacks of varying force, all depending on the breathiness of her gasps, sighs, and the wriggling of her hips.
It was magical. In growing wonder and satisfaction, he watched as the flesh around the elastic bands of her underwear turned the most beguiling shade of pink. Imprints of his fingers flushed all around the blushing edges of her bottom. He made it his mission to paint those fingerprints in, to erase all trace of milky whiteness from the curves of her round flesh and the tops of her thighs. And the more he painted, the more she writhed.
Her gasps became mews. Her breathy sighs turned to grunts and squeals, both of which she attempted to mute, first behind closed lips and then behind gritted teet
h. And the more enthusiastically her bottom wriggled, then bucked, and finally ground in franticness upon his knee, the more enthusiastically he spanked her. His swats fell faster. And then harder. And then harder and faster both together, until her feet were fighting not to kick and her toes scrambled against the floor, digging against the woodgrain.
“Oh!” Her hands were fists, grabbing at the excess fabric of his jeans in an attempt not to snap back behind her in ever-increasing desperation to thwart his aim.
Because that would be a no-no. He’d only been reading about spanking women for one day, but already he knew that much.
His hand was starting to hurt, but he wasn’t about to stop. This was way more fun than he’d thought it would be. The entire surface of her bottom blazed with a heat so fiery hot he could feel it right through the thin cloth of her panties. Her legs were scissoring now, flashing him peek-a-boo glimpses of the cotton-clad furrow of her sex. The full, fleshy lips were swollen with desire, the way he was swollen. Hard as a damn post. Pushing back against the confines of his jeans in its own wayward attempt to do a little touching of its own.
“Oh! No!” Her hand snapped back, palm up in defense of her luscious ass.
Catching her wrist, he pinned it to her hip, out of his way. As if that additional bit of naughtiness were all he’d been waiting for, he hooked the back of her panties and skinned his target bare.
She yelped when he started again, vigorous smacks of his open hand flattening her cringing bottom cheeks until her feet were kicking up, her trapped hand flexed and clawed at the air, and she all but danced upon his knee in the thrall of a pain as fierce as only well-spanked women knew it could be.