by Lucy Wild
“So do I.”
“Uncross your legs.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Uncross your legs.”
I did as he asked, looking down the bus first to see if anyone heard him. The noise of the engine made it hard enough for me to hear him and he was sitting right next to me. Slowly, I placed both feet on the floor, my heart beginning to thump as a wicked smile crossed his lips.
“Good girl,” he said, placing his hand on my knee.
“What are you doing?” I asked as his fingers slid slowly upwards .”Stop it!”
“Are you telling your Daddy what to do?” he asked, still moving up my thigh.
“Don’t. We’re in public.” I clamped my legs shut, gripping his hand in place.
“If you don’t open your legs, you will regret it when we get home.” His voice was cold, not angry, just devoid of emotion.
“I can’t,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Very well,” he replied, sliding his hand free. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I’m going to spank you for this.”
I know the thought should have frightened me. The idea that I would have to submit to corporal punishment as part of being his little girl didn’t scare me. It excited me. I thought back to all the fantasies I’d had about Daddy Doms in the past, being taken by a stern Heathcliff, dragged inside after pouting my way through an encounter with the passing vicar.
I was kept occupied for the rest of the journey by picturing myself over Daddy’s knee, my bottom pointing up at him, his hand slapping down on me, bringing my nerve endings to life, being just so firm and strong and handsome and…and…and by the time we got off the bus, I could feel with every step how wet my knickers had become.
We still had some way to walk to his house and he held my hand for the entire journey, making my heart soar with delight. It seemed like a very long time since the meeting with Mr Mitchell, since the revelations Mason had given me. If he had been affected by the events of the day, he wasn’t showing it, he wasn’t showing any emotion at all. Only his hand enveloping mine told me he wasn’t completely indifferent to my presence.
“When we get inside,” he said, turning to look at me as we walked. “You are to remove your clothes and wait for me in my study. You will face the wall in the corner by the window with your hands on your head and you will not move until I come for you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I replied, feeling the first shiver of fear passing through me. He didn’t sound lust filled, he sounded cold. “Is this because I wouldn’t let you touch me on the bus?”
“No, this is because you need to understand something now, before we go any further.”
“What?”
“That I set the rules and the boundaries for you. You obey them or face the consequences. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He opened the gates to his drive and we crunched up the gravel to the front door. Once we were inside, he didn’t even say goodbye, he just headed upstairs, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.
Recalling his instructions, I shrugged off my dress, leaving it in a pool on the floor for him to see when he returned. My socks and panties soon joined it before I finally unhooked my bra, letting it drop into my hands while I listened out for him. I could hear nothing.
It felt strange to walk naked through his house. A tiny bit of me felt excited but it was swallowed up by the anxiety of the unknown, having no idea what was going to happen when he came to me.
I entered his study and crossed to the far corner. Facing the wall, I put my hands on my head and waited. My body betrayed me, wetness still coating my pussy, my nipples hardening as I dipped back into my fantasy. He would return and spank me, the sting of it would make me want him all the more. But then he’d not be able to resist me any longer and he’d fuck me right there on his desk. The thought was enough to make my clit throb with desire.
I don’t know how long I waited but by the time he walked into the study, my arms had begun to ache from remaining in one position for such a prolonged period. “Good girl,” he said, making me jump when I heard him behind me.
There was the scrape of a chair and then the rustling of paper but he didn’t speak to me again. I heard the sound of typing on his keyboard and realised the son of a bitch had begun working. He was just leaving me there to stew while he worked. “This isn’t fair,” I said, glancing back over my shoulder.
“It’s more than fair for a first offence,” he replied. “Now turn back and don’t make another sound. I’ve a lot of things to get done before I deal with you.”
I did as he asked, feeling his eyes on me even though he continued to type. My arms were aching more and more and I wanted to move away but I couldn’t, not without his permission. Was this his way of dealing with the stress of the day? If it was, I would have remained in place for hours, days maybe, whatever it took to make him feel better.
My thoughts turned to myself. Was this the kind of care he would give me? Was this the kind of care I wanted? Perhaps not but perhaps it was the care I needed. It wasn’t exactly what I’d fantasised about when thinking of a Daddy Dom but I got the feeling I’d soon receive something far more in line with what my body wanted at that moment.
Eventually he stopped typing and I heard him move behind me. “Move your feet back,” he said firmly. “Bend at the waist, press your hands to the wall. Lower. That’s it. Now don’t move.”
My bottom was pushed out towards him and I tensed up as I felt sure I knew what he was about to do. But he didn’t do anything. Instead, he returned to his desk and continued working, leaving my back to ache as I fought the dizziness that hit me after minutes with my head down.
From nowhere he spanked me. I hadn’t even heard him stand up. One second he was working, the next there was an almighty smack and a sting that sent me almost through the wall. I shrieked with mingled pain and shock.
“Don’t move,” he snarled as my legs shook from the impact. Another smack hit my buttocks a second later and then another. He built up a rhythm, smacking from left to right and then back, harder, then softer, then harder once more. I cried out in pain but just when I thought I couldn’t bare it anymore, he stopped. “Good girl,” he said, emotion returning to his voice.
He took me from the study a minute later, his hand once again entwined in mine. He walked me upstairs without a word, laying me on my front on the bed in my room. I luxuriated in his touch, feeling more like a little princess than ever as he rubbed cream into the burning heat of my buttocks, slowly soothing and cooling them.
“Is this what it’s like living with you?” I asked, my voice muffled by the blankets under me.
“Not sure you can take it?”
“I can take it,” I whispered, turning to smile at him over my shoulder. “Anything for Daddy.”
He smiled back at me, his hand moving slowly between my legs, easing the throbbing need that had dwelt there for so long I thought I might come just from the brushing motion of his fingers on my clit. “I should make the most of this,” he said, dipping a finger inside me before returning to my clit.
“Why?”
“I won’t be able to touch you while you’re in Gambia, will I?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Your orphanage.”
“You want to talk about that now?”
“Hmm,” he replied, glancing down at my bottom. “Maybe not right now.”
He leaned down, kissing my buttocks. I felt him spreading them apart, his tongue flicking over my puckered hole whilst I could do nothing but moan, wanting to tell him to stop, to fuck me, to get that cock of his inside me before I exploded.
He teased me for so long, I was a wreck by the time he finally undressed. I was barely able to speak, my body on fire from the movement of his tongue and his hands. Every part of me tingled but my eyes still widened at the sight of his magnificent hard on, swinging slightly as he climbed onto the bed, me on my back loo
king up at him as he kissed me.
It was a kiss that told me I never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again. It was a kiss that told me I wanted to be his little girl forever. We could talk about Gambia later. We could talk about college later. We could talk about everything later. For now, all I wanted was to feel him inside me.
He shifted his hips while we kissed, the tip of his cock finding its own way through my wetness. Reaching down, I took hold of his shaft, guiding him inside me. I gasped into his mouth as he stretched me, his body lying flat on mine, my lungs empty of air as he pushed himself all the way into me without pausing.
“Oh, fuck,” I was able to mutter before he kissed me again, his hips pulling back and then thrusting in once more. I couldn’t say anything else, I was lost in the moment, forgetting about everything but the feel of his back muscles under my hands, his cock inside me, his tongue in my mouth, the smell of him in my nostrils, every sense assailed by him, by Daddy.
He was in charge of me, moving me where he wanted me, twisting my body to best please him. I did exactly as I was told, the faint sting in my buttocks a reminder of the consequences of disobeying. When he placed me on all fours, he was able to thrust deeper into me than ever before and I had no idea how he could possibly fit, my pussy widening to allow him all the way inside. I couldn’t bear it, it was too much for me to cope with. Then he’d pull back and I’d become greedy for him to return, yearn for him to fill the empty void once more. Again and again, he thrust into me, his hand moving to my clit, stroking me to the first of many orgasms I’d enjoy that afternoon and many more days after that.
His discipline was incredible. Whenever he seemed close to coming, he would stop, bring me to yet another climax with just his fingers, then continue. I was a melting puddle of exhaustion by the time he finally allowed himself to pick up speed without stopping. “Come in me,” I was able to whisper in time before he did, his cock jerking in me, filling me to capacity with his hot cum. His hands remained on my hips as he held himself in me, not sliding out until he was completely done.
Collapsing on the bed next to me, he let out a deep sigh of contentment, turning his head towards me and kissing me, his eyes half closed.
“Well?” I asked.
“Well what?”
“Am I a good little girl?”
“You’re much more than that.”
“I am?”
“You’re my good little girl.”
Want to know what happens next?
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Lucy Wild
Lucy Wild was born on the Yorkshire coast in England. Growing up surrounded by ruined Victorian splendour, she would spend every spare moment exploring, walking in the footsteps of the fair ladies and stern gentlemen who once roamed the very same promenades and alleyways as her, the crumbling buildings whispering countless stories of a romantic world long since vanished.
As an adult, she never forgot those early daydreams, hoping to meet the right Master for the little she yearned to be, wanting to add her story to the others. After her heart was broken one too many times, she decided to throw herself instead into creating the world where she felt most at home, a world of starched collars and secret dalliances, a place where blushing brides were loved and spanked by their dominant husbands. In this way, she was able to write the happily ever afters she never had, bringing joy to her heart and pleasure to her readers in equal measure.
Lucy is a #1 bestselling author on Amazon, best known for her spanking and age play stories where stern alpha heroes show submissive heroines that happiness can best be found in a consensual power exchange.
She still wanders the coastal resorts of her youth, photographing her adventures for research and pleasure. She also likes tea, cake, her energetic border collie, and collecting Victorian memorabilia.
Find her most recent titles on her Amazon author page, stop by her Facebook page or Goodreads page, follow her on Twitter, check out her Instagram and don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter for your exclusive bonus content.
BONUS STORY
LITTLE TIME
Prologue
Abbey lay on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She couldn’t bring herself to look down at him. She wished she was somewhere else, anywhere but laid on her back whilst a furious looking man folded a nappy between her legs. This wasn’t a game, this was real, he was treating her as if she was nothing but his depraved plaything.
She was desperate to cover her chest with her arms, shield her breasts from his menacing glare, anything to protect at least a shred of her modesty.
She dared not move though. Her bottom still stung from the heat of the spanking he had already given her. She knew that moving would mean trouble, he had told her as much. “Keep still,” he snapped as her legs moved together of their own accord.
She sucked on her dummy, the sensation of it in her mouth calming her far less than she’d hoped. He loomed over her, his hand outstretched towards her, ready to humiliate her yet again. How had it come to this? How had she ended up in the nursery of a violent Papa who offered her no hope of escape?
Chapter One
Abigail Moncrieff pouted into her phone as she drove, looking down at the screen, getting the perfect snapshot to upload. Her new lipstick shone in the photos, setting off perfectly the deep blue of her eyes. Taking her other hand off the wheel, she drove with her knees, smoothing her hair just a little more, ready for another snap. You are gorgeous, she thought, as the car veered to the right.
She grabbed the wheel again just in time, swerving round a cyclist with inches to spare. What was he doing on the road anyway? Roads were for cars, not Lycra morons, she always said. There were too many bikes and too many cars in the city anyway. Roll on village life where she could be Queen of the road again.
Scrolling through the photos she’d just taken, she began to upload her favourite, no filter needed. Typing in hashtags, she almost missed the red light in front of her. She hit the brakes, almost dropping her phone as her four inch heel slid off the pedal and thudded into the footwell underneath. The car stopped a hair’s breadth from the one in front, the occupant of that vehicle glaring in his rear view mirror at her, pointing theatrically at his eye whilst mouthing something.
Why did he care about her? She’d be doing him a favour if she wrote off an old banger like that, the insurance was probably worth more than the car. If Abbey had her way, only people like her would be allowed to drive, people of means, people with cars that looked beautiful, driven by beautiful people, not rusty old things like that.
The cyclist she’d come so close to hitting rode past her towards the front of the lights, shaking his fist as he went by. She tossed her hair and blew him a kiss, revving away as the lights turned green.
Reaching down into the passenger footwell as she drove, she grabbed her phone, adding a caption to her photo as she mounted the kerb and then bumped back down again. “This city girl is ready for one last night of madness before the country life beckons.”
When her father had first announced they were moving to the countryside, she’d been furious with him. The news had completely spoilt her eighteenth birthday. “You have to tell me this today?” she asked, kicking out at the convertible he’d just bought her, denting the wing and breaking the heel off her shoe at the same time. “First you get me the wrong colour car
, then you tell me we’re moving?” She leaned towards him as he mumbled an apology. “I hate you.”
She’d stormed off to her room, vowing never to speak to him again. But that had been three months ago and in the intervening period, he’d bought her the right colour car, promised her a new horse when they moved and even taken her to Scotland by chartered helicopter to go to that spa she loved, the one that helped her soothe away the stresses of life better than anywhere else.
The more she thought about moving, the more the idea grew on her. The city was loud, noisy, and full of plebs. She could become an earth child, get the toxins out of her pores, live as simply as the peasants did, chopping wood and plucking apples from an orchard. She might even write an organic cookbook while she was at it.
There was just time for one last night out before the move and she intended to make the most of it. The queue outside the club was enormous and it wasn’t even nine yet. She drove to the garage her father had rented just for her, feeling a strange sense of poignancy that she might never use it again.
The garage had cost a quarter of a million to buy but as she’d pointed out, “Would you rather I have to walk, Daddy? Why not go all the way and make me take the bus? Or get me a council house somewhere so I can get pregnant from some drug addict?” He complained, he always did but batting her eyelids and having a huge tantrum whilst he tried to entertain the Chancellor of the Exchequer and his wife was enough to ensure the deal was sealed. Besides, he’d just arranged to sell the garage for three hundred thousand so he should be grateful, she’d made him a decent profit on the place.
Climbing out of the car, she smiled to herself. It was so good to not have to worry about parking by her favourite club. Perhaps she should have made him keep it so she could come back when she wanted. No, time for a fresh start. Can’t be an earth child and go clubbing at the same time.
She stepped out of the garage and onto the street as the door closed silently behind her. The unwashed masses gave her admiring glances as she sauntered by with a spring in her step. Yes, that’s right, she thought, it is that dress you saw at the movie awards last week. It might have looked good on the winner of the best actress award but it looked better on her, though the chill of the wind wasn’t helpful, making her quicken her pace as she headed for the door.