In Debt to Daddy

by Aubrey Cara

  “Where are we going?”

  I get morbid satisfaction from her concerned tone.

  I let my eyes trail over her body, pointedly stopping at her tits and little skirt. “You want to play big-girl games, you’re going to get big-girl punishments.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ll see.” I’m a sadistic fuck because I can practically see her nervous pulse pounding, and it cheers me the hell up. I tweak her nose and she huffs in indignation. I shoot her a wink, and turn my attention back to the road, a huge grin splitting my face.

  “Hank,” she pleads. “I just want to go home.”

  Not going to happen. “You were home. But you clearly decided you wanted to go out tonight.”

  “I had to go out. I didn’t have a choice.” The hand-in-the-candy-jar expression on her face reveals she regrets saying it the second the words are out of her mouth.

  “Really? Do tell.” I pause as if waiting for a reply, but I know I’m not going to get one. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You know, anytime you want to share what the hell is going on with you, I’m all ears.”

  I wait for her to say something, but she’s as quiet as the proverbial church mouse as she sits there wringing her hands together in a way that tells me she’s back to being nervous.

  From the second I heard her voice on the other end of my phone tonight, I knew we both knew she was in trouble. There are no if, ands, or buts about it. My little princess is about to get a punishment she won’t soon forget.

  CANDI

  Hank is pulling a Jekyll and Hyde, and all I can think is I don’t look like a cheap whore. I’m hot as fuck, from my perfect blonde waves down to my suede ankle boot. If anything, I look like an expensive whore. I know for a fact my going rate is three thousand dollars. Although, I doubt Dom’s offer was for one night. Depending on the hours and length of time he expects me to perform, my rate might drop drastically below minimum wage, so I guess that would qualify me as a cheap whore after all.

  Not that I’m going to tell Hank any of this or take Dom up on his offer. A sickening chill sweeps through me recalling Dom’s overly minty breath on my face as he grabbed me by the hair on top of my head. I fight the urge to reach up and touch the spot. It’s still sore.

  I thought Hank was scary, but he’s scary in a way I didn’t realize would appeal to me. His smile is unnerving me, and I know whatever he’s planning is on my list of least likely things I would ever voluntarily do, but for some reason, I trust him. Dom, on the other hand, is scary in a he’ll-slit-my-throat-while-smiling-at-me way.

  My gut clenches as I realize I may have unwittingly put Hank in danger by having him come pick me up. He’s now on Dom’s radar, located two degrees from Dylan Dawson, the idiot amateur drug dealer who’s going to get us all killed.

  It would have been fine had Hank let me jump in his truck like I planned to do. We’d have driven away leaving no one would be the wiser, but Dom had come out to have a cigarette. I’m pretty sure he heard I was still outside and came to see who was going to come get me. That or he just wanted to unnerve me. Which worked.

  When I saw Hank pull into the parking lot I nearly cried with relief when I should have been hightailing it to his passenger-side door and hopping in before he could say howdy. Then, if Dom asked, I could say Hank was my boss from the bar.

  Now…dragging me to the car like a caveman had been bad enough, but the kiss—I don’t know what the hell was up with that kiss—but it clinched it. How do I explain to a psycho drug boss the guy shoving his tongue down my throat in the parking lot doesn’t even like me? That the kiss was an angry hate kiss. Not a boyfriend kiss.

  And how do I explain any of this to Hank?

  When he climbed behind the wheel, his expression was closed as a steel trap, and he gripped the steering wheel so tight I thought he was going to snap it off. Keeping quiet seemed like the best option. I mean, telling him I owe money to a soulless drug dealer and I’m going to be a stripper until that debt is paid off, is bad enough. But then I have to add, “and by the way, the soulless drug dealer has seen you shove your tongue in my mouth, so you need to watch your back.”

  Now that I’ve had a chance to think about, it I realize I can’t tell him anything.

  No matter how guilty I feel, no matter how much my conscience is screaming at me to spill the beans on everything, there is always the chance Hank will call the cops. He was in the military. He’s a good man. The kind of man who would turn my brother and Dom into the police if he thinks it’s the right thing to do. And I can’t ever let him do that because it’s also the surest way to get us all killed.

  The situation is hopeless, and there is no way he’d understand.

  I’m so busy worrying over everything, I don’t notice where we’re going until we pull into a popular adult novelty store off the highway. Pinky’s. The sign is black, backlit by hot pink. The whole vibe of the place is reminiscent of the strip club, but the clientele coming and going are more subdued.

  I’ve never been in a novelty store before. Even though I’m kind of curious, my mind keeps circling back to Hank insinuating he’s going to treat me like a whore. Then there’s his whole “big girl punishment” threat.

  The man is cracked in the head.

  Hank comes around and opens my door, but I just keep staring at the old cinder block building. It has windows along the front with neon signs.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask as I step out of the 4Runner.

  “It’s time to get you some naughty-girl toys.”

  Naughty-girl toys. For some reason I don’t think he’s referring to the fun kind of naughty.

  HANK

  Candi’s expression is priceless. It’s obvious she’s never been to a place like this. Her mouth is hanging open in a shocked and fascinated way that makes me want to put her on her knees. Any qualms I had about entering a sexual relationship with this girl are flying out the window so fast my head’s spinning.

  “Let’s see here.” Taking her hand, I pull her to a display case featuring row after row of nipple clamps and butt plugs. “We’ll definitely be needing some of these.” I pluck a package containing a big black plug off the display.

  “Wh-wha-what?” The last syllable comes out so high, I’m sure only dogs can hear it.

  “You’re right. That’s probably too big. I want something you’ll know is there, but Daddy doesn’t want to hurt his little girl. Well, I do but…speaking of, what should I spank you with? I see some paddles over there we can peruse.”

  “This is wrong on so many levels,” she hisses. Grabbing the butt plug out of my hand, she re-shelves it as her gaze darks around in embarrassment. “We’re not picking out implements you plan on torturing me with.”

  “Torture is such a strong word.”

  “I don’t want to be clamped, plugged, or spanked.”

  “That’s why it’s called punishment. Not that I don’t think you’re going to enjoy it more than you hate it.”

  Her huff of outrage is followed by, “You’re delusional. I won’t like it. I know I won’t.” Her breath is coming fast, and her cheeks are flushed.

  “Oh, princess.” Pushing her farther back behind the display, so we’re blocked from view, I slip my hand under her skirt and enjoy her quick indrawn breath as she grabs my wrist. Too late. My fingers sneak past the soaked crotch of her panties and sink into her slippery core. “Tsk, tsk. Someone is lying to me and to herself. You know what happens to girls who lie?”

  “Hank.” My name on her lips comes out strangled. She’s still clutching my wrist for dear life, but she’s not trying to yank me away.

  I start a leisurely back-and-forth glide just to watch her eyes haze over and roll back. Fuck. The way her breath hitches makes me rock hard in an instant.

  “Seems something about this little outing we’re on is tripping your trigger. So, tell me, is it all the naughty vibrators and dildos doing it for you?”

  “Dammit, Hank.�
�� This time my name comes out on a pant, but I keep a maddeningly slow pace. She doesn’t know it yet, but I don’t plan on letting her come anytime soon.

  “No? Not the vibrators. I would have thought you’d like those. Hmm, maybe it’s the butt plugs and nipple clamps, or maybe, just maybe…” I lean in close enough my words puffs on her neck. “It’s the fact that I’m going to take you back to my place, and clamp your lovely tits.” I pinch her nipples as a preview, and she jerks. “Then Daddy’s going to bend your hot ass over and work a plug into your tight little hole before spanking you so hard and so long, you’ll think of me every time you sit down for a week. Because you don’t just deserve to be punished, princess. You want it. Need it. Because you are a. Very. Bad. Girl.”

  She shudders in my arms as she comes. I’m not sure who’s more surprised, her or me.

  “Hey y’all take it outside. There’s none of that in here,” a store clerk says from the other side of the display.

  Candice buries her face in my chest as I mumble an apology, though I’ve never been less sorry in my life. I scrape her clit just to feel her body jerk against mine as I pull my fingers free and wipe them on the inside of her thighs. She whimpers, and I tweak her nose in a move that makes her scowl up at me.

  “Naughty girls have to walk around with sticky thighs.” I pluck a little butt plug off the shelf and hand it to her. “No putting it back. You’re going to carry everything I give you up to the counter for me, like a good girl. And do you know why?”

  “Why?” Her tone is mutinous. .

  “Because everyone in here is going to be watching you, the girl they heard gasp through her little orgasm behind the display of nipple clamps and butt plugs—”

  “I hardly orgasmed. It was a semi-orgasm, at most,” she furiously whispers.

  I give her a patronizing look before continuing as if she didn’t say anything, “And they are going to see everything you bring up there and know I’m going to be doing dirty, dirty things to you with each and every one of the items you place on that counter.”

  “I’m still not doing it,” she says petulantly.

  “But most of all, you’re going to do as you’re told because deep down you know you messed up big time tonight, and you want to be a good girl for me.” That makes her stiffen her spine. Oh, yeah, I got her with that.

  Not waiting for any more of a reaction, I turn and walk over to the paddles and pluck two off the wall. One rubber with heart cutouts down the center, and one leather.

  Still holding the butt plug and nipple clamps I handed her, she slowly makes her way over to where I’m holding up the paddles. Lips pursed in irritation, she snatches the rubber one with heart shaped cutouts, and I have to hide my grin. Taking mercy on her, I only grab two more things off the shelves before we make our way to the checkout.

  I know this is supposed to be a punishment, and I should still be angry about having to pick her up, half clad, outside that damn strip club, but I haven’t had this much fun in ages.

  10

  CANDI

  Hank is living at John’s. Not that there's anything wrong with that, the man is his father, and Hank is newly back in town. But I was expecting to be taken to an apartment complex or something. I’ve never been here, but as soon as we pull onto the long driveway and come to a stop in front of an old ranch style house with a flagpole out front flying an American flag over a Don’t Tread On Me flag, I know this is John’s house. I don’t know why that freaks me out, but I have to remind myself John’s not here. He will not be seeing me like this.

  I’ve been stewing in embarrassment and anger since we left the naughty shop. My thighs are still sticky, my panties are uncomfortably wet. Just thinking of Hank making me walk up to the checkout like that makes my panties flood a little more, and I clamp my knees together in frustration. It’s like he’s flipped some hormonal switch inside me, and I’d love for him to turn it the hell back off.

  His hand is on my thigh. It’s been there since we left Pinky’s, and it hasn’t moved an inch. It’s been driving me crazy. I keep thinking about how that same warm hand feels tucked between my legs. How those callused digits feel inside me. He fingered me in the middle of a sex shop. I’m a little miffed, but not nearly as mad as I should be.

  Anticipation for what he has planned is humming through me, and I’m anxiously waiting for his hand that’s casually resting on my thigh to inch up and under my skirt, which is ridiculous.

  Hank was almost playful in the store. Now…well, he’s reminding me of the saying, “mess with the bull, you get the horns.” I think I may have kicked the bull, and I’m about to get the horns. If the little preview in the sex shop was any indication, I am so not ready for the horns.

  Not tonight.

  Not any night.

  “Hank, I’m tired.” My voice is shaking, so I clear my throat and try for a steady tone, “And it’s really late. Will you please just take me home?” I sound like a coward, but it seems my well of pride is all run dry.

  Parking in front of the side garage, he turns in his seat and studies me like he can read every emotion shooting through me. I paste a wan expression, trying to appear tired, even though I’m anything but. I’m wound up too tight to be tired, and my heart is racing like I just did a line of that coke my brother lost.

  Hank reaches over and runs the pad of his thumb along my lower lip in a maddening move, and I can’t resist biting the tip. It startles a chuckle out of him that rumbles through me.

  I’ve got it bad for this guy. So bad it makes me wonder what the hell’s wrong with me.

  “I’ll take you home in the morning,” he says, getting out of the car. The implication is clear. He’ll take me home when he’s done with me and not a second before.

  He walks around and opens my door. When I don’t move, he reaches in and unbuckles me. “Come on, princess,” he says, trying to lure me out.

  “Nuh-uh.” I’m shaking my head, and when he moves to pull me out, I latch onto the doorframe. I know it’s childish, but I don’t care.

  “It’s time for your punishment, and acting like this is just going to make it worse.”

  Oh yeah, that really makes me feel better. “Like hell, it is.” My fight or flight is kicking in, and I grip the doorframe tighter. Lines from old movies like, “I regret nothing,” and “You won’t take me alive,” are running through my head.

  Hank just reaches in and plucks me off the seat like I’m a much smaller woman. His arm around my waist locks me to his body while he pries my fingers off the door with frustrating ease.

  He tosses me over his shoulder with an oomph, and my nose collides with his hard back.

  “Think about this, Hank.” I’m squirming to try to get off his shoulder while holding myself up by the waistband of his pants. It’s unreasonably difficult to be taken seriously when you’re bouncing along upside down over someone’s shoulder.

  “Oh, I’m thinking about it.” The laughter in his voice pisses me the hell off.

  Renewing my efforts, the second he walks through the front door I latch onto the frame and am wholly satisfied when he stumbles back.

  “Dammit, Candi. Let go.” He smacks my ass and yanks at me, and I squeal my outrage as I hold tight.

  “No. You put me down!”

  He puts me down, but only to unlatch me from the doorframe, so I punch him right in the sternum…and hurt my hand. “Ow, oh my god. What the hell is your chest made of, metal?” Shaking out my hand, I lose my opportunity to make a mad dash for it.

  “Can-dice,” he says, irritation clear. The asshole easily has me up and over his shoulder in an instant. “That’s enough.”

  The house is dark, but the living room we’re making our way through is big with high ceilings. It’s like an old hunting lodge. From my vantage point, I mostly see wood floors and Hank’s jean-covered butt.

  “Let’s talk about this.” I’m momentarily subdued—my hand is throbbing—but I do not want any part of whatever “punishment”
he feels I deserve.

  “Yeah, you wanna talk now?” he asks, not breaking his stride. “You can start by telling me what the hell you were doing at a strip club.”

  “Being interviewed. I’d rather take my clothes off for dirty old men than owe you one red cent!” My voice echoes off the walls of the dark hallway.

  “I suggest quieting down, unless you’d like Wyatt awake for this little shit show.” I go still, and Hank huffs out a chuckle. “Forgot about him, huh?”

  I had, and I do not want him to see me with Hank. At least not like this.

  Opening a door, we enter a bedroom. Hank sets me on my feet before turning on a lamp, but he keeps hold of my wrist, I’m guessing to keep me from fleeing. The room doesn’t have much in the way of decorations. There is just a double bed in the center with a nice red-and-blue quilt on it. Two old wooden nightstands, each sporting a lamp, flank the bed. A tall dresser stands against the far wall. A suitcase in the corner is lying open with clothes spilling out, making me wonder why he hasn’t unpacked.

  Hank moves around to the foot of the bed and sits down. He pulls me in until I’m standing between his open legs. His hands are casually on the back of my legs. It’s the intimate stance of a boyfriend and girlfriend. If we were dating, I’d put my hands on his shoulders. Maybe clasp them behind his neck and lean down and kiss him in a sweet, flirty way.

  But, there is nothing sweet and flirty about our relationship. I stand with my arms by my sides, wondering when all the punishment bit is going to begin.

  His unblinking gaze is unnerving to say the least. His eyes are like banked embers that can flare into a fiery blaze at any moment.

  “Would you really rather take your clothes off for strangers than stick to our deal?”

  His straightforward question throws me for a loop. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I’d hurt the big buffoon’s feelings. I bite my lip and find a spot in the corner to study. I’d much rather owe him a lifetime of money than strip at Sugar Daddy’s. For more reasons than I can explain to Hank.