Dirty Daddies: 2020 Anniversary Anthology

by Maren Smith

  “I know.” She sucked air, bouncing in place as he stroked the fire to agonizing proportion. The candy scent of peppermint filled the air, as did her whimpering cries. It grew in strength, along with the heat until she was writhing in his hugging embrace. She couldn’t hold still, no matter how hard she tried. Every breath was a gasp, a moan, a whimpering, mewling cry, and within seconds, she’d spread her legs as wide apart as she could. Not to grant him better access, but because the burning was so unbearable, she could no longer stand to be touched.

  “This is happening,” he purred in her ear, “because you need to be treated like a bad girl. Isn’t that right?”

  Whimpering, she shook her head, then nodded.

  “Yes, I know you do.” He switched his grip from her clit to the butt plug again. He fucked her with fire, his deliberately slow thrusts quickly, making her push out her hips in wanton need for more. “You need to feel your naughty pussy burning and have your bottom fucked before I spank it fiery hot to match. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, Daddy, yes!” she shouted, bouncing on her tiptoes.

  “A good spanking for forgiveness,” he told her, “and the rest to remind you, even with casts on your arm, Daddy’s girl needs to listen to Daddy. No fits, no temper tantrums. I know you’re sad, but this is one of those things that will only get better with time.”

  Whimpering, she nodded.

  “What happens when we let our baseless fears run wild?”

  Wallowing in fire, she began to cry. Everything she was, was burning for him—her pussy, her ass, her quivering thighs as her legs shook with the rawness of her pain and her need.

  “It… it makes us a basket case, Daddy.”

  “Fortunately for you, Daddy knows how to handle that, doesn’t he?”

  God, she sure hoped so.

  Cole led Kelly to the couch. When it came to spankings, he much preferred OTK. He even had a chair for it—one of the hard-backed chairs in the kitchen that would leave her in that uncomfortable teeter-tottering position, where she had no choice but to brace her hands against the floor as her legs kicked off into empty air behind her. That wasn’t going to happen, not for the next six weeks, at least.

  Leaving her to face the sofa cushions and contemplate the spanking ahead, he returned to his bag, digging until he found the implement he wanted. She wasn’t really naughty. Considering what was going through her mind, he’d have been content to let her get away with a lot, but there was just no getting around what the ghosts from her past were doing.

  He picked appropriately, bringing out Daddy’s Little Stinger. The paddle was lightweight, only half an inch thick, not much bigger and shaped like an old-fashioned wooden hairbrush. Kelly hated it. She loved spanking, but she enjoyed thuddy implements far more than she did stingy ones, and this paddle was named exceptionally well for the smart it imparted.

  He caught her looking back at him over her shoulder. Though she quickly faced the couch again, it wasn’t before he glimpsed the wince that tightened the lines of her mouth.

  “Did Daddy say you could look anywhere you wanted to?” he asked, coming back to the couch.

  Her shoulders sank. She shook her head. “No, Daddy.”

  “That’s ten extra for being naughty.” He sat down on the center cushion, which left plenty of room to either side of him for Kelly. Judging the coffee table too close, he nudged it back with his foot before beckoning to her. “Right here.” He patted his left thigh. “I want your chest lying on the sofa, but I don’t want any of your weight on your hands or arms.”

  One would never have guessed she’d asked for this, she lowered herself so reluctantly over his lap. Settling with her torso on the couch and her legs almost kneeling on the floor, she tried to get comfortable. He waited patiently while she adjusted herself, so her weight was balanced, and her arms laid flat. Sniffling, she laid her head on the cushion between her hands. Clamping her legs with his, he wrapped his arm around her hips and hugged her tight against his side.

  “This isn’t going to be easy to take, but I don’t want you reaching back. Keep your hands in front of you.”

  “Please, Daddy.” Her voice quivered. “My naughty parts are very hot. Can I spread my legs?”

  “Nope. I want that fire right where it is.” Lifting the hem of her nightgown, he smoothed the fabric over her bottom, baring it and the glistening slit of her sex to his hand and his gaze. “I’m going to help you take this as best you can, so you can count on a nice warmup, but if you hurt yourself because you won’t hold still, you’ll have two canings coming once those casts come off.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  He ran his hand over her bottom, caressing the surface he was about to punish. She whimpered when he smoothed his hand over the curve and across the tops of her thighs. Her bottom cringed whenever he came close to the butt plug, but he was content to only admire it. Her glistening pussy was just as pretty, her folds flush, swollen, and dripping with arousal.

  Unable to help himself, he slipped his fingers into the slickness to feel the fluttering of her muscles as she welcomed him. The peppermint induced fire must have been unbearable. She groaned, burying her face in the cushions.

  “Good girl,” he praised as she wriggled and writhed while he fucked her, yet kept her casts flat on the cushions. “Say it again for me, sweetpea.”

  Her breath caught, but she didn’t hesitate. “Daddy loves me.”

  “Yes, I do.” He didn’t even care if it was years before she could say it back to him. Taking his hand back, he gave her the first light smack. The first of many, he decided. Before he was done, he was determined to light a fire in her bottom, hot enough to burn away every one of those scared Little fears that had dared to make her believe he was capable of walking away.

  She was his, and it was past time she believed it.

  Chapter Five

  Don’t move, don’t move! Kelly told herself, over and over as his hand kept cracking down, dancing all over her bottom until the fire wasn’t just inside of her but searing through her bare bottom flesh until she could barely think, much less hold still.

  Normally, she loved this. She loved his spankings, especially when he was willing to give warmups. As far as she was concerned, Daddy Cole was the king of bare bottom warmups. He started off so slow, spanking back and forth, lightly at first, then increasing by the barest increments until he was spanking her as hard as he could, and all she could feel was the wondrous pleasure of it all.

  He spread his spanks out. He was spontaneous, sometimes smacking the same damn spot repeatedly until she was begging him to hit anywhere but there. He kept the tempo even for a bit, then varied it—paddling her fast and hard, then soft and slow, then light again before positively blistering her.

  She loved all of it, but the spanking itself wasn’t the worst part—the oil was.

  He kept her legs pinned, preventing her from opening them up, so the cool air could kiss between and ease the fury of the heat now consuming her sex. It was mounting hotter. She had hell between her legs, and it wasn’t dissipating. He hadn’t even picked up the Stinger yet, and she was already sobbing for him to stop, even as part of her prayed he wouldn’t.

  “Please, Daddy!” she wailed. “Please, let me open my legs!”

  He kept swatting, never saying a word, even as he shifted the arm that locked her tight against his side. Reaching under her, he found her burning clit. The heat of his fingers seared into her, taking her to hell all over again.

  It burned… oh, how it burned.

  “Daddy!”

  He pinched, flicked, and stroked her with his devilish fingertips, ratcheting up the blaze, hotter and hotter, yet the more he did, the more she both hated and wanted it. She couldn’t bear it, but she didn’t want it to stop. This was agony and ecstasy, all twisted up inside her. The more he spanked, the more she ached to be touched. The more he touched, the more the fire scorched through his flesh into hers, and she desperately ached to stop it—over and over, a
round and around, like his finger on her clit. A circle without any ending in sight… at least until he picked up the Stinger.

  “Oh, no,” she whimpered, her bottom automatically tucking in, the second she felt the cool wooden surface come to rest on her blazing hot ass.

  “Say it,” he said, patting twice, a muted warning that didn’t do justice to the implement’s biting sting.

  “My Daddy loves me.” She knew what was coming, and every muscle locked up when the paddle lifted off her flesh. “Please, Daddy! Not hard, not hard!”

  The Stinger attacked her bottom, blistering her in sternly measured snaps, whaps, and pops that didn’t make her forget the blazing heat of the peppermint oil, but it did make it inconsequential.

  She couldn’t hold still. She danced over his knee, howling and sobbing as she was stung again and again. Her bottom waggled, and her feet jerked off the floor, only to drum the floor in useless fits as his legs tightened their scissoring hold over hers.

  She cried. Oh, how she cried, pleaded, and begged, but no matter what, the paddle never missed its target, and it never stopped. It just kept coming, hard and fast, attacking without mercy until she couldn’t even shout, “My Daddy loves me” anymore.

  It spanked her until it broke her, and all she could do was lie there, weeping and burning, her bottom now blazing hotter than anything else. The cushion beneath her cheek was soaked with her tears, then, suddenly, it was over—no last-minute scolding, no harder than usual smacks. He never even announced those ten extra spanks she’d earned, though she had no doubt he’d given them. Her Daddy was nothing if not consistent.

  And he loved her.

  He actually loved her.

  Mid sob, everything changed. Her bottom pulsing and throbbing, she wilted with a sigh of relief, enjoying the agony as she burned in the fiery aftermath of exhaustion and peace.

  “My Daddy loves me,” she whispered.

  “Yes, he does.” Taking hold of her butt plug, he began those slow, pumping thrusts, fucking her while she burned.

  Almost against her will, her hips began to rock, meeting his motion, thrust for thrust. Wanton lust licked seductively between her clenching thighs, falling into sync with him. Almost unconsciously, she rubbed herself against him, only vaguely aware what she was rubbing against was the bulge of his cock, jutting against the confines of his jeans to prod her hip. She moaned.

  “Daddy, my naughty parts are achy.”

  He let go of the plug and smacked her bottom.

  “Up,” he ordered.

  She stumbled to obey, her legs shaky, and her whole body feeling shaky and unsteady. She tried to climb onto his lap, facing him, but he stood, leading her around the couch to bend her over the back of it. He spanked her pussy, five firm swats that heightened the needy ache until she was scrambling to get her head down, her arms flat on the cushions, and her legs as wide open as they would go.

  His belt buckle clinked, and his zipper whisked down the metal teeth of his fly. In one hard shove, he was in her, stretching and filling her now comfortably burning pussy, competing with the butt plug for what limited space there was inside her. She bit her cast, muffling her sigh as her toes curled and her pussy walls hugged him.

  He didn’t just rock her world, he rocked the whole of the couch. His hips spanked her all over again as he pounded her into the back of the couch.

  “Again,” he growled.

  She moaned, all that delicious heat inside her building with the friction of his thrusts.

  “Daddy loves me!”

  He grabbed her ass with both hands, fingertips digging into every tender spot he’d made as he rode her deep and hard. Her toes cracked, she came so hard. Her fingers clenched, too, and that hurt like hell, but the rolling waves of pleasure just kept coming until with three furious pumps, he came too. She gasped, moaning and laughing as the spasms rocked her, gradually easing away even as his last few lingering thrusts gentled.

  “Ow,” she groaned, languid and content.

  “For more reasons than one,” he agreed, giving her ass a slap as he pulled out. He grabbed his cock. “Jesus… why did I use the peppermint oil?”

  She giggled. “I can feel my bottom throbbing… all the way into my fingers.”

  “Breakfast first,” he said, “then I’ll give you your pill.”

  Her legs were so unsteady, he had to help her off the couch and into the kitchen. She flopped down in the chair he took her to. That hurt as well, but she was too relaxed and happy to care.

  “My Daddy loves me,” she sighed, wiggling to make the hurt flare hotter.

  “Too bad, he let your pancake get cold.” Turning the stove back on, he checked the bottom of the flapjack still in the pan. Getting a plate from the cupboard, he dished it up, smothered it in syrup, then set it on the table in front of her. “Let me get the next one started, then I’ll grab a pill and cut this up for you.”

  She glared at her casts, but there was no real anger behind it, only a mild irritation at her inability to either pick up a fork or tear the soft pancake apart with her fingers.

  “The next six weeks are going to be a major pain, aren’t they?”

  She heard the sizzle of the next pancake cooking before Cole came walking back. He fed her the next painkiller, but instead of cutting up her food as he’d promised, he walked back out of the kitchen, returning less than a minute later with a blue marker from her coloring pack. Pulling up a chair beside her, he held out his hand.

  “Arm.”

  She gave him her right one this time and watched as he wrote, It won’t last forever. He decorated it with stars, coloring them in and adding twinkle lines. She smiled, in spite of herself, looking from that one to the one he’d written the day before.

  “Thanks. You’re right.”

  “Of course, I am.” Feeding her a bite of pancake, he headed back to the stove. “Daddy is always right.”

  And he loved her. She loved him, too, but she hugged her casts over her stomach, content to keep that a secret until the time felt better to reveal it. She chewed her breakfast instead and studied the two happy sayings on her casts.

  “It won’t last forever,” she mused, swallowing. How very true. Straightening in her seat, she brightened as a thought occurred. “Plus, if I get really sick of them, I can always cut them off.”

  Dropping the plastic spatula in the pan, he grabbed a wooden one out of the crock by the stove and marched back to her.

  “I’m kidding!” she yelled, laughing, but he still yanked her out of her chair and over the table, very nearly bending her right over on top of her pancakes. “Daddy, I’m kidding!”

  Her laughter turned to squeals and her squeals to yelps because, apparently, when it came to cutting off casts, Daddies didn’t have a sense of humor.

  That was okay. Nobody was perfect, and she really liked the fire.

  The End

  For more by Maren Smith, please click here.

  The Daddy Rumor

  Stella Moore

  About the Author

  Stella is an Amazon Bestselling author of romance featuring irresistibly sassy heroines and the strict, dominant men who try to tame them. Her favorite place to write is on her deck, with a glass of wine, enjoying her fabulous view of the countryside. Aside from reading and writing, Stella's favorite hobby is shopping. She is a fierce advocate for teaching women to love themselves, both in her writing and in the real world!

  Keep up with Stella and stay up to date on new releases:

  Facebook Twitter Instagram BookBub Facebook Group

  Copyright © 2020 by Stella Moore and Red Hot Romance, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, locales, and events are either a product of the author’s im
agination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, and events are purely coincidental.

  Edited by: Pamela Rees

  Chapter One

  If he hadn’t just walked through a very chic, immaculately decorated living room, Ethan Clarke would have never believed he was in the heart of suburbia. This was his third time to this particular private play space, but he still hadn’t quite gotten used to the dichotomy of the gleaming wood and leather buried beneath the charming brick home with the picket fence.

  “There’s the birthday boy!” The owner of the pretty, cheerful house as well as the play space beneath it slipped an arm through his and stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Because it was the truth, he returned the cheek-kiss. “Is Mike around?”

  “He’s upstairs, getting ready. We were, um, a bit delayed.”

  It didn’t take his stellar policing skills to figure out the reason for the delay, especially with the sparkle in his host’s eyes. Lucy Roland was a well-known brat and her husband enjoyed every opportunity she gave him to turn her ass red.

  “By the way,” she said, dropping her voice to a purr and leaning close to him, “your present should be here any minute.”

  Every instinct he had was instantly on alert. “What did you do, Lucille?”

  Her nose crinkled up, like she’d just caught a whiff of something particularly unpleasant. “You know I hate it when you call me that. It makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

  Looking down at her, he raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”

  Her brilliant smile returned. She leaned up on her tiptoes to press another kiss to his cheek. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”