11. Chapter 11 #2
“It wasn’t that you argued with me, Princess,” he says, pressing my head down onto his shoulder and blessing me with a kiss.
Was this another trap, or was it real? Unable to tell, I cry harder.
“It’s that you disregard everything I’ve told you.
You put yourself in a panic downstairs, insisting I couldn’t protect you.
This was a test, Clara. I want you to think.
Daddy will spank your bottom when you’re naughty, but will he ever deliberately hurt you? ”
“N-No?” I whisper hopefully. He’d said more than once now that he wouldn’t.
“No,” he agrees. “Why not, Clara? What have I told you?”
His soft, gentle tone is dismantling the panic knotting me up inside. I can feel it ebbing away, loosening the tension in my gut, slowing the frantic beat of my heart, and releasing the cold grip squeezing my heart.
“That you would protect me?” I look at his neck rather than his face. I don’t think I can bear it if he’s playing with me. I don’t want to see his expression change if this turns out to be like the games my father plays.
“Daddies always protect their little girls. Say it.”
“Daddies always protect their little girls,” I repeat obediently. The calmer he was, the more I relaxed.
“Apart from the spankings, have I hurt you?”
“No, Daddy,” I whisper, relieved. He’s holding me loosely.
If I want, I could probably get away, but I don’t move.
He isn’t backing me into a corner. He’s trying to calm me, not amplify my fear.
He rocks me in the comforting embrace of his arms, and I can’t stop the warmth from blooming again.
Its tentative erotic heat spreads in a slow wave that chases away the lingering cold.
“I gave you the choice of my hand or my belt because I wanted to see if you could discern what a rational, appropriate punishment ought to be. You’ve shown me you can’t.
Yet. So, we’ll work on that. In the meantime, I don’t think the belt is an appropriate implement for you.
You responded nicely to the paddle, but that will be saved for your absolute naughtiest behavior.
I think instead, a nice sturdy hairbrush or even a wooden spoon might be best for you right now. Does that scare you?”
I wait for the same cold terror that had engulfed me from the moment he said ‘belt,’ but it doesn’t come. The heat between my legs flares hotter, turning into a molten throb. I shake my head.
“No, Daddy.”
“I’m going to put you over my knee now and will give you what I think you earned when you looked me in the eye and told Daddy he was incompetent.”
I flinch. That wasn’t at all what I meant to do.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“So am I.” He pats my hip, and obediently, I stand. My hands still fidget, but the worst of my shaking has already eased. “Over my knee, little girl.”
Taking his hand, I let him draw me across his lap. Is it possible to smell your own budding arousal? I swear, as I settle into position with my bottom propped high and my face within inches of the carpet, I smell myself.
I clamp my legs tightly together and pray he won’t notice, knowing there’s something for him to see. I can feel the cool air kissing the wetness gathering along the seam of my sex.
“Open your legs, Princess. Show Daddy what’s his.”
Clapping both hands over my burning face, I drown in the mortification of spreading my feet apart, wide enough to ensure he has a perfect view of the moisture slipping along my freshly shaved slit.
He cups me, taking unapologetic ownership of my pussy.
“You feel lovely, all bare and smooth. I expect you to keep your feet on the floor now. No kicking.”
I nod, my stomach knotting again. Not because I’m afraid this time, but because his fingers are slipping back and forth along my seam, skimming my clit with every pass. It’s all I can do not to kick my feet up as he rubs me, each circling stroke winding all those knots just a bit tighter.
The clap of that first swat comes unexpectedly.
Consumed by how good his touch is, I barely notice when he stops.
I grab his thigh when his hand leaves me, only to come cracking down on my other bottom cheek.
It stings, but not as badly as the next one, which catches the left side.
The sharpness of the fourth and last swat makes me gasp, but only half as loud as when his fingers push between my thighs to reclaim their ownership of my clit.
My butt is stinging fiercely, yet the pleasure only intensifies as he dips his fingers into my wetness and circles and circles my clit, winding me up with each slick pass until every string inside me feels ready to snap.
“Daddy,” I whimper, unable to keep from writhing in time with his fingers’ motions.
Four stinging smacks are my reward—or is it still punishment? I can’t tell. The swats are hard enough to reignite the already fading sting of the first set.
“Spread your legs,” he warns.
Panting, I push my feet as far apart as the bed allows, only to clamp my legs shut when his thumb sweeps along the seam of my pussy to sink inside me. His fingertips only skim my throbbing clit before I imprison his hand between my squeezing thighs.
“Open,” he orders.
“No!” He’s going to spank me more, and I’m resigned to that, but it’s the pleasure that’s killing me.
I can’t hold still. His thumb inside me, the circling of his fingers as he winds me up past my ability to bear is so much harder to take than the pain of his iron-hard palm.
Or at least that’s what I think until he starts spanking again—hard, fast, and more than just another set of four—not stopping until I’m scrambling to brace my feet wide, wide apart.
I clutch his pants, determined not to close them again, no matter what.
It’s not his thumb but two long, thick fingers he shoves into me. With rapid thrusts, he fucks me, spanking my pussy now until I’m all but fighting to get up.
“No! No!”
God, yes!
My ass was burning. My greedy, confused pussy weeps its hungry need for more, and he was giving it to me until my body is shaking, vibrating, loving every minute.
“Daddy!” I wail, but he doesn’t stop.
He has me pinned over his lap, his arm around my waist, holding my hips steady for the back-and-forth dual assault of mindless pleasure followed by stinging, burning pain.
Each time he spanks me is harder, longer than the last. Between punishments, his torment moves back to my pussy.
He fucks, caresses, pinches, and strokes me until I’m sobbing, it feels so good.
“I need… I need…” I can’t think. There is no articulating this kind of tightly intertwined ecstasy and ache. “Viktor! D-Daddy, please!”
The whole world flips when he yanks me off his lap and throws me onto my back on the bed. He rolls on top of me, grabbing my right thigh and hiking it up to my chest. He grabs my hair right before his lips capture mine in a kiss every bit as hot as the passion he pounds into me.
Drinking my gasps, he grinds the bulging proof of his arousal between my legs.
He devours my moans as he braces his weight on his elbows and with one hand, quickly unzips his fly and shoves his pants out of the way.
He bites my bottom lip, his low growl meeting my moan as he thrust so deep and hard, his grip on my hair is the only reason I don’t scoot across the mattress.
I grab his shoulders, wrapping my legs tight around his hips.
The lights of Vegas are nothing. He takes me to the stars, rocking my world and the bed.
I come so hard, my toes curl. It goes on and on, wave after wave, thrust after thrust until he arches stiffly over me, his grunt as he shoves in deep one last time, vibrating every orgasmic nerve he’d so thoroughly stroked.
I lay in the sweaty, exhausted aftermath, wrung out and happier than I’ve ever been.
“Good girl,” he pants, collapsing beside me on the mattress. His chest rises and falls as he struggles to calm his breathing.
I roll toward him, lost to how strong he is. How handsome. How kind and caring he’s been when he didn’t have to be. He hadn’t used his belt once. Lying here beside him, with my bottom throbbing, along with my clit, I feel anything but punished.
I want to thank him, but I don’t know how without making it awkward or sounding stupid. Instead, giving him plenty of time to push me away if he wants, I curl toward him and rest my head on his shoulder.
His arm curls around me, drawing me closer.
My heart singing, I push my luck and let my arm creep around his chest. Not only does he not scold my clinginess, he takes my hand in his and weaves our fingers together as he holds me.
“Rest a few minutes,” he says, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze. “Then we’ll go down for dinner.”
He got me chocolate cake. Even though I was in trouble, he still thought to do that.
“Thank you for kidnapping me.”
I’d hug him if only I wasn’t afraid it might be too much.
Chuckling, he gives my hand a squeeze, then kisses my forehead.
“Anytime, Princess. Anytime.”