The room was cold. Of course, that might have been because Megan had stripped and stood completely naked. She shivered and thought, you’d think they’d keep the place warmer, you know?
The man walked into the room. She had been told that he preferred to be called, “Sir,” and she felt her nipples harden as he entered. He was a solid six feet tall and wore a leather mask that hid his face and leather chaps that covered his legs but left his cock dangling free.
Megan considered it for a moment. He filled out the chaps nicely and it was obvious that he worked out. His shorn musculature shined with oil, as did his similarly-hairless crotch. Megan idly wondered if she would be able to convince him to put that cock to work later. She had signed the release that told her both “Employees are not permitted to perform sexual acts with clients,” and that “Clients are responsible for taking whatever prophylactic measures are necessary to prevent pregnancy and transmission of diseases.” It seemed an odd stance, but Megan figured that it was because convincing the man or woman who’d just spent time getting you turned on with spankings and other forms of domination might actually result in a desire for a good screw.
Megan felt her eighteen-year-old twat moisten at the sight of him, long and lean, hanging low with the head just starting to rise.
“What should I do?” she asked softly. At his raised eyebrow, she quickly added, “Sir.”
He gestured for her to take a position at the desk. He bent her over and she thrilled to the feel of his strength, noting that more than just the head of his cock had now risen and she could feel the pressure of him against her butthole as he manacled her wrists together across the desk. He patted her plump derriere before squatting behind her to manacle her ankles so that her legs were far apart and her pussy lips, already slick with desire, were pulled open.
Megan knew she made a fetching sight. When she’d first put on the extra twenty pounds between her tenth and eleventh grade years, she’d been miserable. It wasn’t her fault she’d been injured working out, but she had paid the price for not being able to do much physically during her recovery. It hadn’t been until she saw the ways the boys at school reacted to her larger breasts, rounder ass, and more voluptuous curves that she’d gotten an inkling about how good the extra weight could be for her. Her biggest concern was that she was barely five feet tall and she worried that, should he fuck her, it would be her ass that presented the more level target than her glistening cunt.
He hadn’t said anything while she thought this and then Sir’s hand moved swiftly through the air and Megan had just enough time to wonder what the whistling sound was before the paddle, holes drilled in the plastic, impacted across both cheeks. She let out a yelp and a cry even as a small part of her mind informed her that her pussy had moistened more. Another whistle and another smack brought another cry and more wetness. As her pussy drooled, she started to cry.
Sir didn’t hesitate to keep it up, spanking her vigorously. Megan’s ass hurt, as did the backs of her thighs and she felt them tighten after every smack.
Megan, despite the pain, wanted more. She wanted to be filled, conquered, taken, ravished. She would have begged for his cock now, in her pussy or her mouth or even up her virgin ass. She wanted with a primal need to be controlled and conquered.
“More?” he demanded.
And like that, the desire and lust for Sir were gone. Megan knew, when she heard him question, that, despite the appearance, despite the costume and the tools and the room around her that she was actually in charge. Sir wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want him to do. And that cooled her instantly.
“No,” she sniffled through the tears that still flowed. “Untie me.”
Sir moved with alacrity and she knew that he was her servant when she so wanted to be the one doing the serving.
He released her and she looked down at his hard cock, larger than the only other one she’d actually known. But, she no longer wanted it. She no longer wanted him.
“Thank you,” she said coldly, the bitch in her bubbling up under the surface. Before she said or did anything further, she turned and walked back to the dressing room.
She took a towel down and spread it on the folding chair there before sitting on it. Her vagina still buzzed with need. Her brain might have been turned off, but her body still wanted.
She leaned her head back and thought about the first time she’d realized how turned-on she got by being spanked.
* * *
It had been a typical Friday night dinner except for the fact that she was home for it.
Only a week before, Megan had turned eighteen. She’d stayed out too late on her birthday and come home half-lit. Her daddy (well… step-father, if you want to be technical) had told her that, had she called, he would have picked her up. Instead, she decided to drive herself. Somehow, she’d made it home safely and without being noticed by the local police. But, she was still drunk and driving and Daddy had caught her as she came in. So, he grounded her for a month.
And, a week later, she was sitting at dinner with Mom and Daddy.
Mom was, as Megan had become, short and voluptuous. She’d been supportive of her daughter, even when Megan wanted to lose the weight that Mom described as “healthy”. Mom had short black hair and deep hazel eyes. She could also be a bitch from the word “go”. At least, Mom could be a bitch to her. She never seemed to act that way toward Daddy. She probably treated Daddy like that behind closed doors, Megan figured.
Megan had been two when her father died. It had been a car wreck. It was probably the reason that Mom became a bitch.
Daddy had come along three years later. Listening to grandma, Mom apparently went a little nuts until Daddy came into her life. They’d married, Daddy had adopted her, and now they lived the perfect little suburban life. Daddy was a former Marine who owned a security consulting firm, which gave him the chance to travel to all sorts of exotic places, but, since he was the boss, meant he spent most of his nights at home with his wife and daughter.
It was Daddy on Megan’s mind, his dark blond hair, his clear, light-blue eyes, that were on Megan’s mind as she diddled herself. She thought of him, his broad shoulders and thick chest, his big hands and narrow hips. She shouldn’t think about Daddy like that, she knew, but she couldn’t help it.
Her mind went back to that Friday night when she called Mom a bitch to her face at the dinner table.
Her mother immediately leaped to her feet, her temper instantly white-hot. “How dare you!” she screamed.
“How dare I? I’ve done everything I’m supposed to and you treat me like a little drunk whore when I make one mistake!”
Mom’s mouth opened, but Daddy’s deep voice cut through them both. “Enough.”
It wasn’t said loudly and there was no evident anger in his voice. His voice was very calm. But the effect could not have been more powerful if he’d slammed his hand through the dining room table.
He turned those blue eyes on Megan and said, his voice gentle, “Apologize to your mother.”
“Hell no!” Megan almost screamed.
Daddy sat up straighter and squared his shoulders as he pushed his chair back from the table. “Then, apologize to me.”
Megan knew it was the heat of the moment and her teenage temper. “Fuck you!” she cried at him.
No anger appeared on his face, but he moved with the suddenness of a snake. He was up and around the table in a moment. Megan instinctively tried to back away, but she had no chance.
Megan was tugged to her feet by a wrist. Her daddy’s hand, always gentle but firm, was an iron circle with as much give as a handcuff. He pulled her out of the dining room and into the den. His face and voice were still mild. “Are you ready to apologize?”
“No! Damnit! Let me go!”
Daddy merely nodded before dropping onto the sofa and pulling her smoothly down over his lap. Megan was embarrassed to suddenly be off her feet with her round rump in the air. She was outright horrified when her Daddy’s hand came down hard on her right ass cheek. Another stroke came down on her left ass cheek. He rotated between them twice more before stopping.
“Are you ready to apologize?”
“Fuck off, you son of a bitch!”
Another hard smack to each cheek, followed by another and another until she couldn’t count them.
Daddy’s breathing was barely hard when he stopped.
“Now?” he asked, his voice still even.
“No,” Megan’s voice came, still firm but now teary.
“Stand up.” And she did.
“Drop your pants.”
Her eyes widened and she looked over at her mother who stood in the doorway, a light of triumph in her eyes.
“W-w-w-why?” she cried, the volume back in her voice.
“Because,” he explained patiently, “I believe your jeans are muffling the impact of your punishment and allowing you to continue thinking you don’t have to do what you’re told.”
The explanation sounded awfully reasonable, even to Megan.
“But, Daddy,” she protested weakly, “I’m not wearing any panties.”
Daddy considered that for a second before shrugging. “That’s not an issue. Drop your pants.”
This time, the order came out as an order and Megan’s hands were moving to the button and fly of her jeans before she even realized it. She hesitated but lowered her pants.
Megan’s face burned as she looked at both Mom and Daddy. She knew they could see the dark curls of her pubic hair and they’d see the red imprint of Daddy’s hand (“muffling the impact” my Aunt Suzie!) when she went back over his knee.
Daddy didn’t speak, but he waved her back into position. She stretched across his lap again and he resumed her spanking. It was only when Daddy’s hand impacted the bare skin of Megan’s ass that she realized how wet she’d gotten, how turned on she was. She muffled the grunts and groans that she wanted to give with each smack because she feared they’d betray her arousal.
Megan didn’t bother to count this time. When Daddy stopped, he asked mildly. “Now?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Megan nodded. He let her up and she started to pull up her pants.
“No. Not until you’ve apologized.”
Megan knew the horror of her humiliation as she mumbled an apology for calling her mother a bitch and a second one for disrespecting her father’s wishes. She prayed that they couldn’t see her clit, which felt more swollen than it had ever felt before and that her nipples weren’t poking through her bra. She hoped her lips didn’t glisten as much as it felt like they did.
After the apology, Daddy nodded. “Pull your pants up and go to your room, now, Megan,” he commanded softly. She did as he ordered without hesitation.
It was that spanking Megan thought about as she shook in orgasm in the dressing room.
* * *
Megan’s ass had been red when she’d looked at it that night after masturbating furiously and desperately. Daddy’s handprint had been plain and obvious. A knock and Megan had opened the door to find Mom with a tube of lotion with aloe vera. The lotion had helped.
Now, Megan’s ass hurt again. And despite her orgasm, she still wanted more. She drove home with the need to be taken, to be dominated, commanded, filled. She had no idea what she was going to do to take care of that need.
She sighed when she pulled into the driveway, relieved that, outside of the porch light, the house was dark. That meant Mom and Daddy had gone to bed and she was free to walk in without worrying about being seen. She slowly eased herself out of the car, taking her time to keep the hurt at bay. It wasn’t as bad now that it wasn’t fresh, but she knew she’d have bruises on her plump buttocks by morning. A small part of her was satisfied at the thought of examining those bruises in the full-length mirror on the back of her door (with her short stature, it would be a pain to examine them very well in the mirror on her dresser).
Her key went easily into the lock and the door opened silently. Megan closed, locked, and bolted the door after she got inside. Immediately in front of her was the staircase which led to the three bedrooms upstairs. Mom and Daddy would be up there asleep. To her right was her mother’s sitting room, where she entertained the women in her church circle. To her left was Daddy’s office. Beyond the stairs was the rest of the house: kitchen, dining room, and den with a half-bath. She could see the hallway behind the stairs that led left to the garage, which Daddy had converted into a suite for her (he constantly joked that she was costing them money by living in there when he could be renting it out). Megan reached back and switched off the outside light, meaning the only light she had was the one in the foyer.
Megan took a step toward the back hallway and froze when another light snapped on.
Megan turned her head to see Daddy, sitting in the swivel chair behind his desk against the front wall of the house. He wore a white t-shirt and pajama bottoms and his feet were bare. His deep voice was mild when he spoke. “Would you mind telling me where you’ve been, young lady?”
Megan’s knees shook and her face reddened as she slowly turned toward Daddy. His eyes were deep, dark, and penetrated straight to her heart and soul. She felt her pulse quicken and her labia moisten even as her mouth dried up. Only in her darkest fantasies did she understand how badly she wanted Daddy. She blinked hard as her nipples hardened against her bra and fluid coated the walls of her vagina. She tried hard not to think about how that voice would sound in her ear as he took her, entered her, filled her.
“Well?” he asked, his voice invading her thoughts.
Megan’s voice quavered as she wracked her brain for a plausible lie, at least a half-truth. “I was at a party.”
Daddy’s eyebrow quirked. “A party? On a Tuesday night?”
“Umm…yeah,” she stammered. “I mean, none of the girls had to work tonight, so…”
She stopped at Daddy’s arched eyebrow and his critical gaze that was examining her body rather than her face even as he stood and moved silently closer to her.
“What’s wrong, Megan?” he asked, but the soft, deep voice carried a demand.
“What do you mean?” she responded hesitantly.
Immediately, those pale blue eyes were examining hers and she felt as naked as she had before Sir. “You’re standing funny.”
Megan hadn’t realized that her stance was off due to the ache in her no-doubt-bruised rear. She tried to shift to a more normal stance, but a shooting pain made her wince and Daddy’s hand shot out to steady her, softly gripping her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” The voice was harder now and she knew he would brook nothing less than a clear, honest answer.
But, Megan couldn’t bring herself to speak. She opened her mouth to say anything, any lie, any story, anything but the truth, but she couldn’t force it out. Then, she began to cry.
The tears slid freely down her cheeks as she sobbed and Daddy pulled her close to him. His lips pressed against her hair and his hands gently caressed her back. She could distantly hear the soft noises of comfort he made, so similar to those he made when she was made fun of in junior high for being so skinny while all of her friends had started developing breasts and hips, to those she had made when Brent had decided that he didn’t want to take her home after his senior prom because she refused to put out, to those he had made when she’d been injured and was told she’d need surgery to repair her damaged knee.
She breathed in the aroma of her stepfather, smelling the faint, clean scent of his shaving soap, feeling the firm power in his arms and hands, the unquestioning love and protection he offered.
At first, it was the thought that this was the man she had adopted as her “Daddy”. She’d called him that soon after he’d started dating her mother, horrifying her mother months before she would actually marry him. But, she knew immediately that he loved it, loved her mother, and loved her. As she relaxed in his arms, the tears slowing and stopping, she found herself nearly overwhelmed by his strength. Why couldn’t she find a man like him: a man who she knew could command her, dominate her, even punish her with complete love. That’s what she wanted, she knew. She wanted her Daddy.
And, in that moment, it became completely apparent to her that she didn’t want a man like her Daddy, but the man himself. Still locked tight against him by his physical, a freshening rush of fluid hit her womb and she felt her nipples harden against the lace of the cups. An involuntary moan gasped past her lips even as her desire went into overdrive.
Then, Daddy stepped away. She knew he had seen those signs in other women, but she could tell that, unusually for him, he was unsure of what he was seeing in the young woman he called his daughter’s eyes.
Still, he recovered quickly. “Now, Megan, tell me what’s wrong. Please, baby.”
Megan forced herself to bottle...
