I moved forward, and she moved back until she was against the wall, and I was pressing against her.
“I didn’t do anything,” she mumbled, hardly audible.
I smacked her once, and her eyes bulged. Her knees gave a little, but I held her up by her hip. “I know you were with him.”
“No, Daddy. I wasn’t. I swear.”
Her hair was in my hand, and the familiar wince was in her eyes. I brushed my lips across hers. It wasn’t a kiss, it was a statement of ownership.
“Don’t lie to me.”
She was panting already. She knew she was going to have to admit it. She knew she was going to get it. We both knew everything that was going to happen, but it was all still overwhelming in its suspense.
I took her by her hair, and I pushed her over the couch arm. I pulled up her dress, and her naked ass was there in tan-lined perfection. Her legs crossed a little, and she squirmed against my hand in her hair. This was all familiar and yet fresh because of the new emotions.
The hard part was that I so desperately wanted to hold her and kiss her. We had this game to play, though, and it was important and hot. I had to focus on that—the lovely game.
I loved her. My little girl. It was complicated. These games we played were complicated. At that moment, she was scared and innocent, even though she was really far from either of those things. At that moment, I was strong and confident and in control, though I am hardly any of those things. At that moment, my heart was racing and wounded because of the things I knew she had done, but at the same time, there was that wholly new fire that was ignited.
Jealousy was dangerous in me. It’s an emotion I didn’t always know what to do with. Maybe our game was about owning it. It’s a strange thing, but I had never looked at a partner as a full equal as much as I do with her. Her desire became more valid. She is wild and hungry like I am, and that is both scary and potently arousing.
Maybe that’s why I had to spank her and tie her down and hurt her just a little.
“Daddy, I didn’t. Please-“
It wasn’t just a playful word. It wasn’t just a silly name. We were making things a little more dangerous. We were making things a little more vulnerable. We were breaking the rules and being dirty. Such a simple thing, but far more potent than whips and chains and leather. We were toying with something so remarkably forbidden it is virtually unspeakable.
When I spanked her, it ran through both of our bodies. The room was dark, except for the streaming white of the streetlights coming in from the windows. I could just make out the red on the white of her ass, and her tan lines and her skin looked like silk.
I pulled her arms back and took restraints from my pocket. I tied her up, only because she wasn’t strong enough to keep her arms behind her back so long on her own. But I like to think that she would if I told her to.
“You are a little slut?”
She sobbed, “No, Daddy, no! I’m a good girl!”
I wanted her to say it. I wanted her to admit it. I didn’t like it when she didn’t tell me the truth, but it was part of the game. It wouldn’t have been as fun if she just said it, but I honestly didn’t like it when she lied. So I spank her honestly.
The line between the game and the truth is strange. We danced around it. Sometimes I looked into her eyes, and it is the real me looking at the real her, making sure things are alright. Sometimes I get choked up because it is too intense. Nothing like that has ever happened before during sexual play.
She let out an “ow” that let me know I was spanking a little hard. It was her real voice saying “ow,” not the little girl. I kept spanking, though. I wanted to be a little too hard.
My hands can hurt, so I’ve been told—more than leather or wood.
When she squirmed too far, I pulled her back and soothed her. I kissed her hot red skin. My fingers slipped down, and I found wet thighs, smooth lips, and that swollen spot that made her moan.
“Is this what he did?”
She pushed against my hand as she shook her head violently.
“No, Daddy, no.”
I fingered her, wetting my fingers with her and pushing two in deep and slow.
“Did you see him on Saturday?”
She moaned and whimpered, both pulling away and pushing back at me.
“I-just for a little-“
I pulled my wet finger out and pushed it against her tight ass. “No, Daddy, don’t! It’s dirty. You’re not supposed to!”
“I know what you did. You like to do dirty things, don’t you? You’re a little slut aren’t you?”
She sobbed louder as my thick finger pushed into her ass.
“No, no, no, I’m a good girl,” she pleaded.
I leaned over her, and my mouth was right next to her ear, and I whispered.
“I read your diary. I know what you did. You are a little fucking slut.”
She was my beautiful little angel. She still is. She is perfect. I wanted to make her cry.
I spanked her hard four times in a row.
She froze when she heard my zipper. She gasped, waiting.
“Daddy, I’ll be good.”
“I didn’t-we just-“
My hardness ached against the wetness of her, just slipping across the lips she keeps so smooth.
“Are you a slut?”
She shook her head no.
My head pierced pure heat. I knew I had to be patient.
“Tell me you are a slut.”
Then she looked back at me with one eye only. Her dark hair fell over her face. Her cheek pressed against a pillow. Biting her lip, her gaze pleading.
“No. I’m good.”
I push a little further into her, but I quickly pull away. “Please, Daddy. I’m a good girl. Please.”
Then I was fucking her. Hard and fast, pressing her into the arm of the couch. Her hips in my hands, my fingers sinking into the softness of her skin.
“Take me. Please take me.”
“I’m a good girl,” she cried into the pillow as I pushed harder, fucked her faster.
I stopped. I pulled her hair.
“Say it right now.”
“Don’t make me.”
I said her name. I said her real name.
I moved forward, slipping back into her slowly. “I’m a slut.”
I fucked her. I held her and fucked her.
“I’m your little slut, Daddy!” She yelled.
It went on like this, but that was what I needed to hear. We would both do things. I understood that. She would have boys, and I would have girls, and we would do wild things, amazing things, sometimes dangerous things, but she was mine. I was hers too, maybe more than she knew. For all my domineering, she had me like a puppet. I would do anything for her. I longed to pamper her as much as punish her.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it the moment she came in, but I knew once we dealt with it, the weekend would be ours. We limped to the bed, silently kissing. I held her, and she held me, emotions so high they nearly spilled out—catharsis, power, jealousy, love, arousal, and tenderness.
This was a new kind of living. It was a life exposed and amplified. It was addictive and frightening and passionate, and inspirational. Everything was heightened, and everything was fresh. It was an adventure. It was a new kind of love.