Spanking for One

"Yes, Daddy, I'm sorry, I was trying to save money on..."

"You've destroyed that wheel."

"There was a cat, and I..."

"You didn't answer your phone."

"I had it on silent, Daddy, I'm sorry, I..."

"I came home, you weren't here, the car was missing, and the front door was open."

Oh, fuck. I hadn't locked up? "I... I..."

"What am I supposed to think?" he asked, and he took a step toward me.

I retreated back into the lounge. "I just went out shopping," I said sullenly.

"You went out to buy yourself a dress, leaving me to think the house had been broken in, that they'd found you, that they'd kidnapped you and taken the car too! All because you wouldn't answer your damn phone!"

I knew he was upset, but kidnapped? That seemed a bit farfetched. "Daddy, that's ridiculous, I..."

He grabbed my wrist so fast I hardly saw him move. He dragged me behind him toward the sofa. He was so much stronger than me, I couldn't begin to pull away.

"Daddy, stop!"

"Ridiculous? You take my car, crash it, scare me half to death, and have the nerve to call me 'ridiculous'?"

"I'm sorry, I..."

He sat down on the sofa, and pulled me over his lap. I half fell, half sprawled over his knees, my summer dress rising up my bare legs as I did.

"Gonna teach you a lesson, young lady," he growled. "You aren't too old for a spanking, and you damn well deserve one. Pull your skirt up."

A spanking? "Daddy, no, wait, please..."

"If I have to tell you again, I can promise you it will be ten times worse."

I whimpered at his tone, and my hands fell reflexively to the hem of my dress. I'd drawn it halfway up my thighs before I remembered I was wearing nothing beneath. I hesitated. "Daddy, please!"

His hand came down with a slap against the back of my thigh, and it stung. Fuck, but it stung. "Every second you delay earns you another ten blows."

I pulled the skirt quickly up to my waist, whimpering my shame and embarrassment, and the fear of what was to come.

He seemed to still, and for a moment the tableau held: me, draped over his knees, my bottom bared to him, naked from the waist down; him, sitting in his anger, and though I couldn't see it I could well imagine the surprise on his face. Then the disappointment that would soon come. Then the inevitable question.

"Why aren't you wearing any panties?"

"I'm... I'm sorry, I went... commando..." the last word was barely a whisper. How could this moment get any worse?

His hand came down on my bare ass-cheek with a crack that echoed around the lounge.

"Is my daughter a slut?" he asked, his voice menacingly cold.

"No, Daddy!" I gasped through the impact. And I wasn't, either, unless you count sleeping with Kenny Davis, and I hardly did, because it had just been the once and hadn't even taken that long.

My ass was warming quickly where his hand had landed.

His hand came down again, on my other cheek, and my whole body jerked at the force of the blow. "You're a thief and a slut, aren't you?"

"No, Daddy!" I cried, as my derriere throbbed with the pain of his spankings.

"Took my car," spank, "smashed it up," spank, "had the nerve," spank, "to call me ridiculous," spank, "and all the while," spank, "dressed like a slut!"

I cried out with every blow, my hips writhing beneath his hand. I dared not reach back to try to cover my ass, but at one point my hand might've flinched in that direction, for he'd captured my wrist and held it to the small of my back. I was helpless and vulnerable, and he kept calling me a slut. Just liked he'd called Mommy a slut when he'd spanked her.

Any other day, and this punishment would've been a painful humiliation, and a memory allowed to quickly be forgotten. But just the day before he'd spanked Mom, called her a slut, and she'd called him Daddy. Was he aware? I was aware. I couldn't think of anything else. There wasn't anything else.

And somehow it was making me wet again.

Oh, fuck, no!

I was naked over his lap, being spanked, and it was making me wet.

Tell me at least he can't see that! Tell me at least I'm not so wet that it shows!

He placed a dozen blows in rapid succession across the backs of my thighs, and fuck, but they stung. I couldn't help but writhe against him with each strike, gasping for breath at the pain of it all. What kind of view was I affording him, twisting and moving so? But I couldn't help it!

He spanked me one last time, and I felt his hand rest on my ass, gripping the cheek after the impact. He was squeezing it, and in doing so I knew that he was partly spreading me open. Exposing me more to his eyes... as if I could be any more exposed than lying naked, draped across his lap.

There was silence for a long moment, punctuated only by my sobs and his labored breathing.

He hadn't released his tight grip on my ass, and in that same moment I also felt him beneath me. He was hard. I could feel him pushing up against my hips, through his slacks.

Perhaps it was only then that he realized himself that he was hard, for abruptly he stood up, tipping me onto the floor at his feet. He stepped over me, quickly, then stood in the centre of the lounge, his back to me.

"Go to your room," he growled, and I dared not hesitate.

I ran, whimpering, up the stairs and to my room, flopping onto my bed, tears on my cheeks and my humiliation burning my bottom. He'd spanked me! On my bare ass!

And oh fuck but it had turned me on so much.

*

It was a half hour before he knocked softly on my door.

"Emma?"

I hadn't moved. I was still lying on my bed, face down. I wanted to tell him to go away, but I didn't want to provoke another spanking if he was still pissed at me.

"Come in."

The door opened quietly, and I heard him enter.

I felt him sit on the bed beside me, for the second time in as many days.

"Let me see," he said gently, and I felt his hands on the hem of my skirt. I was too shocked to stop him. Why should I, anyway? He was my daddy, and he'd come to see if I was okay. I wasn't okay.

I felt him lift the skirt free of my burning skin, then drape it over the small of my back. From the hiss of his breath, I figured it looked at least as bad as it felt.

"I'm sorry I spanked you."

"S'okay," I said into the pillow.

"I brought some lotion. Do you... I'm going to put this on, okay?"

"'Kay."

It was a lot colder than the after sun had been. I couldn't help the gasp that escaped at his initial touch, but as he slowly rubbed his hands over my beleaguered bottom the sensation went from burning hurt to a dull, aching throb, and each throb pulled at me in funny ways. His hands were on my both my cheeks at once, kneading, spreading, each move and each rub parting my ass and giving him an even more intimate view than he'd had as I lay across his lap.

And it was causing a certain friction, too. Letting parts of me press together as he brought his hands down, squeezing my cheeks, then as he pushed upwards, spreading me open, it wasn't just my ass that was parting. He was opening my pussy, too. And he was sitting right behind me.

He kept doing it. Hand squeezing my bottom together, sliding on down over, rubbing the lotion around, then pushing up firmly, gripping and kneading my cheeks, dividing them, and each time my pussy was gently parted too. And I knew he could see it all.

Easily a dozen times he did this, and then I couldn't muffle the moan in time as it escaped against the pillow. I knew I was wet. I couldn't imagine how he didn't know it too, sitting where he was, and with my labia so slick, they were parting more with each push.

Then at last his hands left me, and I about groaned with the loss of the touch and the relief that I wouldn't have to bear the humiliation any longer. That it was my daddy doing this! Touching me so! Seeing me, in such a state, when all he'd done was come in to administer some relief to my poor skin! Some relief... I burned a thousand times worse than before he'd come in, just in a different place.

"I need to do your thighs, too, baby," he said softly. "Spread your legs for me a little."

Oh fuck no. I had to put a stop to this. It had already gone too far. "I can do it, Daddy."

"Nonsense," he said, and I heard the bottle of lotion squirt into his hands. "I did the damage. I need to be the one to make it right."

It kinda made sense. In a fucked up and twisted, oh-go-on-then because it feels so good, kinda way.

I parted my legs a little, and it wasn't as if he hadn't already seen everything.

His hands were gentle on my thighs, and I had to admit it was pleasantly soothing. I closed my eyes under his touch, and about melted into the bed. The spanking was almost worth it for this bit.

"I didn't know you shaved," he murmured.

The awkwardness came back in a rush, and I felt my body tense. "Oh, I... er... um. I wax actually." Fuck, why had I said that?

"Oh." His hands caressed my thigh, rubbing lotion in gently. "Doesn't that hurt?"

Of course it fucking does. "You sorta get used to it." Never.

He switched to my other leg. "Doing it for someone special in your life?"

I laughed against the pillow, a sardonic sound. "You know there's no one special in my life, Daddy." Except you. "I just prefer it like that."

"Oh," he said again. Then, "Yeah, me too."

His hands stilled on my thigh for a moment, as if he realized what he'd said. Then slowly continued the gentle massage. "I mean I think it looks nice... um... I mean I prefer it that way too."

My lips twitched against the pillow. It was so rare to hear my daddy sound unsure about anything, and now it seemed I'd embarrassed him. The irony of the situation -- that he was the one feeling nervous -- made me want to giggle. I'll see your nervousness and raise you my abject mortification.

His hands slipped away from me, and I heard the bottle cap click. A moment later, and he rose. "I hope that'll help, Bubs, and I'm sorry I spanked you."

"I guess I deserved it, Daddy."

I sensed, rather than saw, him pause. "Yeah, you did. Don't scare me like that again. Ever. Okay?"

"I won't, Daddy, I promise."

He closed the door behind himself.

I lay still for a long moment, trying to regulate my breathing, the feel of his hands still lingering on my skin.

Then my hand slipped, unbidden, down beneath my body, until my fingers could touch where I wished he had. I am so fucked. I slipped a finger between my slick, wet, labia. I am so unbelievably fucked. I let my fingertip brush lightly over my swollen clit, aching with need. I am lusting after my own daddy. I pushed a finger inside myself, gasping softly. Just because he spanked Mommy. My hips started to push down against my hand, and I muffled a long moan into the pillow. She called him 'Daddy'. I rubbed my clit, my hips bucking against my hand. He called her a slut. Just like he'd called me a slut. And I came, my cries only partially covered by the pillow, as the biggest orgasm of my life wracked my body.

Afterwards I lay there, boneless and unmoving. A moment later I heard him going down the stairs.

Crap. Had he been up here? Did he... hear me?

I'd been sure my day couldn't get any more humiliating; I'd been wrong.

*

I didn't want to go to the stupid party anymore, but after lying on the bed for an hour, unmoving, I forced myself to get up.

The brand-new dress was a wrinkled mess, and I didn't have time to wash and press it before the party. I took a shower while I thought over my wardrobe options. Jeans and a t-shirt? Safe but dull. Short skirt and crop top? Slutty, and I wasn't. Okay, I was, but only for my daddy, and he didn't see me that way.

I stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and practically ran into him.

"Oops, sorry, Bubs."

"My fault," I said taking a small step back. I blushed, lowering my eyes. Great, now I can't even look at my daddy without blushing anymore.

"Aren't you going to the party?"

"Yes, but... I kinda ruined my new dress. I have to figure out what to wear."

"Oh, right. Can I be of any help?"

I looked up at him in surprise. Did he have any sense of fashion at all? But that was mean; he always dressed well, and so did Mom for that matter. "Er... sure? I guess?"

He stepped to the side, lifting his arm gallantly, "Lay on, Macduff."

It was a stupid thing he always said. Some Shakespearean quote from Macbeth or something. But it had a cute familiarity about it, because he'd been saying it as long as I could remember.

I walked back to my bedroom, conscious as I had never been before of how short a towel was when wrapped around my torso. It was amazing how quickly our dynamic had changed, in the space of only twenty-four hours, just because my fucking AirPods had died. Except nothing has changed at all, Emma; it's all in your head. Yeah, well maybe that too, but perception was nine-tenths of the law. Or something.

"So, what are the options?" he asked, pulling out my gaming chair and sitting down like a panel member on America's Got Talent.

"Er... wrinkled brand new dress," I said, waving a hand at the once-beautiful (and quite expensive) dress on my bed.

"My bad," he said, looking sheepish. "I could iron that for you, if you like?"

It was a kind offer, but it didn't solve the problem. It didn't just need an iron, it needed a wash, too. Because, y'know, masturbating while wearing it, getting cum on it and stuff. I blushed and looked down. "It's okay, I have other choices." Shouldn't have mentioned the damn dress.

"Okay! Next?"

"Jeans and a t-shirt. Safe but boring."

"Yeah, maybe... bit less boring with the right bra, though." He winked at me.

I stared at him in surprise. I mean, it was a damn good point, too, but I just hadn't expected my daddy to make it.

"Er... moving on... Short skirt and crop top says, 'too slutty', right?"

He lifted one hand and made a so-so see-saw motion. "Depends on who is there, I guess, and how short the skirt is. Back burner?"

It was a fair point. "Sure. Um... that was as far as I got."

"Hmm, okay. Summer party, right? Haven't you got those denim shorts?"

Well yes, I did have, but they were... kinda short shorts. "Yes... and arguably better than a short skirt, I suppose. But with what?"

"White button shirt."

I made a face. "Daddy, it's not an office party."

He smiled slowly, a hungry-looking grin that I'd rarely seen from him. It made my stomach flip. "That's because you're thinking about it all wrong. You fasten, like, two buttons. Then you tie the rest of the shirt underneath in a knot. Voila, chic and relaxed aesthetic, perfect for summer, that looks awesome with denim shorts and shows your class."

I blinked at him in surprise. "That... could work."

He nodded. "Go on then, show me."

Wait, what? "Wait, what?"

"Show me," he repeated, settling back into the chair with 'I'm not going anywhere' body language.

"Now?"

"Yes, now. Party is soon, isn't it?"

Party was soon. But still. "Um... I'm naked beneath the towel."

"Yes, one typically comes out of a shower that way. Nothing I haven't seen before. And recently, for that matter."

Damn, that was true. I was all out of excuses. I pulled the knot on the towel, letting it fall open, and threw it on the bed. I was naked before my daddy, for the third time in two days. But he was my daddy, and was that so very unusual? I mean, I'd started all this by wearing that stupid bikini. Hell, I was only slightly less dressed now than I had been then.

It was really all my fault.

I also realized I could've readied the clothes before dispensing with the towel, but I hadn't. And now I had to get them out, naked, with him watching. For fuck's sake.

I turned and pulled open my underwear drawer. Safest place to start.

"Are you going to bother with underwear?" he asked.

I hesitated, a pair of panties in my hands. "Do you think I shouldn't?"

He shrugged, "Entirely up to you."

The shorts really were very short. If I went commando beneath them there was a chance I could flash anyone who happened to catch the right angle. I stepped into the panties and pulled them up my legs, and it felt so very strange to be doing so while Daddy watched me.

I was definitely wearing a bra. With the shirt approach he'd suggested, to not do so would be quite obscene. I pulled it out.

"You don't have to wear a bra either if you don't want to," he said.

I glanced at him in shock. "Um... I think I will, if that's okay."

"Of course," he nodded graciously.

I pulled on the matching bra, fastening it behind me, and now I was dressed in just underwear before him. Not that dissimilar to a bikini -- in fact, this set covered more than the bikini had -- yet we were in my bedroom, and that somehow added an extra level of intimacy.

I found the shorts and pulled them on, feeling them snug around my ass and hips, tight across my mons. He watched me all the while. I had the perfect shirt for this. Perhaps the one he'd had in mind. It was an older style with a broad collar, a distressed, wrinkled effect throughout, and it draped loosely and sat well when I tied the knot across my midriff.

There was a mirror inside my wardrobe door, and I regarded myself critically.

"Needs a pair of strappy heels," he said, "but I know you have those."

I had several pairs that would do, but he was right; the extra height would show my legs off better. I went onto my toes before the mirror, and it instantly lifted the whole outfit.

"And personally, I think you should lose the bra."

"Really?" I asked, looking at my reflection. The bra was visible, that was true, but if I took it off, wouldn't I risk flashing everyone? The shirt was quite loose across my breasts.

"Mmm. You have perfect breasts. They don't need the bra."

I turned to him, momentarily speechless, his words shocking me again.  That was what, twice in as many minutes? "You... you think I have perfect breasts?"

He smiled at me. "I'm sure every Dad would say such things to their daughter; I just happen to be the lucky one for whom it's also true."

I had no idea if every Dad said such things to their daughter. Perhaps they did. Maybe I could ask Milly. Or not.

"Still, I think I will leave it on. I don't want to be thought of..." I trailed off, blushing.

"...As a slut?" he finished for me, with one eyebrow raised.

I nodded, and he spread his arms open to me. I moved to him, and he pulled me into his lap. "I don't think you're a slut," he murmured, wrapping me against his hard chest, "whatever I might've said earlier. You can go commando if you like, too. I don't mind. Do what makes you happy."

"I didn't mind you calling me a slut," I said, leaning my head against him. Fuck, why did I say that?

"Did you mind me spanking you?" he asked, a playful note in his voice.

I considered the question for a moment, having not thought about it. Did I mind? Had I liked it? How had it made me feel? Wow, there were a lot of scary answers down those roads. I settled with something more neutral. "It hurt," I said petulantly, and stuck my bottom lip out.

He chuckled, a deep masculine sound that made his chest vibrate. "Well, back by midnight, young lady, or we'll be going for round two."

"Yes, Daddy."

*

He dropped me off at the party in his just-in-time-repaired Audi. The tire, anyway, not the alloy. That would take longer, and would no doubt cost me. But that was fair. Stupid cat.