The Reckoning Ch. 03

My ex, Beth, used to joke that she was a golf widow in-training, and she was right—as much as a cliché as the lawyer-cum-golfer may be, I dearly loved to spend the day on the course. Today was no different: Warm, clear, basically the perfect spring day, and where better to pass the time than in the company of two old friends, trying to hit a tiny ball insanely long distances into a tiny hole? Sometimes I did have to laugh at the game, but mostly I just enjoyed the hell out of myself out there.

It had been a long week. Not only because the main case I was working on had taken a nasty turn and required late nights and early mornings. Also because of Lauren. All these years I'd been resenting her very presence in my life, thinking of her as an unfortunate side-effect of my marriage to Beth, and now...now she was quite literally all I could think of. I awoke to the image of Lauren climbing onto me and grinding herself on my cock. I fell asleep to the memory of her hot pink ass under my hand. And every moment in between? Well, it took a supreme effort to focus on anything other than the clear green of her eyes, or the velvety softness of her skin, the scent of her neck.

And of course, this week, of all weeks, she seemed to be around much more than usual. Most of the time I could count on her spending most of her time away from the house, but every time I was home, there she was. From the way she lingered in any room I was in, looking at me with this odd expression on her face, I got the feeling that she was waiting for something. I just didn't know what it was. I didn't know what I wanted to give her, either. I knew it certainly wasn't right to be fantasizing about my stepdaughter—though, honestly, how any man could avoid thinking lewd thoughts about as nubile a creature as Lauren, I can't imagine—but although I couldn't seem to stop myself, I didn't intend to take those fantasies any further. If necessary, I could spend every night for the rest of my life jerking off to the vision of her long slim legs wrapped around my waist, or her wet, full lips stretched around my cock, or her soft golden breasts filling my hands. I didn't have to take the relationship any farther than that, I decided; my thoughts, after all, were my own. On the other hand, I'd committed to allowing Lauren to live with me until she started college in the fall, and I was determined to maintain control in my own house. If she faltered, I'd decided, I would correct her, as firmly as necessary—and that would require a bit more interaction than the typical stepfather-stepdaughter bond.

Why, you might wonder, hadn't I insisted Lauren leave with her mother? I've wondered that myself, many times. And like most family situations, it's a complicated one. When Beth and I married, I'd adopted Lauren. At Beth's insistence, certainly—she wanted her daughter to have a 'real' father. Of course, I'd had sunny thoughts of the three of us bonding, living together as a real family, and I'd assumed Beth and I would have more children of our own, which would help us 'blend'. But none of those things happened. Beth put off starting a family so many times I eventually got the picture: She had no intention of ever getting pregnant again. And Lauren wasn't interested in bonding with her new daddy. As often as I tried, she pushed my attempts at fatherly love and guidance as far away as possible.

Beth and I got along well for the most part. For the first six years of our marriage I'd even say we were devoted to each other. Well, I was to her, at least. She was an older version of what Lauren looks like today—all golden skin and glinting green eyes—but where Lauren has rough edges and attitude, Beth was all womanly sweetness. I thought our sex life was perfect. Ladylike as Beth was most of the time, in bed she'd beg me to fuck her like a whore. The first time she looked over her shoulder at me and asked me to fuck her ass I nearly shot my creamy cum all over her back, before I even got it inside her. She was no slouch as a cocksucker either...she could do this thing with her tongue, right underneath the head of my dick....all I can say is: instant orgasm. And she was funny. I used to sit in the kitchen and listen to her stories about her day while she finished up dinner each night, and I'd almost always end up in stitches over her gossipy tales of her girlfriends, or her exploits at work. She was an accountant, a pretty successful one, and I always wondered how her clients could focus on their balance sheets with such an overblown rose across the desk from them. But Beth was nothing if not professional about work and money, and I respected her for that, too.

Something changed about two years ago. It was subtle at first; in fact, I didn't even notice it. Only after she left did I trace the reverse trajectory of our break-up, and I could see that it started two summers ago, when I moved to a new firm, and Lauren turned 17. In Beth's defense, I'll admit that I was working all the time. I wanted to make a good impression in my new job, of course, because this one was the big time. Assuming all went well and I made partner on schedule, we'd be set for life. So I wasn't around much. And Lauren was particularly difficult that summer. Out all the time, coming home drunk. She was in the back of the car one night when her friend got pulled over for DUI. Beth had her hands full, and I was no help. But after the summer when work settled into a more manageable routine and school started up again, we didn't go back to our old patterns. Now Beth was the one who had to "work" late all the time. And she was never around. Well, maybe she was around, but she wasn't really there, if you understand what I mean. We started fighting all the time, a lot of it about Lauren. But I think that was just the easiest thing to latch onto as an obvious problem. The truth of the matter was that Beth had found someone else. She was finished with me; I just didn't know it yet.

Of course I found out. You always find out, don't you? It was something so small, I don't think I'd have noticed unless I already knew, deep down, that we were broken. She left a message on my cell phone. Just a few words, but I immediately knew they weren't meant for me. She'd dialed the wrong number, left the message for the wrong man. "Hi, Baby. I'll be late tonight, the Jensen file is killing me." It just wasn't the way Beth talked to me. She never called me "Baby". I'd never heard of the Jensen file. She'd already told me she would be late, not to wait up, in fact. So, of course, I did. And when she got home I asked the questions I didn't want answered. She was too surprised to lie, I think. She seemed relieved, in fact. And that was pretty much it. She'd moved out a week later. Leaving Lauren with me.

Back to the reason I'd accepted responsibility for a difficult teenager I felt no love—or even like—for. Well, technically, she's my daughter. And much as I disliked her, I knew what that meant. And I knew what kind of life Beth was moving into, what kind of man she was moving in with, and, call me a sucker, I couldn't see sending Lauren there. I thought that if I stuck it out for the rest of the school year and packed her off to State in the fall, I'd have a better chance of being done with the whole thing. Fewer conflicts with the new guy, more of a chance that Beth wouldn't come crawling back to me when Lauren destroyed here love shack. There were other, more calculating, reasons as well. There would be no separation for us; I started divorce proceedings the day after I found out about Beth's betrayal. And I knew that my kindness toward Lauren, and my willingness to support her, would help me in the judge's eyes. Plus, and I'm ashamed to admit this, part of me was still in love with Beth, and keeping Lauren was a way of keeping contact with her mother. I did say you could call me a sucker.

So where did that leave me, now? Stuck in the house with a ticking time bomb, pretty much—in the form of my very own Girl Gone Wild. Accordingly, I'd spent the week avoiding the situation, hoping it would defuse itself. Lauren had clearly been making an effort not to trigger my anger. She'd cleaned up as I'd asked her to—though I was irked to see she'd gotten dressed in a t-shirt that looked like it had fit her five years ago and sweat pants that rode so low I could see her hip bones jutting out—and she'd been home on time every night. She'd done the dishes she'd let pile up, and I hadn't needed to go any farther than a stern warning. Overall, I was hopeful that my lesson had done its work, and that nothing else would be warranted.

That didn't help the fact that I was rock hard nearly all the time thinking about her. For the first time in my life I'd had to go into the bathroom at work and jerk off during the day, just to keep my sanity. By the end of the week I didn't know how I would make it through a weekend in the same house as Lauren without...well, I just didn't know what would happen. Luckily, I had a day of golf planned, and I made a dinner date with Elizabeth, another attorney at my firm. We'd been out several times, and had slept together once. She was beautiful and smart, but cold, as was the sex. She touched my cock like she was handling a crystal champagne flute, and when she sucked it the look on her face told me she didn't particularly enjoy the vintage. But—and I know this is equally cold—I was hoping that fucking someone else would knock Lauren out of my head. I was anticipating riding Elizabeth's bony ass more than I'd ever imagined I would; I needed her that night. But as I was sitting in the bar at the 19th Hole drinking a beer, rehashing every stroke with my buddies, she'd called to cancel: some long, convoluted story about her ex, her son, the car, etc., etc., etc. With a frustrated groan and some barely civil muttered regrets, I ordered another beer, and then headed home, hours ahead of schedule.

I was still cursing my luck with Elizabeth when I pulled up to the house and saw Lauren's car—a cherry-red convertible her mom had given her for her sweet 16—in the driveway. Groaning again, I pulled in beside her, but not before I'd noticed another car parked a few yards down the street. It was fairly nondescript, a black Honda Accord, the kind of car I thought Lauren should have had, actually. But this particular car I recognized right away. It belonged to Chad Noyce, Lauren's pretty-boy boyfriend. Chad didn't seem like a bad kid, per se. He was more polite than most of her snot-nosed friends, though I sometimes suspected it was an Eddie Haskell kind of politeness. And he was some kind of talented jock, apparently. Still, I'd laid down the law time and again about having boys in the house when I wasn't home, and time and again Lauren had flouted my warnings. This time, I'd have to follow through. The wooden hairbrush flashed in my mind as I unfolded myself from the car and strode to the front door, a mix of anger, resignation, and, yes, undeniable arousal bubbling inside me.

I tried to open and close the front door quietly, but the heavy-duty lock I'd installed after Beth left snapped into place with an efficient metallic click—a good thing, perhaps, if someone's breaking into your house, but not when you're trying to sneak in undetected yourself. I could hear rustling sounds and quick movement upstairs, so I knew they'd heard me come in. I dropped my keys on the hall table and started up the stairs two at a time. I needed to catch Chad in the house; the last thing I wanted was for Lauren to try to weasel out of this somehow. Sure enough, by the time I reached the top of the stairs I could just see Lauren's door closing, and the young lady in question was standing right in front of me, wearing, I was flabbergasted to see, one of my dress shirts...and nothing else. What's more, the door to my bedroom was partially open behind her. She'd clearly come from my room.

I just stood there staring at her. The oversized shirt hung off her slim frame, her long hair was disheveled, but still, she looked so, well, luscious. Her breasts were heaving under the smooth striped cotton and I could see her hard nipples creating little tents. I wanted to scoop her into my arms and carry her back into the bedroom. But after the arresting shock of her beauty subsided, the full implications of the situation dawned on me: Lauren had just finished fucking Chad, not just in my house, against my rules, but IN MY BED. The warmth that had suffused my body on seeing her turned to cold resolve. I knew exactly what I had to do, and it wasn't going to be enjoyable for anyone. Well, maybe for me...and, come to think of it, maybe for Lauren.

I clamped my hand around Lauren's upper arm, cutting her off as she started to say "Jim—" I didn't think I could control myself if she started feeding me a stream of lies, so I just pulled her next door into her own room...where I quickly found Chad, hiding in the closet. Would you believe he smirked when I opened the door? I could tell he thought the situation was funny, a great story to tell the guys later. "Yeah, I was banging Lauren and her dad totally caught us!" I could hear his snide tones now. Well, we'd see about that.

The smirk faded from Chad's lips pretty quickly once he saw from my face that I saw this as anything but a laughing matter. And, like Lauren, he started to trip over himself trying to get out of the situation. I held up my hand to stop him.

"Don't bother, Chad. I know this wasn't your idea."

Chad and Lauren, whom I was still gripping tightly by the arm, both looked at me in surprise. I shook my head. " I know very well that this was all Lauren's doing, Chad." I addressed Chad, but I looked down at Lauren as I spoke. "I know just what kind of a slut my daughter is, Chad. And so it's not at all surprising to me to come home and find her fucking someone in my bed." Lauren was staring at me, her mouth half-open. "But what I don't know is what she expected to happen if she got caught." I turned to look at Chad, whose mouth was hanging open as well.

"Do you know? Did she share that with you?" Of course, there was no response from the guilty pair.

"No?" I answered my own question. "Well, I'm sure she didn't expect this."

I gestured toward Lauren's desk chair. "Chad, I want you to sit down and watch how we deal with bad behavior in this house."

"What?!" Lauren's pretty features were contorted in panic. It had finally dawned on her just what was about to happen. "Jim, no!"

"Yes, Lauren," I answered quietly.

Chad looked a bit confused. I turned to him again. "Lauren's going to be punished now, Chad. You can stay and watch, and we'll forget this ever happened, or you can go...and your parents and your coach and I will have some very interesting conversations about your various after-school activities." Chad's eyes popped open; he always had the slight aroma of weed on his clothes, and I knew he'd be kicked off the football team if his coach knew...the high-school had a zero-tolerance policy on drugs. And since Chad was hoping for a scholarship (I'd heard Lauren talking about it once), I knew where his—and his parents'—priorities lay. As expected, Chad sat down in the chair, his eyes glued to mine.

"Good," I smiled. I released Lauren's arm. "Wait here." I turned and left the room, closing the door behind me. I paused for a minute, listening to see if they said anything, but all I heard was absolute, stunned silence. Quickly, I opened the door to my bedroom, surveyed the rumpled, cumstained bedclothes, and felt anger burn in my chest as I retrieved Beth's wooden hairbrush from the top drawer of my dresser, where I'd stowed it the week before. The handle felt smooth and comfortable in my hand, and I could feel my cock stir as I held it.

Back in Lauren's room, the couple were just as I had left them. Chad sat slumped into the small white desk chair; Lauren was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, her eyes now bright with tears, but her jaw set firmly. I sat on the edge of the bed and took my time rolling up my sleeves, transferring the brush from one thigh to the other as I did. Chad's eyes were now riveted to the brush, I noticed, and Lauren was staring at her feet. When I was ready, and not a second sooner, I looked at her. "Come here." I wasn't sure what to expect, whether she'd fight like she had the first time, or come quietly to get it over with more quickly. She chose the latter approach. She was a smart girl, after all.

Lauren closed her eyes as she slowly positioned herself over my lap, keeping her legs tight together this time, no doubt to prevent Chad from having a clear view of her cunt as I spanked her. I could feel her soft breasts against the outside of my right thigh, and it was nearly more than I could manage to keep from caressing her smooth skin as I pulled my shirt up over her bare ass. I inhaled deeply. I could smell the sex all over her: It was a heady mix of cum--hers and Chad's--and sweat, and I dearly wanted to lick it off her skin. I was still imagining the still-sticky cum dripping out of her pussy as I raised the brush over her bottom and began to lavish her firm cheeks with hard blows.

Chad gasped the first time the flat of the brush made contact with her skin--and I'll admit the loud slapping sound surprised me as well--but Lauren didn't cry out once. She must have been biting her lip to keep herself quiet, but she took her licks like a trooper, until I finally took a break. Resting the brush on her pink skin, bristles facing up to the ceiling, I looked over at Chad. He looked uncomfortable, but not in the way I'd expected. His face was the picture of lust—skin flushed, eyes bright, lips parted—and I could could see his hard cock through his jeans.

"She's a pretty picture, isn't she, Chad?" I said, looking down at Lauren's prone form draped across my lap. "A grown up girl, still needing to be spanked like a child? When do you think she'll learn, Chad?" Lauren started to twist on my knees, but I held her down with my forearm. "What do you think it will take, twenty more strokes? Forty? Do you think that will teach her not to act like such a cheap little whore?" I raised my eyebrows as I waited for Chad's response.

He said nothing, the coward. "Well, Lauren, since Chad isn't willing to offer his guidance, perhaps you can help. How many more times do you need to feel this brush on your ass before you learn how to behave?" I picked up the brush again and drew the smooth back against her glowing flesh. "You pick the number Lauren...because if you don't, I will. And I guarantee you won't like my idea of what's necessary."

I waited, and hearing no response, raised the brush from her ass again, but before I could bring it down she answered: "Fifty."

It was merely a whisper, but it made me smile, and made my cock throb. That one word answered all the questions that had bubbled in my head all week. "That's my girl," I said. Chad moaned as I began my rhythmic assault on Lauren's needy flesh, and it wasn't more than five strokes into the fifty that I saw him unzip his fly and start stroking his cock as he watched. Not bad, I thought, as he pumped it through his fist. Nice and thick, with a fat pink head, if not exactly huge. Lauren was still squeezing her thighs together, but now I could tell it wasn't from modesty, rather from arousal; the more I burned her ass with the brush the tighter she clenched her legs, until finally around number forty-two I felt an unmistakable shudder move through her body, and I knew she had climaxed, silently, but intensely. Chad evidently knew it too, because at that exact moment he exploded, shooting ropy jets of cum all over his own stomach, his eyes squeezed as tightly shut as Lauren's thighs had been. After that I made the last few strokes light—love pats, really. And then the three of us sat in silence for a moment, exhausted from our exertions.