Skip to content My first thought in the morning is always: Will it happen today?
That’s what the game has become, after last week when my dad spanked my bare ass me until I had to bite a pillow just to keep from moaning. I’m nineteen, which by most measures is plenty old to learn a lesson, but all it’s taught me is that I want his attention and I want it rough. It’s pathetic. But I’m also pathetic. If you could see my panties right now, you’d get it.
The day is so regular it aches. Community college, the same concrete hallways, the same stained ceiling tiles, the same guys who think my shorts mean I want to talk to them. I drift through classes picturing my dad’s palm and the sting that blooms up my back, the hot ripple every time he pauses and then lands another one. The way I’ll soak the crotch of my shorts just thinking about it.
At home I’m supposed to do chores. Daddy made it very clear last time: “You’re not a little girl anymore, Riley. You can pull your weight. Or else.” I know what the “or else” is. And every time he says it I get a little dumber, a little more likely to mess up on purpose just so he’ll punish me again.
But the problem is, I can’t be obvious about it. If he knew how much I wanted it, he’d probably stop, or worse, he’d freak out and never touch me again. And I need it. I actually need it, in the same way I need to breathe or eat. It’s like all my nerves are tuned to wait for his voice saying my name.
So today I have to be clever. I stand in the steamy bathroom, towel around my waist, pretending to pluck at my eyebrows but really watching my reflection and how my tits look in this new tank top. They’re nothing special: B-cups, perky if I’m lucky, but Daddy always looks away from them, like he can’t help it. Like looking is too dangerous. It makes me feel more dangerous too, more in control. I bite my lip and check my ass. My thong is white and barely covers anything, but I left the tag on it just so Daddy would know it’s new and be annoyed.
I stretch, pop the towel, and grab my razor from the shelf. I run a thumb over the blade and wonder if there’s a way to get his attention without just skipping chores again. I want to get in trouble for something dirtier, something that makes him really mad. Something he’ll have to talk to me about, at least for a minute, before he decides talking is a waste of time.
The idea is so dumb it’s beautiful: use Dad’s razor instead of mine. He has that old-school silver one, the kind with the thick handle that feels heavy in my hand. He keeps it way out of reach, but I’ve watched him shave a hundred times. He loves it. The only thing he loves more is knowing his daughter isn’t touching it. So I touch it. I take the blade out and snap it into place, then run the whole thing down my pubic mound in a single long stroke. The hair comes off in clumps. The cold metal is sharp and smooth, and I go over every inch, careful to leave nothing. I can’t help it: the sensation is so different, so forbidden, that I have to squeeze my thighs together. I want to come but I don’t want to ruin the surprise.
When I’m done I leave the razor on the sink, a single brown curl of my own hair stuck to the blade. I leave my shorts and panties tangled on the floor so he knows exactly what I was doing, and I leave my own pink disposable razor sitting next to the sink, perfectly clean.
I sit in my room and wait. I don’t touch myself, even though it’s killing me. I want the ache to build. I want my pussy to be raw and desperate when he finally comes home and finds what I did.
*****
It’s almost six when the front door slams and Dad’s work boots thump through the kitchen. I can hear him muttering, annoyed about something. Maybe bills, maybe me. I wait for the next sound: the bathroom door, the silence as he sees what I left, the slow pacing in the hall. He also enters my bathroom and then he comes to my door.
He knocks once, then opens my door before I can answer. He’s got the razor in his hand, his eyes so sharp it’s like he’s reading my mind.
“Riley. We need to talk.”
I look up, fake-innocent, tugging my knees to my chest. “Yeah?”
“Why did you use my razor?”
I shrug, but it’s artful, practiced. “Mine was broken.”
He holds up the pink disposable, inspects it. “It’s perfectly fine.”
I bite my lip. “It gets dull really fast. I just… wanted a close shave.”
Daddy’s eyes drop. I see him register the shorts I’m wearing, how thin they are, how high they ride on my hips. I did this on purpose. I want to see if he’ll break.
He doesn’t. He closes the door gently and sits on my bed. He’s so much bigger than me. Even at my most bratty, I never feel bigger than him. He holds up the razor again.
“You’re not a little girl anymore,” he says. “You know better than this. This is mine, Riley. You don’t touch it. Ever.”
I nod, but something in my face must annoy him, because he stands and takes my wrist, so fast I don’t even have time to gasp. He yanks me up and over his lap, my hips pressed into his thigh, my face smashed against the mattress.
“I said I was sorry,” I whine, but he ignores me. He pulls down my shorts and thong in a single motion, leaving my ass bare and my shaved pussy exposed to the whole world.
The first slap is so loud I hear it echo. The sting is immediate, white-hot, but so is the wetness between my legs. My dad spanks in a rhythm: two on the left, one on the right, then a pause so I have to wait, heart in my throat, for the next.
After six I’m already crying out, but I don’t tell him to stop. I never do.
His palm is rough, and I feel the print of it rising on my skin. I grind my hips into his leg, just a little, to see if he’ll notice. He does. He pauses, and I can feel his cock through his jeans, thick and hard against my belly. I let myself rub against it, just once, just enough to see if he’ll react.
Dad’s breath catches, and when he spanks me again it’s even harder.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
I don’t answer, but I’m shaking, and I can’t hide the slick warmth running down my thigh. He holds me tighter, and for a second I think he’s going to touch me there, but instead he stands me up, turns me around, and stares me down with those furious eyes.
“You promise not to take my razor again?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He spanked me one more time, and I yelped. He lets go off me, with shorts still pooled at my ankles. My ass is blazing, every inch of it marked red. I watch him leave, watch the bulge in his jeans, and for a second I want to beg him to come back, to finish what he started. But I don’t. I drop to the floor, legs shaking, and press my palm to my pussy.
It’s so wet I can barely move my fingers. I rub myself slowly, feeling the heat of my ass and the ache of wanting more, always more. The spanking was good, but the best part was feeling his cock harden under me, knowing he was thinking about it, knowing he wanted to fuck me but wouldn’t let himself.
That’s what I want. I want Daddy to lose control.
I make myself come, one hand on my clit and the other cupping my burning ass, thinking about how tomorrow I’ll have to be even worse if I want to feel this again. I don’t only want to get spanked, but fucked hard.
*****
I don’t even bother pretending to care about school the next day. My ass is still glowing, and every step in the too-tight jeans I chose is a fresh reminder of what happened last night. I relive it a hundred times before noon: the way his voice dropped, the way his cock was hard as a brick under me, how he nearly lost it when I wriggled against him. I came twice last night, then again this morning with my hand between my thighs and his name on my tongue. It’s an addiction now. I want him to lose control for real.
So I come up with a plan. Something no man could ignore, especially not my dad, not after how he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching.
It’s so simple it almost feels like cheating: I steal his laptop. He always leaves it open on the kitchen table, never even bothers to log out. I wait until he leaves for work, then click over to private browsing and type in the filthiest search I can think of. It’s not hard, I’ve got years of practice, a saved folder on my phone, even a couple of favorite stars. But today I want something brutal, something that’ll make my daddy’s eyes go wide and his cock go hard.
I pick a spanking video, amateur, girl-next-door, the kind where she’s bent over a lap and sobbing and begging for it. The audio is loud, almost obnoxious, the sound of hand meeting flesh perfectly clear. I watch it with one hand under my waistband and the other tapping at the keyboard. He always works late on Thursdays, which means I’ve got the whole house to myself, and I use it.
I come twice before the video is even halfway done. I leave the screen open, volume up, and wipe myself off with a kitchen towel. Then I leave the laptop where I found it, as if nothing happened. I don’t even bother closing the tab.
I spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning, pretending to be a good girl so Daddy won’t suspect a thing. I even vacuum the stairs, which I never do, just to throw him off. By the time he gets home my heart is pounding in my chest and my pussy is already aching with anticipation.
He comes in through the garage, heavy footsteps echoing through the hallway. There’s a pause, then the telltale scrape of the kitchen chair as he sits down, the tap of keys as he wakes the laptop.
“Riley,” he calls. “Come here.”
I wipe my hands on my shorts and slink into the kitchen, forcing myself to act innocent. He is staring at the screen, his jaw clenched so tight the vein in his neck is bulging. He turns the laptop around so I can see exactly what’s playing: a girl not much older than me getting her ass painted red by a man twice her size, her moans getting louder with every smack.
“You want to explain this?” he says, voice low and dangerous.
I shrug, but my cheeks go hot. “I was just… curious.”
He doesn’t buy it. “Curious about what, exactly?”
“What porn is.”
“You don’t ever watch porn on my computer again! Is that understood?”
I blush and can’t wait for it. I nod. “Yes, Daddy.”
He closes the laptop, steps closer. “You’re going to get it hard now.”
I look down at my feet, pretending to be ashamed, but really I’m just trying to hide the smile that’s threatening to break out. He grabs my arm, not rough but not gentle either, and drags me over to the couch. He sits, pulls me across his lap, and yanks down my shorts and panties so my bare ass is exposed to the whole living room.
“I’m going to teach you bratty girl a little lesson.”
I nod, breathless, my pussy already leaking onto his thigh.
“Count,” he says.
The first smack is so hard I see stars.
“One,” I gasp.
He doesn’t wait. The next comes fast, then another, and I can feel the heat building in my cheeks, the burn that spreads all the way down to my toes.
“Two. Three. Four—fuck, Daddy.”
He spanks me even harder.
By ten I’m sobbing, not from pain but from need. His cock is a steel pipe under my belly, and I rub against it shamelessly, not caring if he notices.
He does. He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back so I’m looking up at him. “Why are you touching Daddy’s cock?”
“I want it,” I murmur.
“Say please.”
“Please, Daddy.”
He spanks me again so hard I flinch. “You can have it, but only if you’ll suck it.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I unbutton his jeans and fish out his hard cock. It’s steel hard with a thick vein throbbing down the middle. My mouth is salivating just by watching it.
“Suck it.”
I drop to my knees between his legs and take him in my mouth without waiting. He’s thick, the head already leaking, and the taste is sharp and salty on my tongue. I suck him deeply, cheeks hollowed, one hand working what I can’t fit while the other cups his balls. He groans, fingers tightening in my hair.
“That’s it,” he mutters, voice rough. “Use that mouth. You wanted it so bad, show me.”
I bob faster, spit running down his shaft, the wet sounds loud in the quiet house. Every time I take him to the back of my throat he thrusts up, making me gag just a little. My ass is still burning from the spanking, and the ache only makes me wetter. I moan around him, tongue sliding under the head, and he swears.
“Fuck, Riley. Look at you. On your knees for Daddy like a good little girl.” He pulls my hair harder, guiding me. “Deeper. Don’t stop until I tell you.”
I do as I’m told, eyes watering, until he finally tugs me off with a wet pop. His cock is shiny with spit, twitching. He stands, yanks me up by the arm, and bends me over the arm of the couch so my feet barely touch the floor. My shorts and panties are already gone. He kicks my legs wider and lines himself up.
The first thrust sinks all the way in. I’m soaked, but he’s big enough that it still burns in the best way. I cry out, fingers digging into the cushions. He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He pulls back and slams in again, hard enough to rock the couch.
“Take it,” he growls, one hand gripping my hip, the other coming down hard on my ass. The smack lands right over the earlier marks and I yelp, clenching around him. “This what you wanted? Acting like a brat so Daddy would fuck you?”
“Yes, fuck, yes, Daddy—”
He spanks me again, then again, never breaking rhythm. Each hit makes me squeeze tighter around his cock. The sound of skin on skin mixes with the wet slap of him driving into me. My tits bounce against the couch with every thrust. He leans over me, chest to my back, and talks right against my ear.
“You’re so fucking tight. Been thinking about this since I felt how wet you got over my knee.” Another hard smack. “You like getting spanked while I fuck you, don’t you? Say it.”
“I love it,” I gasp. “Harder, Daddy, please—”
He gives it to me. The spanking turns steady and mean, open-palm hits that keep my ass hot and throbbing while he pounds into me from behind. My clit grinds against the arm of the couch with every thrust. I’m already close, the combination of the sting and the stretch too much.
“Gonna come,” I whine. “Daddy, I’m gonna—”
He spanks me hard, and I shatter, crying out, pussy fluttering hard around him. He doesn’t slow down. He fucks me through it, spanking me twice more, then grips both hips and drives deep. His thrusts turn shorter, rougher.
“Take it,” he snarls. “Take every drop. You’re mine.”
He buries himself to the hilt and comes with a low groan, pulsing hot and thick inside me. I feel every throb, the warmth spreading as he stays deep, filling me raw. My legs shake. He stays there a moment, breathing hard against my neck, one hand still resting on my burning ass.
When he finally pulls out, his cum leaks down my thigh. I stay bent over, spent and marked, already knowing I want it again.
“Clean my cock with your mouth.”
I do, running my tongue over his softening shaft till it’s glistening clean, not caring how filthy I look.
“Good girl,” he says and puts his clothes back on. “I’ll make dinner.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
When it’s done, I curl up on the couch, my ass still burning, my pussy swollen and sore, and wonder how long I can last before I need it again.
Probably not even a day.
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