"Daddy, can you get me off again?"
This was the start of it. This is what set him off. "What?" he looked up from his laptop at her. "What did you say?" She straightened her pencil skirt as a sort of fidget.
"I'd like you to get me off again," she said, looking suddenly more sheepish than she had a moment earlier.
Slowly, very slowly, he closed the laptop and looked at her over his reading glasses. "You'd like me to get you off again, you insatiable slut?" Again, she fidgeted with her skirt.
"Go get a piece of paper and a marker and bring them to me." A look of puzzlement on her face, she dashed out of the room to do as she was told. She brought the paper and Sharpie to him. "Give those to me." Testy. He grabbed the paper and marker and said, "I'll write down what you need."
She stamped a heeled foot down on the cream colored carpet in disgust and he glanced up at her—for just a second—to let her know he'd registered her bratty move. She watched quietly as he wrote briefly onto the paper, capping the marker and setting it aside. He folded the paper in half. "Come here."
That was never a good order in moments like this.
She approached, and to her surprise he hiked up her skirt, revealing lacy gray panties. He jammed his fingers between her legs roughly, spreading her labia through the cloth and pushing hard against her clit. "So you want to get off?" She mewed in response. "I'll get you off." He was hurting her pussy, but she loved it so, his dry, rough skin adding its own tactile sensation. She began to undulate her hips and found herself starting to grind against his hand. She closed her eyes but then was surprised again when he stopped suddenly.
He slapped her face. She expelled air, both out of surprise and desire. He reached between her legs and slapped her pussy through the panties, slapping it again and again. He yanked her panties down and slapped it harder, forcing her legs apart. "You dirty... little... insatiable... little... slut." With each pause he smacked her wet lips for punctuation.
He took the sign and put it in her mouth. "Go stand in the corner, slut." She huffed, holding the sign in her teeth, as she stomped to the corner. "And don't you touch the walls or look around!" he growled. She stopped moving and could hear him unlock his iPhone. He was obviously setting a timer for her corner time. Ugh!
He left the room. She hated it when he left the room, leaving her to stew in her own juices, so to speak. He'd gotten her off earlier. Why couldn't she just be happy with what he gave her? Why did she always want more? More attention. More affection. More...uh...orgasms. Here she was, brooding over her big mouth, wondering how long she'd be there. UGH! I hate corner time! she wanted to scream. Why am I doing this? Why don't I just move! How do I allow myself to be put in this position and—she huffed out more air—why do I crave it?
This internal dialog went on and on until she was so frustrated with herself, the situation and him that she began to weep, hot tears streaming down her cheeks in embarrassment and frustration. She could hear him shuffle back into the room and settle down into his smoky brown leather arm chair. She heard the phone unlock again, heard a few polite clicks. He was turning off the alarm before it made a racket, or was granting her a reprieve from her total time.
"Turn around." She did as instructed, the sign still in her mouth. "Get on your hands and knees." Again, she did as she was told. "Do you know what I wrote on that sign?" She nodded her head. She'd tried to see, but he managed to block her from seeing anything more than the last word, me. "Come to me and beg."
She crawled toward him, a sign she had not read dangling from her lips, about to beg him to do something she did not know. Whatever he had written would be her fate. As she crawled on all fours she noticed that beside him on the arm chair was his long, metal paddle.
She was in for an exquisite punishment.