His hand moves down lower.
Or am I just imagining this? Is his hand really squeezing... my bare cheek? Today has been the strangest day ever. Like I've been in a dream I can't wake up from. But as strange as it’s been, this has to be real. I can feel the warmth of his hand. Its soft caress, slow and intentional. The way it's touching my inner thighs. And my Sweet Spot. I keep telling myself this can't be happening, it can't be real. But all of my senses say that it is.
If this isn't a dream, that means I still have the power to get up and walk out of this room at any time. I try to reason with myself, but the voice in my head is telling me not to move or speak.
I'm trying so hard not to derive pleasure from what he's doing, but as his hand continues to move, his fingertips exploring, a warmth fills my body unlike anything I've ever felt before. I've never been touched this way, ever.
“Daddie’s still mad. But I’ll feel better after I know you’ve had a punishment you'll remember.”
I'm really not sure what he's doing, or how this has anything to do with me being punished. I keep wanting to ask him, 'What are you doing?' but the words just won't come out.
His hand moves even lower."I see that you're getting wet," his tone devilish now.
Wet? Is he talking about what I think he’s talking about? I'm trying hard not to think about what he's doing. And even harder not to feel what he's doing. Because the last thing I want is for him to think I'm enjoying this, to think that I'm getting turned on... by my own stepdad.
But I almost give myself away when I feel him slide his finger inside me. The more he moves his finger in and out, the wetter I feel myself become, and the more I tighten around him, surrendering to the warm sensation inside me.
“I
don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet. Maybe you're too old for a spanking."
That's what I said all along. Why is he just now realizing this?
"Maybe you need a bigger punishment," he says, pulling his finger away. "You want to get on my good side again. And you want to go to Ibiza, don’t you?”
“Yes, Daddie,” I say.
But what does he mean by a "bigger punishment"?
. . . . . .
Still on my knees, I watch him slide the leather strap through the notch of his belt buckle. I have never seen him undress before, so it seems the most likely thing he's about to do is use his belt. Another spanking? But to my surprise, he reaches into his khakis and pulls out...his manhood.
"If you can make Daddie cum, you can forget about not driving. Can you do that?"
Make
Daddie cum.
The words replay in my mind as he positions himself behind me, his fleshy pink head against me, teasing me slowly. With every stroke, I feel it stiffen, making it all the more apparent what he's about to do.
As he continues sliding his shaft against me, I become so wet that it slides in with ease. It takes me by surprise, and I have to catch my breath. Every time it moves in and out, I feel it engorge a little more each time.
Every thrust becomes more powerful. Deeper. Until he is so deep inside me, I can feel it twitch. He moans with pleasure, his breathing more labored.
A few more thrusts later, I feel his cock twitch even more, his body tightening and shaking all at once, his moans coming to an all-time roar. It’s as if the floodgates were held back for a century, and now they have finally opened, set free to rage out of his body in a warm cascade.
And the look on his face tells me that Daddie is definitely not angry anymore.