Page 35 of His Princess Brat
It was more a cry of pain than passion though, and I immediately paused, pulling back to assess her face. “Princess, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine, keep going.” Her voice was strained, and her face tight with both pain and arousal.
“Princess,” I warned, pressing further, because she did not look fine. “It’s not a good idea to lie to Daddy.”
She groaned, her features instantly relaxing. “I hate it when you do that. It’s not fair!”
She could say that all she wanted, but ‘hate’ was not at all what she was feeling.
Clicking my tongue against my teeth, I said, “You’re still lying to Daddy, and I’m not going to tell you again. If it’s a spanking you need before dinner instead of dessert, Daddy is more than happy to deliver.”
“No!” Grabbing the hem of my shirt, she tried to get it up over my head, making her desires known. “I’m fine, Azid, please. I’m just a little sore.”
“Daddy,” I corrected, just to see her blush.
That stopped her, but only for a moment. Shyly now, she tried again to pry me out of my shirt. “I’m fine, Daddy,” she repeated, softly and with a certain degree of snark, fed by her embarrassment.
I let that go for now, but only because of what she’d said.
“Sore? Where? From what?” Shifting into Daddy mode, my eyes narrowed as I looked her over. “Did you fall off your horse?”
“No, of course not!” There was a righteous indignation in her tone as if the mere suggestion of that was offensive to her.
“Then what happened?” I growled. “You have about two seconds to tell me before I flip you over, bare your bottom, and start spanking your cute little ass.”
I grabbed at her hips, ready to make good on my threat, but she erupted into squeals of pleading laughter. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you!” Pausing, her face flushed bright pink before she confessed, “I... I waxed.”
I frowned. “You waxed?”
“Forget it,” she said, trying to wave it off with an awkward laugh.
“I’m not forgetting anything. Start explaining.”
Groaning, Pita closed her eyes before opening her mouth as if the admission itself pained her. “I used too much.” Her voice was a sheepish squeak. “I mean like, way way too much.”
Starting to get the picture, I leaned back on the couch. Taking hold of the waistband of her sweats, I gathered the elastic of her panties and pulled both down as far as her mid-thigh, exposing her to my careful inspection.
Her pussy was an angry pink, raw in some places and bald as could be. If it had been anyone else, I might have laughed, but she was mortified enough as it was.
“Oh, Princess.” Mine was a sympathetic groan.
Pita threw one hand over her eyes and the other over her wounded pussy. Seeing that kind of reaction to her own vulnerability further awakened my need to play caretaker to my adorable and somewhat naïve African queen.
Rising from the couch, I padded toward the small kitchenette in my suite. It was about as big as a kitchenette in a Days Inn, not that anyone here would understand that comparison. It was also way fancier, and very well stocked.
I took a glass from the cupboard and opened the freezer. Using the provided scoop, I filled the cup with ice before returning to my spot on the couch.
Pita had sat up. She stared at me with curious eyes, half eyeing the ice with suspicion. “What is that for?”
“Lay back,” I told her. “Just the way you were before.”
She didn’t move, but now her face was nothing but suspicion. “What’s the ice for?”
“Lay back,” I repeated firmly, “and let Daddy take care of you.”
Grudgingly, she obeyed. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt as she stared at the ceiling.
“Spread your legs,” I commanded.
