Page 18 of Daddy's Little Liar
Chapter Five
Kace laid in his bed, the dark of the room hiding the visual his fully erect cock made as it tented the blankets. He thought about little Miss Georgia lying on the couch in the living room, on her tummy. There was just no way she’d be lying in any other pose, not with a bottom as hot as the one he’d dealt her.
God, he wanted her.
Pure physics, he told himself. She was a pretty young woman, and he hadn’t had sex since he’d thrown Iris out of his life.
He’d loved his ex-wife. He’d loved her deeply in ways nobody got past overnight.
He didn’t love Georgia, but he was attracted to her. Strongly. She’d been the perfect little lapful. She’d hit every erotic button he had as he’d spanked her. She even cried pretty, burrowing into his chest for comfort afterward, completely unaware her bottom was still bare, and her pussy would be as well. Or that he had drunk his fill of both.
He’d comforted her with a hug, but in his head, he imagined how good it would feel to put her on her knees, continuing her punishment by fucking her mouth for his own pleasure without orgasm for her in the end.
Naughty little girls who told Daddy lies didn’t get orgasms after their spankings. They got their mouths, or their bottoms, soundly fucked before being sent to bed still wanting.
Except who was lying here left wanting now?
He wanted to feel the heated confines of her pussy clutching helplessly at his cock while he pounded her into the mattress. He wanted to hear teary cries of, “Daddy, not my bottom,” as he deepened her mortification by switching his focus and taking her hard from behind.
Why was he doing this to himself? Kace rolled over, but that just made his awkward erection even more uncomfortable. Throwing the blankets off, he got out of bed and went to the door, cracked it, peeked out, and listened. Not a sound from her. Good.
Slipping out, he went to the bathroom and switched on the shower, running the water cool enough to kill his passion, then got in. Unfortunately, his cock refused to take the hint, stubbornly maintaining its hardness, even after his balls shrank for safety, drawing up tight into his body. He gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering, but when he closed his eyes, instead of concentrating on something—anything—but the woman lying on his couch, all he saw was her bottom. Bouncing on his knee under the steady whack of his hand, her legs kicked as she tried so hard to be good and endure, flashing him peekaboo glimpses of her naughty puss, and oh, the forlorn way she’d held her bottom while she’d cried when it was done.
All right, fuck. He switched the water to hot and grabbed his cock, squeezing from the base.
Through his spanking, she hadn’t said a word, but in his head, she’d cried a whole slew of them. Please, Daddy, no. Please, I’ll be a good girl. Daddy, please don’t spank my bottom. Until at last, there at the end, her bottom was as red and hot as he could make it, telltale glistens of moisture seeping along the slit between her thighs, and the only thing left for her to plead and cry was, Daddy, Daddy, please, rub and make it better.
His muscles clenched, his hips aching to pump.
He’d rub and make it better, all right, but not until he was done.
He ought to be embarrassed how little stroking it took to before his cum shot out onto the shower walls. It had been a long time, but still…
Struggling to slow his breathing, he shut the water off. Dripping, he stood for a long time, basking in the physical relief, while the mental images of things that hadn’t happened twined with those that had, bringing him nothing but the sad frustration of knowing none of it would ever happen again.
Tomorrow she’d go to her interview, and from there, she’d go home.
It had been a long time since he’d been anyone’s Daddy. His chance to play the role would leave when she did in the morning. He knew it. Just as he knew he shouldn’t, yet he missed already.
Daddy’s couch was one of the most comfortable she’d ever slept on. Nowhere near as old as the rest of the house, it was the perfect blend of plush, length, and width, and thank God, it wasn’t teal.
Once dinner, her spanking, and a late-night bath, so she could soak her ankle in Epsom salts, were done, she dressed in one of Daddy’s old t-shirts. Three sizes too big for her, it hung off one shoulder and covered her down to mid-thigh. When he told her to lie down, she stretched out and fit so perfectly on the couch, neither her head nor her feet touched the opposite arms.
She must have been more tired than she knew. She closed her eyes for just a minute when he spread a blanket over the top of her and dropped right off to sleep. The kiss she thought she felt him brush across her forehead might have been real, but it might also have been a figment of her budding dreams.
Although initially easy to achieve, deep and restful sleep didn’t stay with her. Throughout the night, she kept waking up. Strange places did that to her. Each time, she startled awake in the unfamiliar surroundings with that nameless, faceless, dread-filled feeling someone was breaking into the place.
No one ever was.
Nor did she find Daddy sneaking around in the shadows, standing over her, or doing anything at all creepy to freak her out. In fact, as if he’d known she might awaken, before disappearing off to his own bed, he’d left the bathroom light on and the door cracked. Georgia didn’t wake in pitch darkness or in a panic because she couldn’t see. For the minute or two it took each time to get her bearings, that light was a beacon reminder—telling her where she was, who she was with—and that weird calm she’d felt after he’d spanked her returned. Then she would relax again.
Invariably, she took another aspirin from the bottle he’d left on the coffee table in case she woke up sore in the night. Her ankle never stopped throbbing. Once her interview was over, she would count out her pennies and stop by the nearest walk-in clinic. Or maybe not. Although no longer sure she hadn’t broken something, she was still positive she couldn’t pay for a doctor. Either way, it was a problem more easily ignored if only it would stop hurting.
Then came that magical moment when she startled awake to find it wasn’t the middle of the night anymore but the middle of the morning. Sometime after four a.m., exhaustion and all the aspirin must have kicked in. The next time she opened her eyes, the clock on the wall read 10:39, and it was broad daylight. She glimpsed blue sky and sunshine through the living room’s drawn blackout drapes. Someone was also knocking at the front door.
Georgia sat up blearily, wincing when her sore ankle dragged a scant inch across the couch cushions. Slinging an arm over the back of the couch to help keep her upright, she was still trying to figure out where the front door was when, somewhere down the short hall, daylight spilled in to light up the shadows, and a man’s voice called.
“Good morning, Miss Georgia. It’s Doc Johnson. I’ve been told you had a little fall. Is it all right to come in?”
