Page 116 of For Her Own Good

“Always.”

He kisses me again, this time more deeply, his lips moving against mine until I yield to him and he licks into my mouth, exploring me, consuming me. There’s something about being kissed this way. It assures me of his…not exactly possession, since Lowry doesn’t own me, but of being his. His responsibility, that he will carry and shelter and cherish me. It lets me unwind, inhale more deeply, let my shoulders drop because he’s going to care for me.

I can’t help but invite him closer, wrapping a leg around him, which he takes advantage of to grasp my thigh and hitch it up farther to rest nearly at his waist. Apparently it’s not good enough because he grabs my other thigh and I squeak as he hefts me up, pressing his hips between my legs, and yes. Yes. I wrap my limbs around him, wanting to be as close as possible, needing the warmth and strength of his body. I don’t think I’ll ever get my fill of him.

Gripping my ass, he carries me across the room and drops me on the bed, following so he’s still nestled between my thighs. I’m already squirming, already eager for him, but he won’t give me satisfaction yet. Not unless this is one of those nights were he forces orgasm after orgasm from my body until I’m a wrung-out and quivering mess, at which point he tells me I can give him one more and I do. I always do. That would be fine.

But tonight he runs his nose alongside mine, presses kisses to the corners of my mouth and my eyes, nuzzles at me until I’m a pliant puddle.

“How would you feel,” he murmurs while he teases my ear with lips and tongue and teeth, “about me fucking your arse?”

Oh.Oh.

“I…”

The prospect is exciting but also intimidating and I want to but I’m nervous and… All of that is precisely why he’s proposed this. It’s exactly the kind of thing I want. And if it weren’t, I have my safeword. I have but to utter “penguin” and he knows to stop. Otherwise I can cry and scream and beg to my heart’s content but it doesn’t change a thing because Daddy knows best. And isn’t that wonderful? To be given the gift of not having to ask for what I want, indeed, even protest that I don’t but getting the thing anyway. Perhaps not for everyone, but god, do I love it.

I let the wide-eyed shyness—the teeth-sinking-into-lower-lip, the looking-at-him-through-my-lashes, the squirming—take over.

“I don’t know, Daddy. I’m nervous. Will it…will it hurt?”

“Oh, sweet girl. It might hurt a little, but if it hurts too much we’ll stop. You know I’d never hurt my little girl on purpose. And besides, we’ve been getting you ready for this, yes?”

I nod, recalling all the nights after Ava’s gone to sleep when he’s worked his fingers inside me, or pressed a plug deep and made me keep it in until after he’s spanked and fucked me thoroughly. Or sometimes plugged me before we go out so I spend the evening feeling full and empty at the same time, needing and wanting him, and suffering through his sidelong smirks because he knows precisely what he’s done to me.

There’s something about him touching me there, patiently and carefully working his way inside my asshole that just… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s one of the fastest, most effective ways to make me feel small, vulnerable, at his mercy.

“So we’ll try because I’ve been wanting to stuff my cock inside your tight little hole for such a long time, and if it’s too much, we’ll stop. But I know you can handle it. I know you and your body so well, I know what you can take and I assure you that you can take me inside you there. And why’s that?”

“Because Daddy knows best.”

“Aye, that’s right.”

Saying the words makes me sink deeper into our game, deeper into his hold.

“First, though, I think you need to be turned over my knee. Not for punishment, just because I say so.”

He oh-so-very-rarely actually disciplines me and it’s always for something I’ve specifically asked him to hold me accountable for. Sometimes we play that he’s punishing me, but not today. Tonight he wants to spank my bottom because he wants to. Just the idea of it makes my whole body suffuse with warmth, and desire pools in my breasts and my pelvis, making me wet and needy for him. All the yes, please.

Lowry levers off me and sits at the edge of the bed, patting his lap, and I don’t hesitate to drape myself over his thick, sturdy thighs and clutch the pillow he’s offered me. He doesn’t waste any time but folds my skirt over my back, followed by my petticoat, and makes a delightful, satisfied noise when he’s bared my underwear. Pure white with lacy frills, they’re adorable and have been doing their work of making me feel small and pretty and a little naughty since I put them on.

It’s only a second before he’s running a hand over the ruffles that cover my cheeks.

“You have some very pretty panties on tonight, little girl. I like them very much. They won’t stay on for your whole spanking because I want to feel your bottom and see it turn red, but we’ll start with them on since they’re so very sweet. Just like you.”

Not that he needs me to say it as he hasn’t asked me a question, but I say it all the same because I like how the words feel coming out of my mouth, the path they wear in my brain, the message they send to my body, and how it makes me feel between my legs. “Yes, Daddy.”

He rubs and kneads at me for a while and it’s funny to feel appreciated for something I have so little control over, but I do. Admired. Makes me preen, and, pleased, rest my head on the pillow while he touches me, his caresses getting rougher until yes, he’s started to spank me. It’s different this way, with the force of his hand buffered by the ruffles. Softer and more diffuse, more about the pressure than the sting because there isn’t any. Just the thud of his slightly cupped palm and fingers meeting my butt over and over again. It’s hypnotic.

I settle into the rhythm, the familiar path he covers from the bottom of my thighs to below my hipbones. It’s like taking a bath in the most pleasantly warm water, makes me want to stretch out like a cat. Except then his fingers hook into the waistband and down the pretty panties go, settling beneath my cheeks for maximum playful humiliation.

Lowry makes one of a wide variety of Scottish grunts I’ve come to know and love. This one seems to be a mild and not-actually-displeased dissatisfaction.

“After all that and your bottom’s not only not red, it’s not even pink. Luckily, we can fix that easily enough.”

And he sets about doing just that. Not hitting me any harder, but without the layers of fabric in between, the impact is so much more significant, and I like his skin on my skin. Feeling the way his fingers trail the slightest bit before he’s raising his hand and bringing it down again, the delightfulthwackof palm hitting ass, and I could listen to that for a very, very long time.

Turns out I do because he’s being extremely thorough, working me over until I suspect I’m glowing a lovely shade of pink, no doubt with spots verging on red.

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