Page 49 of Punish Me, Daddy

“Answer me, little girl,” he demanded.

“Yes,” I hissed.

“Are you going to come with Daddy’s fingers in your needy little cunt?”

“Yes,Daddy…” I wailed.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

He pressed his fingers deeper, his palm rubbing against the plug, and that was all it took.

My knees buckled, my back arched, and then I was falling apart for him. Again.

The orgasm was incredible and overwhelming, and I swore the edges of my vision started to darken. My body trembled and shook, and the only thing holding me up was his arms wrapped around me and the counter beneath me. Bright white light stuttered before my eyes and every nerve fired on overdrive. All I could do was moan and shake and come so hard that the world tilted.

It was intense.

Erotic.

Pure fucking perfection.

When it was over, my knees were weak, and my arms felt like jelly, like they didn’t belong to me anymore. I was wrung out, skin burning, nerves buzzing, and all I wanted to do was melt to the floor or maybe curl up in his lap and let him stroke my hair, and whisper in that low, rough voice that I was his good girl after all.

But then his hand was in my hair again, fisting it at the base of my neck, and then he was dragging me upright.

I whimpered; not in protest, not really, more because I didn’t have anything left to give him. I was too exhausted to fight him, too dazed to pretend I was not his to move wherever he wanted me.

“Daddy—”

“Hush, baby girl,” he said sternly, leaving no room for argument.

My heart lurched again.

He was still in charge. Of course he was.

He led me through the living room like I was weightless, like I wasn’t bare and aching and red-assed from the spanking he gave me. I could feel the sting still lingering with every step, a reminder with every sway of my hips that I’d been thoroughly, completely punished. There was also the much larger plug still seated in my very sore little bottom hole, adding to the humiliating burn.

There was no time to focus on how sore I was because my stomach flipped when I realize where we’re headed.

The front door.

My pulse spiked.

He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t take meoutsidelike this—bare, humiliated, with his seed still drying on my face. Would he?

Shame flooded me, fast and sharp, twisting through the soft haze of arousal still lingering in my limbs. I tried to dig in my heels, but my legs were too wobbly, and he didn’t even notice.

“Daddy,” I breathed again, panicked now and trying to appeal to whatever side I could, “I’m not dressed?—”

“I know,” he answered, not slowing, not turning, not caring. “You won’t need clothes where we’re going.”

That did something awful and hot to my core, even as the shame twisted even tighter.

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. I wanted to die of humiliation with every step, certain someone was going to walk out of a neighboring unit and catch a glimpse of me like this: limp, bare, completely and utterly owned. But no one did. Of course they didn’t.

He’d planned this.

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