Page 13 of Daddy's Little Mafia Princess
“Clara, sweetheart… do you need Daddy to spank your bottom?” he whispers.
My ass clenches against my will. I’m mortified, horrified. He can’t be serious… he just can’t.
Losing my nerve, shaking, I lower my hands, letting him take my bra and drop it on the floor. The subtle scrape of the retreating cloth teases my breasts so exquisitely, I lock my mouth to keep from gasping, willing myself not to feel, but I’ve never been good at pretending. I can’t ignore Viktor any more than I could ignore the unbearable throb of my neglected clit.
“There’s Daddy’s good little princess.”
He’s laughing at me. I can hear it in his voice as he circles to stand in front of me, his handsome lips locked in a smug smirk that dares me to disobey. Every nerve I have is singing andsparkling as he slips his fingers into the elastic of one leg hole. The back of his hand brushes my pubis as he gathers the crotch of my panties in his hand, pulling it taut. I swallow another gasp, but the pressure against my clit is anything but unpleasant.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sign? Are you sure you want to be a naughty girl for Daddy?”
As he slips the knife in his other hand between the bunch of my panties and my skin, I can’t lie, not even to myself. The cold of the blade makes my body sing. I’m so ashamed.
“No.”
He cuts through the crotch of my underwear so abruptly, I don’t know how he keeps from slicing into me. Before I can do more than yelp, he’s cut through the waist elastic as well before tossing my ruined panties to the floor.
“Are you crazy?” I cry, giving in at last to every belatedly modest instinct begging me to cover myself.
“Hands at your sides,” he drawls.
“You could have cut me!” I accuse, ignoring his request as I hug my breasts and cup my pussy, hiding as much as I can from his view.
“Did I?”
I honestly can’t tell. My skin is alive with the lingering caress of his cool knife gliding across my mons and the echo of his yank as he whips my panties away. My legs shake, but the thundering of my exhilarated heart is all I feel—the thumping, throbbing of my pulse in every erogenous zone. It’s everywhere—my neck, my belly, my sex. I’ve never been so aroused, not even by my own hand.
“You are quickly backing me into a corner, and I’ll have no choice but to spank you,” he warns. “Is that really what you want?”
It’s too much. Lunging at him, I shove him back and run for the bed. Grabbing the blanket, I have it half off before his strongright arm hooks me from behind. He lifts me off my feet and ignoring my shouts and struggles, swings me around. I lose my grip on the blanket, but that isn’t half as alarming as suddenly finding myself tossed over his lap as fast as he can sit down.
This is ridiculous.
It’s surreal.
He can’t possibly want to do this to me.
But he is. He’s big, so much bigger than me, and he’s strong. I buck and twist, fighting his hold with everything I have, but I’m only exhausting myself and ensuring he has plenty of reasons to tighten his hold.
He pins my legs between his.
I rear up, scratching for his eyes, but he’s just as fast as he is big and strong. No matter what I do, he counters it. He has my hands locked behind my back, my legs captured, my body clamped across his lap, and I can barely move.
“Naughty, naughty, naughty little girl.”
I’m worn down to nothing, but at those words, I wrench back into the fight. Screaming for all I’m worth, I struggle to get away… right until his hand cracks down on my bare ass.
I’ve been hit a million times. I’m a connoisseur of domestic violence, but it’s never been like this. He doesn’t stop at just one swat. Over and over, the flat of his palm meets the swell of my flesh, igniting the sting only belts leave behind. God knows, I’ve suffers it enough times to know what that feels like. I wear the marks on my back, belly, and thighs.
I’ve lived in fear of that kind of beating most of my life, but this is different. Lying pinned, with his hand meting out a brisk tattoo of hard, stinging slaps all over my ass, I discover a whole new world of torment, unlike anything I’d felt at my father’s hands.
This is punishment, yet it’s almost gentle. As much as it stings, he isn’t hurting me, and believe me, I’ve felt the difference more times than I care to recount.
“Ah!” I run out of energy to fight long before his arm does. Drooping over his lap, I lay in wide-eye, open-mouth disbelief as swat after swat builds the unbearable sting into an absolute bonfire of hurt.
Finally, his hand comes to rest on the swell of my scorched ass, caressing first one cheek, then the other.
“Is this what Daddy’s little girl wants? To be spanked on your naughty bare bottom until you’re crying and pleading for a chance to be good?”
