Megan had left home intending to be an independent, sexually fulfilled young woman. But her formative experiences had left her with an unbreakable association between spanking and arousal, and she found none of her partners would beat her ass the way she needed in order to cum. Realising that only one man had ever disciplined her the way she desired, she brought her bratty little ass home… to her daddy.
They picked up where they left off. Her father wouldn’t *fuck* her – she was his daughter, after all – but if she was going to act like a slut, he was prepared to treat her like one. She told him – biting her lip sexily – that she *needed* her daddy to spank her, and he told her that she looked like a whore who needed to be spanked, but that if she lived under his roof she would play by his rules and he didn’t want to hear her whining about his discipline choices once they’d started.
She kissed him on the lips, by way of answer – with tongue.
She moved back into her old bedroom, which had always looked a little childish, but now its pink bedsheets, glittery wallpaper and proliferation of stuffed toys made her feel like she was about five years old. It made her blush with humiliation sometimes, but it also helped immensely to make her feel like her daddy’s little princess, which make the spankings *so* much hotter.
There were four classes of spanking she would receive, her father explained. The first was the “nightly”. Every night before bed, he would come into her bedroom, pull her over his lap, pull down the soft-pink flannel pyjama pants he insisted she wear, and spank her bare ass. Thirty strikes, no more, no less, none of them overly hard – just enough to bring up a warm feeling in her butt cheeks, and an answering warm feeling in her pussy. Then he’d kiss her on the forehead and tuck her into bed. She had never felt as loved in her life as she felt from this ritual.
The second class were disciplinary spankings. This happened whenever Megan did something wrong – be it breaking a glass, waking up too late, staying up past curfew, or using a curse word. For these, her father would grab her roughly by the hair and drag her into the lounge room. He would pull off her lower clothes entirely, completely baring her cunt and ass. He would spread her pussy lips and see if she was wet. If she was dry, she would get forty strikes, every fifth one extra hard .
If she was wet – and she usually was – he would get the special pink vibrator from the draw that he kept it in by his big leather armchair, push it into her pussy, activate it, and then turn her over his knee and spank her till she orgasmed. *Then* he would give her another twenty, this time with a hard wooden paddle.
“Discipline is discipline,” he told her. “You can’t learn a lesson while you’re being a slut So if your pussy is wet, first we need to spank you through that wetness, and *then* give you the real pain.”
“Thank you, daddy,” she said, gazing at him adoringly, delighted that he understood what she really needed.
The third class of spankings were “slut spankings”, for when she was being a little slut. These might happen if she wandered around the house nude, or stroked her daddy’s cock while she was hugging him, or if he caught her masturbating or browsing porn – and she was very careful to *always* let him catch her doing those things.
For a slut spanking, she would be stripped completely nude, and he would then wipe her panties across her cunt, making them wet with her cunt juices, and then stuff them in her mouth, to simultaneously gag her and let her taste what a whore she was. Sometimes he would put some special leather cuffs he had bought on her wrists, and a collar on her neck, and link them together so she couldn’t move her hands away from her throat. For these ones, she would get no vibrator.
Then he would spank her – slowly, rhythmically, with force but not overwhelmingly so. He would count the blows, up to 20, and at the count of 20 he would stop and massage her buttocks, then put his fingers into her pussy and fingerfuck her for 40 seconds or so, before withdrawing his fingers, wiping them clean on her face, and starting another 20 hits.
It would continue until he was tired of it. The rhythm and pain would lull her into a space where her brain switched off, and all she knew was the rhythm, and the feelings in her ass and in her cunt. She would mewl and moan and twitch her ass, wanting to beg to be allowed to cum but unable to form words. Her father’s fingers were never inside her long enough to find her orgasm from vaginal stimulation. If she was lucky, she would eventually find she could cum just from the impact on her ass.
The pain built up cumulatively over time, blow after blow, and at some point she would start crying, but it was good tears – or at least, sufficiently fucked-up tears to not be all bad – and whenever she started crying she could always feel her father’s cock under her lap, already rock hard, twitch happily at her misery.
After these sessions, she would be a mess, and her father would gather her up and cuddle her and tell that she was a slut, but she was *his* little slut, and kiss her on the face and on the neck and on the breasts, and when she was able to find words she would tell him he was the best daddy ever. Sometimes after these sessions she would sleep in his bed, completely naked, and though his cock would be hard much of the night, there was never sex of that kind.
Which is not to say she left her father unsatisfied. From time to time, he would give her the fourth spanking – the cocktease spanking. She knew her father slept with other women from time to time, but sometimes the tension of living with his slutty daughter was just too much. On these occasions he would come and find her, often while she was naked in the shower, or asleep in bed, and he would drag her by the hair to his bedroom. He would be completely nude himself, his cock ragingly erect, and there would be no tenderness in him.
She would squeak and allow herself to be dragged, because she knew what was coming. He would throw her on the bed – then stand back, giving her a clear path to the door if she chose to run.
“I have needs, Megan,” he would say . “And you are *such* a whore. But I don’t fuck my daughter. So if you stay in this room right now, you’re not my daughter until I’m done – you’re just an object. Do you understand? If you don’t understand, leave now, and we won’t speak of it again.”
“I understand,” she would say.
“And if you call me ‘daddy’ even once before I’m done, everything stops immediately, and you leave the room, no judgement.”
“I understand.” Her face was flushed, she was breathing heavily, and her nipples were hard as diamonds. Her pussy was leaving a wet spot on the bed.
And with that, he closed in on her, picked her up bodily, sat on the bed, and draped her over his lap, ass up. He arranged her so that her pussy was directly over the tip of his cock. She could feel it poking at her pussy-lips, smearing them with pre-cum. Her whole body felt like an oven, radiating heat and sexual need.
And then he started to spank her ass. Not the patient workmanship of his other spankings, but hard, violent blows. She cried out in pain as the first one landed – and then squeaked as the impact drove her groin down onto her father’s cock.
At first his dick only poked awkwardly at her pussy. On the first blow she felt her cunt lips press against it. On the second, she felt the tip press against her clitoris. But on the third brutal blow to her buttocks, her wet labia parted obligingly, and she felt her daddy’s cock slide up into her fuckhole.
On every successive impact, his cock pushed into her again. She was moaning and writhing – this was everything she ever wanted – but it was only when she started crying, too, from the pain, that she heard her father start to make his own vocal moans of lust.
Finally, he just gripped her ass, and pushed her down hard, one of his thumbs slightly penetrating her anus. His cock pushed deep inside her, and suddenly she felt it twitch, and she realised he was cumming – her daddy was cumming inside her – and that was when she orgasmed as well. She wanted to cry out and say, “Daddy, I love you,” but she remembered the rules and she kept silent, instead just focusing on the delicious feeling of her father pumping his seed into her orgasming womb.
When he was done, they lay there for a moment, until finally he pushed her off him. She fell onto the floor, kneeling nude in front of his legs. He grabbed her hair, pulled her face forward, and used her cheeks to wipe his cock clean. He held her there, in front of his cock, looking at her expectantly. Blushing, she leaned forward, lightly kissed the tip – his salty sperm tasted divine – and said, “Thank you.”
Her father smiled. “Good girl,” he said, then pushed her down on the ground like a discarded cum-rag. He stood, and walked towards the door.
“You were a useful object,” he told her. “I’m going to have a shower. When you leave this room, I expect you to be my daughter again…”
She would. She would be his daughter again. But right now she just needed to lie here, her ass purple with bruises and fiery with pain, her pussy rapturous with satisfaction, the feelings combining giving her perfect masochistic bliss. She thought of her father’s cum in her pussy, and the taste of his cock, and used her fingers to transfer some from her cunt to her mouth. Dessert, she thought, and smiled.
And with every fibre of her being, she knew she had the best daddy in the world.