
                         Daddy's Little Girl


     With the lights turned down romantically low, Ron and I
embraced on the couch. I loved to feel the wiry strength of his
arms around me, and in the six months we'd been going together,
we'd spent many evenings alone exactly like this, sitting in my
apartment hugging and kissing.

     As his hand moved up toward my breasts, the nipples grew hard
with anticipation. There was no way she could have mistaken me for
anything other than willing, and I actually began to seriously
tingle between my thighs as he gently caressed my tits over my t-
shirt.

     "Hmmmmm," I moaned hotly in his ear. My encouragement drove
him to begin squeezing first one and then the other. His fingertips
traced the slightly visible areolae around one erect nipple, and I
trapped his other hand tightly between my thighs. That apparently
woke up his hand that had been motionlessly resting on my upper
leg. He began to lightly run his hand over the denim that tightly
encased my lower half, careful to stay clear of the moistening
juncture against which I had attempted to lock his innocent hand.

     Cautiously as to not be noticed, I looked down into Ron's lap.
The length of his fully aroused cock ran about four or five inches
down the front of his jeans. I smiled to myself. Despite himself,
my gentle, proper boyfriend was extremely excited from touching my
body. It took every ounce of my will to keep from grabbing his
erection. I knew that would be a mistake.

     Suddenly the silence, my moaning excepted, was broken by a
loud knock at my front door. Ron whipped his hands away from me as
if my body was liquid fire, which it nearly was. He looked in my
eyes for reassurance. "God, I love you," I thought of saying to
him, "but you've got to lighten up."  I patted his leg comfortingly
and stood up to walk the few steps to the door.

     "Who is it?" I asked.

     "Margie, let me in."

     I looked frantically at Ron and mouthed "It's Daddy". I could
see the terror light up in his eyes as he looked for an exit. I had
told him all about my father, about how I was still his "little
girl", and how he was extremely over-protective. I'm sure his life
flashed before his eyes.

     "Margie! Open this door right now, young lady!"

     "Ah, just a minute, Daddy." I looked at Ron imploringly,
silently asking him what I should do. My frightened expression only
added to his own anxiety.

     "If you don't open this door right this instant, I'll break it
down!" Sighing, I unlatched first the deadbolt and then the night
chain. I had to quickly jump out of the way as the door swung
violently open. My father rushed in looking around then stopped
abruptly as soon as he saw Ron sitting on the couch.

     "So your mother was right."

     "It's not what you think, Daddy," I began defensively as I
closed and relatched the locks.

     "No? Then you tell me what it is, Margie." He took another
step toward Ron. "That," he shouted as he pointed at Ron, "looks
like a young man to me." He looked at his wristwatch. "A young man
in your apartment after 11 pm. To me, young lady, that looks like
one thing."

     At this point I'd have hoped that Ron would have come to my
defense, assure Daddy that nothing bad had been going on, which was
basically true, but I guess it never entered his mind to stand up
to a man who was at least five inches taller and about seventy
pounds heavier than him. On the other hand, he probably remained
silent out of respect as much as fear. As I told you, Ron is very
proper.

     "Daddy," I whined, "Ron was just helping me with my science
project."

     "Don't lie to me, Margie. You're only making things worse.
Don't you think that if you were working on a project, you'd at the
very least have a book or two out here with you? Where are your
books, Margie?"

     He had me there. It was a bad cover on my part, but before I
could think of someway to dig myself out of the hole I'd begun to
die, Daddy began going into one of his tirades.

     "I told your mother this was a bad idea, having your own
apartment. She just wouldn't listen. Girls your age are just asking
for trouble when they live alone like this without proper
supervision." He paused and looked me over. Then he looked over at
Ron.

     "Well, I see only one thing to do." With those fateful words
he began to pull his thick belt off from around his waist.

     "No Daddy, please, not that. We weren't doing anything,
really," I cried as I went to him. I knew it would do no good to
beg for mercy. When Daddy was determined to do something, there was
no talking him out of it.

     As expected he ignored my appeal for leniency and instead took
me by the arm and pulled me toward the desk chair. Finally Ron
moved. He stood and began walking, to assist me or to escape
through the door, I can't be sure. "Sit down!" Daddy roared at him.
"I ought to tan your hide too, but I don't need a lawsuit right
now. But you can just sit there and be still. I want you to see
this. Maybe next time you'll think twice before you fool with my
little girl."

     Daddy sat down with his leather belt doubled in his right fist
as his left undid the buttons down the front of my jeans. I could
see Ron in the wall mirror. His eyes were riveted on us. Daddy
violently tugged my pants to my knees, and Ron's fascination was
obvious as his eyes never moved from my ass. In pulling down my
jeans, Daddy had also caused my panties to be partially removed.
Ron inadvertently swallowed hard and licked his lips. Next Daddy
yanked gown my panties, exposing my jiggling bare bottom to Ron's
blue saucers. Right before being violently pulled across Daddy's
lap, I caught Ron's eye. Clearly this scene was having a
titillating effect on Mr. Proper. He was actually looking forward
to watching my father whip my bare bottom with his belt. This
knowledge sent jolts of excitement to my cunt. Something had
excited my Ronnie!

     Crrrrack! The belt bit into my ass, and as I tossed about on
Daddy's lap, I'm sure I was giving Ron quite a look at my sexy
bottom. Crraaack! Another burning cut of the belt sent my exposed
bottom into violent convulsions, and I cried out.

     "Yeoooooooooooooow!" I screamed as the tip of the belt stung
the soft under curve of my helplessly squirm fanny. I managed to
turn my head toward Ron at this point, and I noticed that he'd
moved to the edge of the couch and was mesmerized. He was too far
away to tell, but I'm sure he had a huge erection thanks to the
punishment he saw my ass receiving. Smack!

     "Ou-oooooooo! Please Daddy, no more. I'm sorry. No more,
Daddy," I pleaded. At this point, thanks to my violently kicking
legs, my jeans, followed by my panties, flew up into the air,
landing not far from Ron. His eyes never moved. Swaaaaaaaaaaaap!

     "Oh God!" I shrieked as the last blow landed violently across
my tender thighs. I was crying relentlessly, and as the belt landed
three or four more times on either my now smarting ass or welted
thighs, my legs scissored and spread quite naturally in response to
the searing pain the leather strap was inflicting. I must admit
that as Daddy whipped me with all the force he could muster to
conclude my punishment, I came with a rapid series of violent
contractions within my sopping pussy. The whipping, combined with
the knowledge that my boyfriend was watching and seeing both my
bare bottom and the furry tunnel between my legs, was too much to
withstand.

     For a brief moment I just laid there across Daddy's lap, my
fierce sobs racking my body. I'm sure my once milky white bottom
was deeply red, and if the little stings I felt on top of the
overall burning glow, as I continued to twist about, were any
indication, I'm sure I had a few angry-looking welts that would be
with me for days to come, too.

     Daddy then lifted me to my feet. In doing so, I moved back to
within a foot or so of where Ron sat spellbound. I'm sure he
enjoyed a closer look at how Daddy had painted my young, shapely
ass.

     "Get your clothes on, young lady!" Daddy ordered as he slapped
my bottom hard with his hand. I think I heard Ron groan. The impact
of that slap must have sent the flesh of my spongy bottom into
quite a wiggle for my boyfriend's entertainment.

     The step I took to retrieve my panties from the floor stirred
hundreds of stinging bees on the surface of my sore ass. "Ahh," I
whined as bent to gather them up. Such movement pulled the
lacerated flesh of my whipped bottom taut, causing new pain to join
the old. Standing relaxed the stretched skin, inducing another
round of stings.

     As I stepped painstaking into my panties, I was totally
conscious of the sight this gave Ron of pretty bottom. I felt the
excitement that had been released between my thighs by the last
painful lash of the belt, begin to build. I slowly slid my white
rayon panties up over my burning cheeks. Their coolness soothed my
bottom.

     "Young man," my father announced to break the silence, "I
think you'd better be leaving now." My back to him, I heard him
reluctantly stand and head for the door.

     "See ya in school," I promised him as I began putting my jeans
back on. He only nodded as he unlatched the door and made his way
out.

     I think he was embarrassed. The erection that threatened the
front of his jeans was unmistakable and impossible to hide.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

     It isn't like I didn't give this thing a LOT of thought before
taking the first step. I did. While it is true that it was largely
by coincidence that I took it . . . the first step, that is, I'd
wanted to do SOMETHING for a long time. I just didn't know WHAT I
could do about it, that's all.

     When I got my account on our university mainframe, it opened
up a whole world to me . . . some I wasn't particularly crazy about
knowing, but some of what I discovered was great.

     Quite accidentally I stumbled onto rec.arts.erotica, and when
I did, nothing I read for several months did much for me. There
were a lot of fantasies about making love on the beach or with
aliens with two penises . . . nothing I could particularly fire me
up.

     Then one day I read "A Painful Lesson". Not only did I find
myself getting excited reading it . . . I confess, I laid on my bed
that night masturbating as I imagined myself as Judy . . .  but it
gave definition to a yearning I'd felt for a long time but could
never quite get a handle on.

     I wouldn't consider myself a particularly experienced 20 year
old college student, but I've had my share of boyfriends. I'm no
virgin, but even when I was in a long-term relationship with a guy,
I always felt something missing. The sex was good but never great.
Like many of my women friends, I'd often felt disappointed after my
boyfriend had climaxed and had either left or fallen asleep. I
longed for the climax that only fictitious women seemed capable.

     Judy, the heroine of "A Painful Lesson" finds herself over the
knee of her psychology professor. He is an older man, a father-
figure no doubt, and at first she is quite surprised to find
herself in such a position. Her violent protests seem to prod him
on to strike her across the seat of her tight jeans with increasing
severity. The more she squirms, the harder he spanks her,
eventually removing his loafer and slapping her jumping butt
cruelly until she's a sobbing mess, tossing about on his lap
uncontrollably. Clearly the professor was aroused by the manner in
which Judy's butt writhes wildly.

     As I finished the short tale of scholarly punishment, I
discovered that I was wet. I also distinctly remember a sense of
disappointment when the story ended with the spanked co-ed meekly
rubbing her sore bottom as the professor lectured her. I wanted
more. And as I laid on my bed that night, I treated myself to more.
I closed my eyes and imagined details that I'd wished had been
included. As I became Judy, the professor had my jeans and panties
down just enough to expose my full bottom, and I imagined the
burning pain as he whipped my butt and thighs with a paddle like
the teachers back in elementary school had. My fingers manipulated
my clitoris as I imagined each hard blow cracking against my
helpless, bare flesh. I quickly came.

     Even though I felt a bit cheated by the tameness of the story,
I did appreciate it enough to make note of the author. Imagine my
surprise when I discovered that he was right at my campus! RJ Gray.
I tried to imagine what he was like. Was he actually a psychology
prof here? I tried to find his name in the faculty directory but it
wasn't listed. I'd often wondered just how much of the
rec.arts.erotica stories were pure fantasy and how much of them
were biographical. However, I knew enough about fantasy to know
that the author could just as easily be some pimply-faced computer
nerd who'd never even seen a woman's bare bottom let alone spanked
one as be an powerful older man.

          **********************************************
          *                                            *
          *Great story. It really moved me, if you know*
          *what I mean. <smile> Hope to see more.      *
          *                                            *
          **********************************************

     I couldn't resist the temptation. I just had to write to him,
but I was careful not to say too much. I'm not even sure WHY I
wrote him, what I expected to accomplish. It was just too much to
pass up . . . a story that awakened something that had always been
there lurking, so to speak, within me. And for him to be right
here!!! It was eerie.

     I downloaded "A Painful Lesson" and printed it off. I even
tried my hand at rewriting it to better fit my idea of what I
wanted to happen. I discovered that it's not as easy as it looks!

     For several days it was still very much on my mind. Well, not
the story so much as the feeling it had pushed to the forefront of
my mind. I tried to figure out why it aroused me so much. I was
amazed at myself. Naturally I'd heard of S&M, but to me that was
whips and chains and black leather. To be honest, I thought that
anyone who wanted to be whipped and stuff had to be pretty bent.
But I had to ask myself if this building desire to be spanked,
spanked hard by an older man, wasn't also perverted.

     Naturally I looked back to my childhood for some answers. I
had a great relationship with my father. He never spanked me. Well,
once when I was six or seven he slapped my butt once or twice for
mouthing off to my mother, but neither of my parents had taken me
over their knee and spanked me in the fashion I now craved.

     I do remember kids being paddled in school. One kid in
particular, Joey Wilkins, got it good in the eighth grade. I
remember it because not only was it done in front of the class, but
at the time I had a crush on Joey. I don't remember being sexually
stimulated by the event. All I remember is feeling sorry for Joey
for both the pain of the paddling and the embarrassment of having
it done in front of the class. I hated Mr. Quinn the rest of my
time at Jackson for doing that to Joey.

     There was no obvious reason for my desiring to be spanked over
the knee by an older man. But the excitement I experienced just
thinking about it happening was too real to ignore. At least once
a week I laid in my bed masturbating and fantasizing about having
my bottom exposed for a spanking, always at the hand of a father-
figure.

     I even found a few paperbacks at the campus bookstore that
dealt with erotic spankings. It was embarrassing to buy them but
not enough to keep from doing it. The stories filled my mind with
bare, reddened bottoms. In each and every case the spanked or
whipped girl, or in some cases woman, became sexual aroused.
Naturally her tormentor also grew excited by the wiggling of her
bottom as he punished it, and in most cases, they ended up moving
into other areas of sexual activity. Some of the stories had women
spanking girls or other women, and while it was titillating to some
degree, not nearly as much so as when a man was the disciplinarian.


          **********************************************
          *                                            *
          *Glad you liked it. And yes, I think I know  *
          *what you mean when you say the story "moved"*
          *you. <wink>                                 *
          *                                            *
          *There's more where that came from.          *
          *                                            *
          *Thanks again for your encouragement.        *
          *                                            *
          *Papa                                        *
          **********************************************

     You wouldn't believe how excited I became just hearing back
from the mysterious author, RJ Gray. "There's more where that came
from." I mulled that line over in my mind. Of course it sounded as
if he intended to post even more stories, perhaps he intended a
whole series of "Professor Brine and Judy" stories. But beyond the
obvious interpretation lurked the subliminal suggestion of
something more. Then there was his signature, "Papa". The symbolism
of that would have been obvious to even a child; it was almost as
if he could read my mind.

     As my interest (I'm tempted to characterize it as an
obsession!) grew, I found myself less and less satisfied with just
reading and fantasizing. I felt more and more like a drug addict
needing a stronger fix to get them through the day. For a fleeting
moment I thought of trying to get my boyfriend to spank me, but I
quickly dismissed it. First, I could never actually come out and
ask him. Not only would I be too embarrassed, but I suspected that
suggesting such a thing would quickly scare him away. Spanking
isn't something openly discussed in our circles. I didn't want to
lose him over this. I might have considered manipulating him into
spanking me out of real anger, you know, letting him think it was
HIS idea, but I knew it would never happen. He was just to kind and
loving. Damn!

     One day I went down to the local toy store and bought one of
those paddle ball things. You know, the little red ball stapled to
a long rubber band which is stapled to a paddle. That night I
experimented in front of my living room mirror. I know this sounds
a little sick, but a junkie will go to just about any length to get
her "fix"! Having removed the ball and staples, I lowered my jeans
and panties and tentatively smacked my rearend with the paddle. I
began lightly at first, watching my shapely bottom jiggle after
each swat. I felt compelled to hit myself increasingly harder with
the paddle, succeeding in giving myself a small amount of stinging
pain, but nothing like what I thirsted for. It was too awkward for
one thing, trying to spank myself on the fleshiest part of my
bottom while at the same time trying to watch the effect in the
mirror. After a half dozen blows or so, I gave up. My ass did
tingle a little, and the sight of it's glowing redness did turn me
on a little, but it just wasn't the same. I realized that the
physical sensation of having my bottom paddled was only a small
part of what provoked me to orgasm. I needed the feeling of being
under the authority of a strict man.

     In addition to all of this, deep down I knew being spanked by
my boyfriend wouldn't give me the pleasure I craved. I had read
some stories about lovers involved in bottom warmings, but the
stories that really made me wet weren't overtly about sex play. My
hardest orgasms and strongest memories surrounded tales of real
punishment inflicted on the unwilling bottoms of "naughty" girls at
the hands of a father, teacher, neighbor or preacher. While I was
completely aware that each of these stories was written, in
reality, for the sexual stimulation of the reader (probably the
author as well), the idea that the victim WAS a victim, rather than
a willing participant in sex play, added to the excitement.


          ***********************************************
          *                                             *
          *Papa,                                        *
          *What do you mean "more where that came from"?*
          *                                             *
          *You aren't suggesting, are you, that you do  *
          *more than write? <smile>                     *
          *                                             *
          *Margie                                       *
          ***********************************************

     Having written and rewritten my second contact with "Papa", I
finally decided to keep it simple. I was eager to see how he would
respond. I didn't have long to wait.

          ***********************************************
          *                                             *
          *Margie,                                      *
          *                                             *
          *>You aren't suggesting, are you, that you do *
          *>more than write? <smile>                    *
          *                                             *
          *Perhaps. YOU aren't suggesting, are you, that*
          *you've been a bad girl? <wink>               *
          *                                             *
          *Papa                                         *
          ***********************************************


          ************************************************
          *                                              *
          *Papa,                                         *
          *                                              *
          *>Perhaps. YOU aren't suggesting, are you, that*
          *>you've been a bad girl? <wink>               *
          *                                              *
          *I've been a VERY bad girl, Papa! <smile> Why? *
          *                                              *
          *Margie                                        *
          ************************************************


          ************************************************
          *                                              *
          *Naughty Margie,                               *
          *                                              *
          *>I've been a VERY bad girl, Papa! <smile> Why?*
          *                                              *
          *Don't be smart with me, young lady! You know  *
          *very well why!!                               *
          *                                              *
          *You need to be properly punished before you   *
          *become too unmanageable!                      *
          *                                              *
          *Papa                                          *
          ************************************************

     Papa's last message to me made me think hard. It sounded like
he really wanted to spank me! My panties became moist thinking of
it, but it was also a scary proposition. Not just the spanking.
That was an exciting kind of scary. But I wasn't naive. He might
want to do more than just spank me. A lot of the men in those
stories ended up . . . well, fucking their victims. I wasn't into
that scene. I wanted to remain faithful to my boyfriend, and the
idea of making love to Papa seemed . . . incestuous.

     Yet I realized that there was an element of safety in knowing
who Papa was. I had his email address, after all. He had to know
that he was putting himself at risk if he tried anything funny.
Well, you know what I mean.

          ************************************************
          *                                              *
          *My stern Papa,                                *
          *                                              *
          *You are right. I have been a very bad girl and*
          *need to be corrected. <smile>                 *
          *                                              *
          *However, how do I find you? And I have no     *
          *idea what you look like.                      *
          *                                              *
          *Margie                                        *
          *                                              *
          *PS - You must know, Papa, that your little    *
          *     girl ONLY requires a hard spanking.      *
          *     Nothing more!                            *
          ************************************************


          *************************************************
          *                                               *
          *Daughter,                                      *
          *                                               *
          *You are very naughty! Your bottom deserves to  *
          *smart for even suggesting any improper behavior*
          *on my part!                                    *
          *                                               *
          *Look for a man in his forties, slightly over-  *
          *weight with a beard. I will be wearing a gray  *
          *overcoat, and I'll be holding a copy of TIME.  *
          *Oh, do this at 2pm tomorrow afternoon outside  *
          *the Arts & Letters building.                   *
          *                                               *
          *If you think, after seeing me, that Papa will  *
          *be capable of giving you what you require,     *
          *email me and we'll make arrangements.          *
          *                                               *
          *Papa                                           *
          *************************************************

     Whew! This guy sounded like a man quite capable and willing to
spank me hard! I nearly came just thinking about it . . . which I
did constantly until 2pm arrived the next day!

     Actually I sat on a bench "reading" outside the entrance of
A&L around 1:30. I'm paranoid that way. Finally I saw him. He was
just as he described. And as he walked by where I was sitting, I
noticed he was neither particularly handsome nor gruesome, which
was perfect. I didn't want to fall in love with him. I didn't want
to be repulsed by him. He didn't resemble my father in any way. He
was several inches taller and a number of pounds heavier. Actually,
if he reminded me of anyone, it was the head football coach at my
former high school. Athletic but past his prime. But most
importantly, he was very fatherly.

          *************************************************
          *                                               *
          *Papa,                                          *
          *                                               *
          *I saw you and recognized you instantly as my   *
          *strict but loving Papa.                        *
          *                                               *
          *I now know that I cannot avoid it. I have been *
          *naughty like you said in your last message.    *
          *There is no reason to delay.                   *
          *                                               *
          *When should I receive my punishment? You tell  *
          *me when and I'll arrange where.                *
          *                                               *
          *You won't be too hard on me, will you, Papa?   *
          *                                               *
          *Your devoted daughter,                         *
          *                                               *
          *Margie                                         *
          *************************************************


     I think it's pretty obvious that I was beginning to get into
my role as the bad girl getting to ready for her stern Papa. I was
a little concerned, but I was so overcome with the prospect of
being spanked like in the stories I'd read, that I was not about to
chicken out.


          *************************************************
          *                                               *
          *Dear Devoted Daughter,                         *
          *                                               *
          *I am prepared to spank you as you require at   *
          *2 pm tomorrow. I know that is short notice,    *
          *but you have been disobedient long enough.     *
          *                                               *
          *Make sure you have a paddle handy. If you do   *
          *not, you will pay for THAT transgression       *
          *severely!                                      *
          *                                               *
          *Papa                                           *
          *************************************************

     Fortunately my boyfriend would not be using his apartment. He
would be out all day with his student teaching. I wasn't about to
let Papa know where I actually lived, so I told him to meet me at
my boyfriend's place.

          *************************************************
          *                                               *
          *Papa,                                          *
          *                                               *
          *I will be awaiting my fate at 2 pm as you say. *
          *I trust that you can find 567B Maplebrook Apts.*
          *                                               *
          *Your scared daughter,                          *
          *Margie                                         *
          *************************************************


          *************************************************
          *                                               *
          *Papa,                                          *
          *                                               *
          *I will be there.                               *
          *                                               *
          *I must ask you to follow one basic rule: I am  *
          *your papa. I will be addressed as your papa.   *
          *You will be Margie, my wayward young daughter. *
          *At no time will we be anything to each other   *
          *BUT papa and daughter. Any violation of this   *
          *rule will terminate this relationship.         *
          *                                               *
          *Papa                                           *
          *************************************************


     Needless to say, as 2pm approached I was a ball of nerves. It
had been very exciting, but as the hour drew near, I admit that I
began to be frightened. I thought I understood his rule, I think it
was to keep the situation as erotic as possible by staying in our
roles. He may also have been afraid of my becoming too closely
attached to him personally . . . or he to me. I did not want to be
his lover but only his daughter, so I had no problem with the rule.

     At around 12:30 I skipped Restoration Theater and headed for
my boyfriend's apartment. I had decided to dress in my normal,
everyday attire of t-shirt and jeans. I know it sounds like a bad
joke, but just in case, I put on clean underwear . . . a fairly new
but not particularly sexy pair. I didn't know exactly what to
expect from Papa so I felt I needed to be ready for anything, but
it wasn't my purpose to turn this guy on. Anyway, I suspected no
special effort on my part was needed for that, keeping in mind that
he was the author of "A Painful Lesson".

     The last thirty minutes or so dragged on interminably. I tried
watching TV, but even my favorite soap couldn't keep my interest.
I must have peed a half dozen times.

     When a knock finally sounded at the door, I gasped and felt a
lump in my throat and a mysterious, dull ache between my legs. It
wasn't pure sexual energy at play down there; the best I can
describe it would be to say that the butterflies were flying low
that afternoon.

     As I rose from the couch, I turned off the TV that had to that
point been poor company. I looked around the room almost as if I
wanted to make sure the apartment was in order for my guest. Don't
ask me why. I suppose nerves.

     "Yes?" I asked through the door.

     "Margie? It's Papa. Open up."

     Almost immediately I felt like a wayward little girl. I
obediently opened the door. Papa stood in the hall with a stern,
impatient expression on his face. He stepped authoritatively into
the room as if he'd been there a hundred time. He looked around.

     "You alone?"

     I hesitated in answering him, not quite sure why he asked or
even if it was he, Papa, asking. My first thought was fear. His
question reminded me that I WAS alone in this apartment with a man
I'd only seen once. "Yes," I eventually respond. "Why?"

     "Just sit down, young lady. There'll be no questions from
you." With that he wandered into the bedroom. He was only gone a
few seconds before he reappeared and headed for the bathroom and
then the kitchen. At that point it donned on me that he was making
sure we WERE indeed alone. It never crossed my mind to have someone
hiding in one of the other rooms. It wasn't like I wanted witnesses
to this. I never stopped to think that he might have his own fears.
I wasn't the only one putting myself at risk.

     On his way back in from the kitchen, he opened the main closet
door. He removed his overcoat and hung it up.

     "Strangely masculine wearing apparel, Margie," he remarked, in
jest I think, but it struck me more as a comment revealing that he
understood we were not in my apartment than a genuine attempt to
lighten the moment.

     "Well, what have you to say for yourself?" he asked.

     "What do you mean?" I felt stupid. Was I suppose to be making
something up here? I squirmed uncomfortably.

     "Aren't you suppose to be in class?"

     I looked into his eyes, trying to read if he KNEW I was
suppose to be in class. Had he checked up on me? As a member of the
university faculty, he probably had sources I hadn't even thought
of. He probably knew where I DID live, including my home address.
That made me REALLY uncomfortable. But his eyes betrayed nothing.
Maybe I was worrying over nothing, afterall, I knew who he was,
too.

     "Come here!" he commanded as he pulled the straightback chair
away from the desk and positioned it more in the center of the
room.

     "Oh God," I thought, "he's going to do it. He's going to spank
me." I walked cautiously to his now seated figure and stood before
him, trembling. It was no act.

     He grabbed my hips and pulled me closer to him, but instead of
finding myself over his lap as I expected, he kept me standing in
front of him. "I am not paying your tuition so that you can attend
classes only when you feel like it. I am damn tired of your
immature behavior, Marie. I warned you last time what would happen
if I found that you were skipping your classes, didn't I?" During
this tirade, he shook me by the hips. "Didn't I?" he shouted and
shook me so violently that my teeth rattled.

     "Yes."

     "And what did I say would happen, young lady?"

     "That . . . that I'd be spanked," I replied almost as a
question.

     "And so you shall. Get me the paddle."

     As I turned toward the coffee table where I'd left the paddle,
I felt his eyes watching my bottom as I walked. I knew my jeans
clung nicely to the swells of my bottom, and I suspected he was
eager to begin swatting them. At the table I bent at the knees to
retrieve the paddle, not wanting to seem to be purposefully teasing
him with a seductive display of my ass.

     Before I could hand him the paddle, he took it from me and
pulled me across his knee. For the first time in my life, a man had
me across his lap and was about to take target practice on my firm
but untried bottom. I felt odd lying there, facing the floor as
Papa held me by the waist with his left hand, trapping my legs with
his leg. His leg pressed hard against the back of my knees, forcing
my bottom to a more elevated position.

     In no apparent hurry, he let me suffer with anticipation, my
ass jutting out in tingling expectation.

     As I helplessly waited for the first sting of the paddle, my
mind tried to imagine what it would be like. Would it hurt more
than I expected? More than I could stand? Would I . . . Crack! My
thoughts vanished immediately as all my energy centered on the
burning right cheek of my butt. I squirmed on his lap involuntarily
and cried out.

     "Be still, Margie. We've only begun. You will have plenty to
cry about before I'm through with you!" Crack! The paddle fell
violently on the crown of my left cheek, burning even more than the
right. I swung my hips to the left then right as if such movement
would cool the fire beginning to build on my bottom. Smack!

     "Yeow!", I shrieked. The paddle had found the tenderest part
of my ass where it curves up from my thighs. Swaap! He directed the
blow to the same place, catching more of my thigh the second time.
My bottom was now in perpetual motion, the hot burning pang giving
it a life of it's own, and I was no longer aware of distinct spanks
across of severely flaming bottom. They kept coming, more rapidly
and much more viciously each time. I was crying like a baby, but I
was beginning to feel my vagina swell with excitement. The spanking
hurt more and gave me greater pleasure than I had imagined. The
spanking, while irrefutably increasing in potency, seemed to reach
a plateau of pain, after which my bottom ceased to be where my
attention centered. The pain there became a steady glow of
pleasurable heat, and the paddle seemed to drive the blazing
passion through the flesh of my bottom to where it pooled between
my thighs.

     I can't be sure, but I think I would have climaxed if Papa
would have spanked me just a little longer, but he forced me to my
feet, and it was obvious that he enjoyed the sight of my tear-
streaked face.

     "Perhaps now you will think twice before you decide not to go
to class," Papa commented. "As you lay in bed tonight, the cool
sheets soothing your naughty red bottom, I hope you will think of
the dire consequences of your irresponsible actions."

     I did. As soon as Papa left, I stripped out of my jeans and
panties and checked my bottom in the mirror. There were no welts,
but the entire surface of my throbbing ass was an angry red. As I
examined by bottom with fascination, I inserted a finger into my
moist cunt and finished the job that Papa had only started. As I
frigged myself, my bottom cheeks quivered in the mirror and twinged
with stinging pain. Before long, I came violently.

     Surprisingly my bottom was back to its normal snowy white
color in a day or two, and I was able to make love with
uncharacteristic passion that weekend. My boyfriend was slightly
taken back by my lustiness, but before long he stopped questioning
and started enjoying. He seemed satisfied with my explanation. I
pointed out to him that his being away student teaching days and
preparing lessons nightly had left me horny for him. There was a
certain amount of truth to what I said, but my sexual appetite had
as much to do with my thoughts of Papa and what he did to (for?) me
as with my boyfriend . . .

     Six months later I was no longer going with the same
boyfriend, but Papa had become a steady influence on my life. Over
that time he had punished my eight times, all but the last in the
same manner as the first . . .

     "Young lady, your behavior doesn't seem to be improving. It's
almost as if you WANT me to spank you." The irony of his statement
echoed in the silence of my apartment, where our last three
sessions, including this one, had taken place. Now that I knew I
could trust Papa, and now that my current boyfriend lived with his
parents, we met at my place.

     "No, Papa", I whined in earnest response to his drawing his
belt off from around his waist. It was a wide black leather one
that I knew would hurt like hell. Admittedly I had begun to grow a
little tired of the same old thing, but I wasn't at all certain
that I was ready to graduate to a whipping with a belt.

     "It's the only thing you'll understand. Now bend over the arm
of the couch," he ordered as he doubled over his belt. I
reluctantly did as he commanded, but my apprehension renewed the
original excitement I'd felt when Papa first spanked me.

     Apparently he was not happy with how my bottom was presented
to him because he picked up one of the little pillows that decorate
my couch, and placed it between my bending figure and the arm of
the couch. It effectively raised my bottom to a more spankable
angle.

     "Now young lady, I am going to give you a half-dozen hard
strokes with this belt," Papa began as I lay over the arm of the
couch, my bottom elevated and tingling as he spoke. "If at any
point I have to tell you to stay still, your jeans will immediately
be lowered to your knees and two extra strokes will be added to
your punishment. The second time . . . your naughty bottom will be
bared to receive its punishment. Any questions?" My head was
spinning from the sudden change in rules, and to be completely
honest, my legs turned liquid . . . from fear or excitement I
couldn't say.

     Swaaaap! Unexpectedly both cheeks of my ass were lit on fire.
"Answer me, young lady!" Papa ordered angrily.

     "Yes, Papa," I responded meekly.

     Crack! With a mind of it's own, my bottom swung from side to
side, trying to shake the sting away. "One!" Crack! The second cut
hit me severely along the under edge of my bottom, lifting me up
and inciting me to cry out. "Two!" Smack!

     "Yeow -oooooo!" I cried in earnest, violently twisting and
turning my bottom in what I was sure was an arousing display from
Papa's point of view. "Three!" Now my bottom was in perpetual
motion, waiting for the next painful lash of Papa's belt and not
all that confident that I could keep still. Pop!

     "Oh God, it hurts!" I cried as I experienced the most pain I'd
ever had to endure in my young life. My bottom continued to
frantically wiggle seductively at Papa, though that was not my
intention, and as I turned to implore him to show my tender ass
some mercy, the grim expression on his face convinced me that if
anything, he was likely to whip me harder. "Four!" I watched as
Papa's arm cranked up for the next slash, which was a BIG mistake
because as I saw the blur of his belt moving toward my already
burning ass, I instinctive clinched the cheeks of my sore butt
tightly together in anticipation of the excruciating pain. SmaaccK!
The searing cut across my tense bottom sent me to the next level of
torture. Without thinking I shrieked and twisted my ass away from
Papa as I brought my hands behind me in an impulsive effort to
protect my flaming flesh.

     Wordlessly Papa step toward me and grabbed me around the
waist. Holding my kicking body down against the couch, Papa used
his other hand to unbutton and unzip my jeans. I was hysterically
shouting and struggling, begging to be left alone. Papa ignored my
pleas and soon had my jeans down below the twin curves of my
lacerated bottom.

     For a moment the coolness of the room air comforted my
stinging cheeks, but Papa immediately had me back in place for my
whipping, and this time he held me tightly as he brought his belt
down hard across my now nearly unprotected bottom three times in
cruel succession. I lost all control and sobbed and cried like a
baby, but unlike a baby, I experienced a simultaneous series of
orgasms, which removed me for a time from the reality of my
severely spanked bottom.

     I was so lost in my own pleasure and pain that I don't even
recall when Papa lowered my panties for the last and most vicious
lash. I do have a vague memory of lifting my hips to make their
lowering easier for Papa, and I sense that I jutted my smarting ass
toward him, entreating him to spank me as hard as possible. Papa
acquiesced, releasing a flood of rapturous cum between my thighs.

     Papa required that I remain in position over the arm of the
couch, my fiery red bottom presented as evidence of my naughtiness
as I kissed his belt. Even after Papa left my apartment, I stayed
where I was for a few minutes, touching the wetness of my cunt.

     After that spanking, it took a bare bottom spanking with
Papa's belt to make me feel fulfilled . . . and Papa fulfilled me
about once a month. Sometimes I had to refrain from extra-
curricular activities with my boyfriends (I had three or four, one
at a time, while being disciplined by Papa.) for a few days so that
I wouldn't have to explain the welts on my ass, but it was worth
it.

     That October I became extremely frustrated sexually. I was
very pleased with Papa, but my latest boyfriend Ron was too nice,
too gentlemanly . . . I decided to do something about it and
couldn't wait until that evening . . .

     With the lights turned down romantically low, Ron and I
embraced on the couch. I loved to feel the wiry strength of his
arms around me, and in the six months we'd been going together,
we'd spent many evenings alone exactly like this, sitting in my
apartment hugging and kissing.

     As his hand moved up toward my breasts, the nipples grew hard
with anticipation. There was no way she could have mistaken me for
anything other than willing, and I actually began to seriously
tingle between my thighs as he gently caressed my tits over my t-
shirt.

     "Hmmmmm," I moaned hotly in his ear. My encouragement drove
him to begin squeezing first one and then the other. His fingertips
traced the slightly visible areolae around one erect nipple, and I
trapped his other hand tightly between my thighs. That apparently
woke up his hand that had been motionlessly resting on my upper
leg. He began to lightly run his hand over the denim that tightly
encased my lower half, careful to stay clear of the moistening
juncture against which I had attempted to lock his innocent hand.

     Cautiously as to not be noticed, I looked down into Ron's lap.
The length of his fully aroused cock ran about four or five inches
down the front of his jeans. I smiled to myself. Despite himself,
my gentle, proper boyfriend was extremely excited from touching my
body. It took every ounce of my will to keep from grabbing his
erection. I knew that would be a mistake.

     Suddenly the silence, my moaning excepted, was broken by a
loud knock at my front door. Ron whipped his hands away from me as
if my body was liquid fire, which it nearly was. He looked in my
eyes for reassurance. "God, I love you," I thought of saying to
him, "but you've got to lighten up."  I patted his leg comfortingly
and stood up to walk the few steps to the door.

     "Who is it?" I asked.

     "Margie, let me in."

     I looked frantically at Ron and mouthed "It's Daddy".

Stephanie was positively *glowing*.  It was her 16th birthday, 
and her father had thrown her a wonderful party.  He had always 
given his little girl whatever she wanted, and her birthdays were
always extra special.  She felt like a little Princess.

Stephanie's girlfriends had already left, and she was alone
now with him.  Her mother had died over a year before, so now
it was just the two of them.  Stephanie inherited her good looks 
from her mother.  Although she was only in High School, she had 
really filled out over the last year.  She had long blonde hair, 
bright green eyes, and a 38DD-22-35 figure.  

Her breasts matured at a very early age.  At first, she found it 
quite embarrassing, and carried her school books in front of her
chest.  The boys were always teasing her, and the girls assumed
she was a tramp.  Only her closest friends knew she was a virgin.

Stephanie's father, John, was sitting up on his bed.  He had his
daughter's pictures from the family album spread out.  He was 
lucky, because Stephanie loved to visit the beach.  Of course, that
meant he had a nice photo collection of his little girl in bikinis.
He was staring at a particular photo; he was obsessed.  Stephanie
had a string bikini top that barely covered her nipples, and didn't
cover *anything* else.  It was a medium-shot of her beautiful face, 
and the breasts of his dreams were exquisitely framed.

John leaned over to the night stand, and grabbed his "family-sized"
jar of Vaseline.  He carefully opened it, and scooped up a dollop
of his preferred lube.  He smoothed it all over his rock-hard cock.
He picked up his favorite picture, and started pumping his fist up
and down his thick tool.  All he could think about was french-fucking
little Stephanie's big tits.  He imagined his dick in between her
magnificent melons, and picked up his rhythm.  "Oh, Daddy, please
let me suck your lollypop!," he heard her say in his mind, as he
imagined his prick engulfed by her breasts.  He pictured her licking
the tip as it reached her face.

Steph was feeling exhausted from her busy day, and began to ascend
the stairs, up to her bedroom.  On the way up, she wondered where
her father was.  She started down the hall, thinking about the 
warm comfort of her big brass bed.  She noticed that the door to
her father's bedroom was slightly ajar, and she heard a funny noise.

John's imagination was running wild.  "Oh, Daddy, your cock is *so*
big!"  He jerked on his cock like there was no tomorrow.  "Oh, Daddy,
I *need* your cum!  *Please, Daddy, give me your hot, sticky load!
I want you to cum all over my pretty face!," he imagined Stephanie 
saying.  His eyes were closed tight, yet he could see his nasty
little girl begging for his load of ball juice.  She was pulling on
her dark, rubbery nipples, while sqeezing his thick prick between her
warm breasts.  He could feel the cross around her neck scratching 
his sperm-filled nuts, and it reminded him of her innocence.
He was looking directly into her deep green eyes, and his penis 
began to twitch, as his balls started to explode.

He heard something in the background, and opened his eyes.  Shit!,
he thought, she's coming upstairs!  He realized that he forgot to
lock the bedroom door, and leapt up.  Running towards the door with
his cock in his hand, he tried to reach it before his daughter...

As she approached her father's bedroom, to say goodnight, Stephanie 
accidentally tripped on a loose piece of carpet in the hallway.
"Shit!," she exclaimed, as she banged her head, and fell through
the doorway of her father's bedroom.  She had fallen flat on her
face, and was now on all fours, trying to orient herself.

John was in shock.  Daddy's little girl was at his feet, in his
bedroom, on all fours, in front of him!  He stood for a moment, not
knowing what to do.  He immediately removed his hand from his dick,
but he was still naked, in front of his daughter.  Before he could 
come up with a plan, his dick started doing the talking.  Just as 
Stephanie looked up, John's cock started to squirt.  Strand after
strand of thick, white cum blasted all over her face.  She felt it
landing in her hair, and completely drenching her face.  She felt 
totally disgusting and humiliated, yet strangely aroused.  Her fathers
scum was dripping down her chin, and into her deep cleavage.  She wiped
the gooey sperm from her eyes, and looked up to see her smiling father, 
who had resumed jerking his enourmous cock.

End of Chapter I


 daddy's little girl

I think I already posted this once in the wrong place. I'll try it out here...

My Daddy comes into my bedroom late at night. She puts her hand under the 
blanket and up my nightgown and pushes her finger roughly up my pussy hole and 
whispers, "Daddy wants to fuck her little girl. Shh, you're wet already, you 
need this, don't you, that's a girl, good girl, Daddy is going to fuck her 
little pussy girl with her hard cock. That's what you want, isn't it?"

I traveled 150 miles to play with this woman. We set it up for months, talked 
about it every which way. Her body pins me to the bed. I'm sleepy but aroused. 
"Yes, Daddy, please fuck me hard, please Daddy. I want your cock inside me."

I push my tongue into her ear, but she pulls away. "I'm going to give you a 
spanking in the morning , you know that don't you? In the morning at the 
breakfast table, I'm going to pull down your pants and give you a good, hard 
spanking. Might even have to use a belt on you, young lady."

"I'll be a good girl, Daddy, I promise."

"I know you will be, but you'll still get spanked anyway. Now take off your 
nightgown. Okay hands up, spread your legs, that's my slut, Daddy's little 
slut, you just want that cock, don't you? Go on, beg for it."

"Your cock is so big, Daddy, it fills me up, I want you inside me, Daddy, 
please put your cock inside my wet pussy hole, please, Daddy, I spread my legs 
for you, my hole is always ready for your hard thick cock, I want it so bad, 
it's all I ever want. I think about your cock all day, Daddy."

"You better, you cunt. I'll teach you how to take care of Daddy's cock. You'll 
be the best little cocksucker around. Can you feel the head of my cock up 
against your pussy? Come on, reach for it, show Daddy you want it, that's a 
girl."

"Fuck me, Daddy."

But she doesn't fuck me yet. She grabs my hair and pulls/drags me onto the 
floor, and I'm crawling trying to keep up with her as she crosses the room to 
the full-length mirror. I'm confronted with the mirror image and try to look 
away, but she yanks me head back and says, "You're going to suck this cock, 
girl, and you're going to suck it good or I'm going to give you a beating like 
you've never felt before and wouldn't ever want to feel again-got that?"

"Yes, Sir."

And there we are in the mirror. For a second reality intrudes. I look up at 
her eyes, hidden by the brim of her cap, and her short white-blonde hair. I've 
never seen her before and that increases my fear. On the phone it was like a 
confession to a priest, kneeling in the dark booth recounting my sins. I 
requested my own punishment in my search for forgiveness. And she doled out the 
punishment over the phone.

I wrote line after line for her-100 lines, 200 lines. I beat myself for her, 
for me, for Our Father-just another variation on a theme. But it was never 
enough. I never felt cleansed or redeemed or free. Finally she ordered me to 
come to her.

Now I'm on my knees, hands behind my back, and she's thrusting this big black 
dildo-cock into my mouth with one hand behind my head, and in her other hand 
she has the riding crop. Every time I slow down or gag she hits me hard with 
the crop. I cower and try my best to please her. My cunt is so wet I can feel 
the juice dripping down my leg. I want her to fuck me so bad. It feels like she 
could put a fist inside me, but all I can really think about is sucking her 
cock, trying to push it against her clit.

"That's a girl. Suck that cock. All my friends are watching you. You're making 
them hard, some of them are even rubbing themselves, they want to fuck this wet 
little mouth hole of yours. Show them how well you've been trained, you little 
slut. You'd suck all their cocks if I let you, wouldn't you? I'm going to let 
them cum all over you and make you lick it up. When I cum inside you they'll 
cum all over your face."

I can actually feel all these people watching me-and then she makes me tell 
them a punishment story.

"Come on little girl, that's right, spread your cheeks, we all want to see 
that tight little hole of yours. And tell us what happens when you are a bad 
little girl."

"Daddy punishes me."

"And where do you get punished?"

"On my asshole. Daddy has a special stick and I have to hold my cheeks apart 
and count the strokes. After the stick, I usually get five strokes with the 
rubber dog whip."

Sometimes as punishment Daddy sticks her finger up my ass. At first it hurts, 
and then it feels good, but right about the time it feels good Daddy pulls her 
finger out really fast. She's says it is part of my training and eventually 
she'll fuck me up the ass with the dildo. She loves to look at my asshole, 
examine it: poke, prod, and lick my tight little hole. I feel a mixture of 
pleasure and humiliation. The humiliation usually wins out, especially if her 
friends are watching. She knows it too-you can hear it in her voice. 

"What happens after your punishment?"

"I have special insertion training each night. A dildo is stuck up my pussy 
and then Daddy pushes one or two fingers into my asshole and teaches me to 
relax."

"I think it is very effective to punish girls in sensitive areas-minimum 
effort and dramatic effect. I'd say her behavior has improved considerably. Why 
don't you tell my friends where else you get your discipline?"

"On my clit."

"And?"

"On my breasts."

She puts on a latex glove and pushes three fingers up inside my cunt and pulls 
them out and slams in deep, so hard it hurts. Then I feel four fingers pushing 
up to her knuckles and I'm wet, but not that wet. "No don't fist me. I can't 
take it, it hurts."

She says, "I want to teach you this, open up for me, do it for Daddy. We're 
going to work through this together. It'll hurt, but we'll handle this pain. I 
want you to do this for me."

I could feel her skin against my back, her small tits, hard nipples, her 
leather chaps touching my legs.

"Breathe deep and slow, breathe with me, that's it, feel the pain, through it, 
don't fight it, let the pain flow through you as you breathe. Stay with me, I 
want you to do this, it's important to me."

And then she's inside of me, her whole fist. It feels so good. She starts to 
pull out her fist and I don't want to let go. I clench my muscles down, she 
grabs my hair, cuffs my ears. She slaps me across the face.

"I'll teach you."Slap.

And I start to cry, not because it hurts, but because being slapped gets to me 
more than anything else. It is so intimate;it's my face. I'm scared and caught 
up in the fantasy, and she's still fucking me hard, wild and I want to touch 
her so bad, claw her, and I start pushing against her with my body.

She leaps off me, flips me over and starts hitting me with her belt, hard. My 
back,  shoulders, ass, thighs,. I try to get away, but I can't. She holds me 
down with one hand and flogs me with the belt, and I finally give in and start 
to scream and cry and sob. There are tears mixed with snot dripping down my 
face and I stop struggling. She puts down the belt, turns me over, enters me 
gently with her fingers and brushes the hair away from my face. We're close 
now, she's inside me, rocking rhythmically she kisses me, kisses the tears 
away, lots of kisses and licks.

"Shh, that's a good girl. Daddy loves her little girl, it's ok now, it's all 
over, it's ok,baby. You're so pretty, so wonderful, smart, sweet, you're a 
honey-bear, girl child. I'm here. I'm here. I'll take care of you."

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry about, it's okay, sometimes you have to 
fight and I'll have to beat you, but that's okay, that's what you need, and 
it's what I want and you're safe, sweetheart."

"I want my Daddy."

"I'm right here little girl. I got you and I won't ever let you go. It's okay, 
go to sleep now. You want some warm milk? Everything is going to be okay."

"Yes Daddy. I love you Daddy." I curl up and sleep, secure that there will 
always be more punishments, but for now all is forgiven.


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