Anything He wants

DADDY PUNISHES ME HARD

My bindings are so restrictive, the room so confined and dark, you’d think I’d feel at least a smidge of claustrophobia, or that I’d feel the fear of being in an unknown situation with unknown consequences.

But all I can focus on is the wet spot between my thighs as I kneel close

to the ground in my stepfather’s closet. My butt sits on my feet, but I can still shift my legs. I’ve been slowly grinding my pussy, rubbing my folds between my antsy thighs for the past hour in his closet.

I mean, I notice everything around me, not just the wetness, but I have a feeling that all of it just contributes to my building arousal.

There’s the darkness, this foreboding factor that constantly reminds me of what’s to come, punctuated by the light coming from under the folding door. I can even see Daddy’s movement outside on occasion, his shadow crossing the beam, sending a shiver down my spine as I anticipate his opening the door.

There’s the smell of daddy’s cologne, an aroma of musky dominance, of daddy’s temper and controlling hand.

There’s the rope over my wrists, tying them together behind my back, wrapping snugly and comfortably. It’s like an embrace holding me still but not harming me. It’s weird to think, but it makes me feel protected and safe. There’s the fact that I’m still in my blue satin tank top and panties, having been dragged out of bed early in the morning, woken by Daddy’s fury.

I feel especially vulnerable in my clothes, my bare skin pressing against the soft carpet on the floor as I rest.

For an hour. The anticipation is killing me, driving my body to beg for release, from my punishment and all this sexual frustration building up. It’s never been like this; then again, Daddy’s never gone this far in punishing me before.

I’ve always been a headstrong girl, rebellious at every phase of my life, getting into trouble in school and recently with the police.

It’s crazy I’m old enough to smoke but not to drink! It’s kind of fucked up really. I try to keep it on the down low with my friends, but it’s hard to stop a bunch of girls from getting a little wild. I don’t get why everyone’s gotta jump down my throat about partying and living the good life. Every time my mother goes out on her lengthy ‘business’ trips, she puts my stepfather in charge, telling him he’s free to take the steps necessary to rein me in.

I think my mom is glad she gets to escape every so often, taking her business trips as if they were vacations from me. I guess that causes me to rebel all the harder, knowing I’m not wanted by her. Truth be honest, I guess I make it harder on my stepdad more than I have to.

He’s always been stern and demanding, but his punishments have been simple and swift. He started out making me do chores around the house; he put restrictions on when I could go out; he’s taken away my phone and laptop every so often. But those are just things and words, and they didn’t do much to stop me.

Then he started taking matters into his own hands, literally. When he caught me drinking for the first time after forbidding it, he pulled me by the arm, sat down on his bed, draped me over his knee, and spanked me with his hand.

Honest to God! He spanked me! Later that same day, I taunted him for being such a crude pig, hitting a girl like that, and he responded by pulling my pants down right then and there in the kitchen and bare-ass spanking me.

Full-on flesh to flesh.

Something inside me after that lit up. The moment his hand struck me, I

felt this chill in my body, this shock of joy and pain. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but being in such a submissive position made me crave his touch.

Something I never gave a shit about before that.

I itched for it like a spanking was the only thing that could scratch it. So, what do you think happens when a bratty kid wants something more than anything?

I started provoking him. First, it was like once or twice every so oftenOriginal from NôvelDrama.Org.

when mom would leave. Then it started becoming every day she was gone. But he only spanked me rarely. He still tried all the boring shit like chores and restrictions on what I was allowed to do with my time. I started provoking him harder. I wasn’t content doing shitty things: I was shitty toward him, disrespecting him whenever I could, at home or in public. His anger would boil up then, and he’d have no choice but to discipline me as soon as he could.

The spankings started in earnest. He beat my ass on several occasions, hitting me with all the anger he could muster.

And I loved every second of it: the madder he was, the better it felt. This time, though, plunked down in his closet in my underwear, my

arms tied together, forced to kneel on the soft but eventually abrasive carpet, is something new altogether.

How did I finally drive him crazy enough to do it?

Drinking and taunting.

I came home late last night plastered, having driven home drunk and out of my mind. It’s a little foggy, but an hour in the closet is clearing things up for me and quickly wiping me from my inebriated state.

I remember that he was sleeping, and I stormed into the room, waking him up. Drunk, I started taunting him, saying something along the lines of him being a lousy father, and that no self-respecting girl could ever take him

seriously. I said that just the fact that I was ballsy enough to challenge him in the middle of the night, weaving from alcohol, showed how little I feared him.

I laid into him mercilessly.

Little did he know, I was aching for his hand on my ass, my pussy drenched in all the imaginings of him I’d been conjuring as I was drinking with my friends. The only reason I didn’t pass out at my friend’s house is that was so horny I raced home to confront my stepfather. He acted just as I expected, yanking my panties down and spanking me right there.

The reason I’m in the closet? Because my plan went a little too well. After maybe a good smack or two, I started to let out satisfied moans, chanting “Yeah, daddy” as he doled out his discipline. It didn’t take him long to realize that I was getting incredibly turned on by it. He pushed me off his knees and sent me to my room.

It was the first time I’d given any reason to suspect my intentions,

having played as coy as possible. He thought I was just being an unruly bitch that needed to be punished.

But I had shown my hand in a night of drunken lust. I went to bed devastated, sure I had fucked up everything, destroying future punishments to vent my sexual desires forever.

I was surprised when Daddy returned the storm I’d brought to his room last night by storming into mine this morning. He wrapped the rope around my arms against my wishes, shoving me into the closet, demanding

I stay on my knees and think about what I’d done to deserve all this. I thought I’d ruined everything, only to find that I was about to be treated to his harshest punishment yet.

I don’t know if he intended to punish me for getting turned on by his spankings by trapping me in the closet, but it’s having the opposite effect. I thought I just wanted his hand on my ass, but all this… restriction? It’s turning me on just as much, the anticipation and nervous energy cycling through me like a lustful demon, consuming whatever decency and innocence I once thought I had.

I’m a freak on the inside, I just realized.

A freak who wants to be punished.

Daddy’s shadow passes by the light under the door, repeating his movements every few seconds. He must be pacing. He’s probably thinking about what he’s going to do to me.

How do you punish a girl who gets turned on by your punishments? I wouldn’t want to be in his predicament, that’s for sure. I can’t think of what he could do to get me to stop being such a dirty slut.

But it might just be that he isn’t interested in stopping me at all. The folding door swings open, letting a burst of bedroom light flood into my vision, blinding me. I had no idea that being in the closet like that for so long would cause my eyes to flinch in pain. I spend a few moments regaining my sight, blinking away the sharp stabs of incandescence. My stepdad waits for me to see him clearly, to see the menace in his eyes and posture. His dark stubble and hulking body are even more

intimidating from my lower position looking up at him. His arms crossed, his biceps tense and bulging, his tall frame a stretch for my neck, I feel myself shrink every so slightly.

“I had no idea I spent the last few years raising a girl like you. I’m shocked,” he says, his voice giving away a hint of anger and disappointment.