A low, urgent pressure slams through me at the sight of the thin strip of white cotton fabric covering that tender place between her legs, and I exhale audibly.
“What were you doing in the car with Kye?”
“N-nothing, Dad. I was just sitting there. He was the one…he was smoking up.”
“So you were just sitting there doing nothing?” I can barely keep the edge of sarcasm out of my voice.
“Yes!”
“You sure he wasn’t touching you?”
“No!” She’s indignant.
“No?” I reach for the exposed strip of panties and press two fingers right at the apex, pushing them between her thighs, and her breath hitches. “You sure he wasn’t touching you here?”
“He wasn’t.” Her voice quavers.
I push my fingers in deeper, pushing against the softness of her pussy and trying to find her clit. “Because don’t forget, I saw you sucking that boy’s cock, remember? And you told me you liked it, giving him head. And now you’re trying to tell me that you were alone in a car with him and he wasn’t trying to get into your panties?” I feel wetness spreading against the cotton fabric, but when she spreads her knees, rolling her head back against the headrest, I pull my hand away.
“Dad…”
“Bad girl.” With a sharp flick of the wrist, I slap her mound, right against her clit, and she jerks in surprise. “I don’t know what to do with you. You’re already grounded. I’m going to have to find some other way of punishing you.”
#
Hazel
#
when we get inside, Xavier takes a seat on the couch and beckons me over. I approach with trepidation, unsure of what to expect.
“I don’t want you spending any time with Kye.”
“I know.” My voice comes out sounding small. “I’m sorry, Xavier.”
“I’m sorry, who?” He lifts one eyebrow. The line of his mouth is hard.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Good.” He shifts back into the couch and pats his legs. “Bend over my knee.”
I freeze. “Dad?”
“I’m not playing games, Hazel. Let me be very clear. If you want to be a bad girl, there will be consequences.”
A shock of heat curls in my belly at Xavier’s words, at the prospect of his hands on my body. Is he really going to spank me?
I take a step closer and balance one knee on the couch as I tentatively lower my stomach down over his thick thighs. I turn my face away from him, resting a cheek on the couch, and stare at the rounded edge of the ottoman. A heavy, pulsing sensation is growing between my legs, and I have to fight the urge to move my hips or grind myself against him.
He lays one big, heavy hand on the back of my thigh and lifts my skirt with the other. Then he glides his hand up over the back of my panties and grabs my entire ass with one hand, squeezing the flesh and then rubbing it. It’s rough but pleasurable. Heat rushes to the surface of my skin.
“Hazel.” His voice is thick and gruff, and when he shifts underneath me I can feel the hard bulge in his pants. “Hazel, I don’t want any of those boys at school touching you, do you understand?”
“I understand.”
He lifts his hand off my ass, taking the warmth of it with him, and with a sudden jerk of his arm, a searing pain splits across on one ass cheek.
I yelp, twitching in his lap, as scorching heat spreads from the stung flesh.
He lets out a low, satisfied noise as he shifts against me again, deliberately grinding his hardness against my belly.
“Bad fucking girl,” he groans. “You see what you do to me? Bad girl.” His torso grips and flexes against my rib cage as he raises his hand again and delivers another ripping blow. I scream as his hand hits my flesh, and tears spring to my eyes.
“It hurts!” I protest.
“Of course it hurts.” He pinches the fabric of my panties together, wedging the fabric into the crack of my ass so that both cheeks are exposed, and then he tugs it so that it pulls against my clitoris, making me gasp. My pussy swells in response-heat spreading between my legs and making me lift my ass, wanting to feel his hand. Tingles radiate out from where his hand struck my skin, and somehow, the pain of it shakes something free in me. Giving myself over to his control loosens and relaxes me. To my surprise, I find I’m almost craving the next sharp slap of his hand.
He pulls the gathered panties harder, and rubs his palm over the exposed skin before smacking my flesh again.
“Please, Daddy,” I whimper-but it’s not a cry for him to stop. It’s a cry for him to give me what I want, some indistinct thing I can’t name. His hand on my ass again, or somewhere between my legs. I’m wound tight with desire and not exactly sure what it is that I want.