Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission (4 page)

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Authors: Rachel Kramer Bussel,Donna George Storey

BOOK: Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission
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Damn it. He’s caught me by surprise, and it’s making me nervous.
“Smut isn’t what I had in mind.”
“It’s just a romance novel, Daddy.” I knew the cigarettes would get me in trouble, but I’m surprised he’s harping on the book. He’s always got his nose in a book—sometimes some classic, since he’s a lit professor, but just as likely a thriller, and he knows I love a good romance as much as he loves a good save-the-world-from-the-bad-guys adventure.
Maybe the difference is that this is an
erotic
romance, and a kinky one at that?
I jump up and try to snatch the book away from him, but it’s too late. He opens it at my bookmark, and begins to read out loud in a rich voice, like he’s reading Shakespeare.
Oh, god. It’s the part where the hero gives the heroine a sexy spanking. Hearing Daddy read it is so embarrassing.
Embarrassing, yet hot.
My face burns, and I squirm from humiliation and horniness, pressing my thighs closer together as if that would protect my clit from being attacked by lust.
Instead, it gets me excited.
It’s not just what he’s reading. What’s getting to me is
him
reading it, with his deep whisky voice and the blue eyes behind the sexy-professor horn-rims, and the way he’s disapproving and disdainful and amused all at once.
A girl’s Daddy shouldn’t read her things like that, in that way. It’s just not what fathers do.
He’s not playing by the rules, not following the script.
It’s freaking me out and it’s turning me on and it’s freaking me out because it’s turning me on.
He stops reading just as the characters move on from spanking to screwing. “What do you have to say for yourself, young woman? Doesn’t that sound foolish, read aloud?” He’s not just scolding me. He’s making fun of me, too. Great.
I roll my eyes. “Daddy, it’s just a book. I like it, and besides, Tom Clancy would sound just as dumb if I did a dramatic reading.”
He takes a step forward, and then another, taking over my personal space. I’m surrounded by his cologne, the leatherywoodsy one that’s like Essence of Grown Man, and I know I ought to back away, but instead I’ve grown roots into the rug.
“You’re right about Tom Clancy,” he admits. “But if you want to read about erotic spanking, let me find you something better. I doubt this author has been spanked since she was six years old and got caught stealing cookies.”
God, what am I supposed to say to that? He’s so not playing by the rules, so not acting like a proper Daddy, and I can’t keep up. And I actually thought she’d done a pretty good job with the spanking scene, so that’s pissing me off a little.
I thought my face was burning before, but he’s thrown napalm on it. And apparently some of it got into my panties, because things are on fire down there. I finally manage to spit out, “That’s gross.”
“You’re reading that tripe and you’re talking to me about gross?”
Tripe? Who the hell actually says that anymore? I almost ask him that, but his nearness, the smell of his cologne, the throbbing between my legs, all conspire to tie my tongue.
And that gives him enough time to make his move.
One hand brings the offending trade paperback down on my butt with a surprisingly firm thud. The other grabs my ponytail, uses it to propel me forward.
He forces my mouth against his. I keep my lips firmly shut.
He keeps smacking me with the book as he kisses me.
I fight it for as long as I can—fight the seductive stinging against my ass, fight the mixture of arousal and alarm flooding me. Finally, my lips open, and I melt against him and let him plunder my mouth. He’s hard against my bare thigh, and that’s killing me. I want to rub myself against it, but that’s just not what a girl does to her Daddy.
“I think,” Daddy says, “that you need to be punished—to know what a proper spanking feels like so you’ll know when you’re reading bad porn. Don’t you agree, Cherise?”
I pretend to consider the question. My face is scarlet, I can tell, and my white cotton hipster panties are soaked through, and even though things have gotten weird, I know what answer is expected of me. “I’ve been a bad girl, Daddy. I deserve to be punished.”
I look contrite and nervous. He looks stern and annoyed, but eager at the same time.
Then we both start laughing—first him, then me, laughing and holding each other, his hard body pressed against me. His lips press against my hair, and he whispers, still chuckling, “I love you.”
We both rearrange our faces appropriately, he to the stern father, I to the nervous teenager. I wonder if it’s as hard for him as it is for me.
He sits on the sofa, pulls me roughly over his knee. “Daddy, please…” I protest. It sounds more like I’m begging for him to give me the spanking I crave.
Which is true. Very little here is what it seems.
“Daddy” is my lover, Mike, not my father. My name isn’t Cherise, either; it’s Kaitlyn. The fake name helps me separate. Otherwise I don’t think I could let myself indulge in these punishment fantasies, let alone the semi-incestuous ones. It’s a trick I learned from the ex-boyfriend who lured me into his kinky world of spanking and erotic role-play, and one I’ve taught Mike.
I’d never let myself be spanked before I learned that trick. I had too much trouble letting go of my real-life doctor self, and all its responsibilities, to indulge my spanking-and-discipline fantasies. Making it all a game, with the spanker and spankee both characters, allows me to have my fun without giving up any real power or control. Besides, I like the whole package: the role-play, the costumes, the way it lets us toy with taboos without actually violating them.
Only today it’s all going a bit oddly.
At this point I should be deep into role-playing teenage Cherise, scared because she’s in trouble and because her Daddy’s crossing lines that fathers shouldn’t cross. To make it worse for her, Cherise thinks her Dad’s a Hot Older Man, the kind she’d have fantasies about if he was someone else’s father, and wrong as it is, she’s getting turned on. It’s a game we’ve played often before, and it always works.
But right now I’m thrown. Excited, but thrown. Mike’s deviated from the script. He was supposed to “find” and react to the cigarettes, not the novel.
Bringing the book into it is getting too close to reality for my taste. I don’t want to feel like Mike’s spanking me for something that bugs him in real life—and while it doesn’t make sense that he’d suddenly be offended by my taste in novels, I’m not sure why else he’d bring the book into it.
Of course, my brain’s not working at one hundred percent right now because the blood that’s supposed to power it has rushed to my clit. I’m easy to confuse in this state.
We’re not following the script anymore, the script that keeps my fantasies safe. But even though my head’s in a bit of an uproar, I’m still wet and still eager to have Mike—Daddy, I mean—paddle my ass.
He flips up my short plaid skirt. Runs his hand over my cotton-clad ass. I force myself to squirm away, but I’m sure he can tell I’m rubbing myself against him, not trying to escape.
“You’ve been bad, Cherise. I’m going to spank your bare bottom, like the heroine in that appalling book.” It sounds so corny that I can’t help laughing, although I try to disguise it with a groan.
I want to remind him he groans over some of the writing in some of his thrillers and still gets sucked into the story—but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll blow the mood, blow being Cherise, miss out on my spanking.
He hooks his fingers in the elastic waistband of my panties. As Cherise, I should be struggling and protesting, but instead I raise my hips and wiggle to make it easier for him to yank them down. Sometimes it’s hard to make myself fight back when I want it this badly.
Then I spread my legs so he can see how wet I am.
I know Mike wants to touch, but he’s not Mike now, he’s Daddy, and Daddy just chuckles deep in his throat. “Poor little girl. That’s what happens when you read too much smut.”
He plants one hand on the back of my head to keep me in place.
The other one starts spanking.
Sometimes he starts off hard and fast, going for a sharp build to crescendo. This time, he opens soft and sensual, little teasing pats that make me want to purr, that bring the blood to my asscheeks gradually. I raise my butt, eager for more, and he gives me more, going faster and harder, building a rhythm.
Soon, my ass feels huge and hot and tender, but in a good way, like huge and hot and tender is its proper state, and I’ve been waiting for years, not knowing what I was missing, for someone to repair my sad unspanked bottom. My entire body tingles, alive and excited by the smacks on my ass, the firm, controlling hand on the back of my head. I can’t get away, I don’t want to get away, I want to lie forever over Mike’s lap as his hand smacks down on my ass and thighs.
No. Daddy’s lap. Mike doesn’t spank me.
Mike’s lap? Daddy’s lap?
Hell, I’m not sure who I am at the moment. Cherise and Kaitlyn blur together into a creature of pure sensation who just wants to enjoy this wonderful spanking.
Every time his hand smacks down, I rise up to meet it. Every time he lifts his hand again, I grind my bare mound as best I can against his corduroy-covered thigh. It’s a slow build, each slap and each grind getting me closer to orgasm without pushing me over the edge.
Close. So close.
The room’s gone. My mind is gone. There’s nothing left in this world but my throbbing ass and my straining, swollen clit, and Daddy’s hand, Daddy’s body, the smell of Daddy surrounding me, Daddy’s voice telling me what a naughty, naughty girl I am.
But when the orgasm takes me, throws me even farther from normal reality, forces a scream from my throat, what I cry out isn’t “Daddy!” but “Mike!”
He pulls me up, helps me sit on his lap. Every ridge of the corduroy is an exquisite torture to my sore butt. I wrap my arms around his neck and cuddle close, feeling small and safe and very much loved.
As I start to come down from the heights, I realize I’d called him by the “wrong” name, try to recover with “I love you, Daddy.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I think I liked it better when you called me Mike. Maybe we can save Cherise and Daddy for special occasions and just be you and me when I spank you.”
I go from warm and fuzzy to anxious in a heartbeat, not sure I like where he’s going. He notices, I think, because he kisses me so sweetly and deeply that my body turns to liquid. Then he slips his hand between my thighs and with a few flicks of his finger on my already sensitive clit, liquid becomes light and I’m flying again.
This is something that Daddy never does to Cherise. Cherise may get off on being spanked, and Daddy may say and do things that would be inappropriate for a real father, but he never does anything directly sexual. Caressing me is for Mike, not Daddy.
So is fucking me, and when he lifts me up so he can unzip his pants and take out his cock, I think that I could get used to Mike rather than Daddy doing the spanking if it ends like this.
After he pulls me down to straddle his cock, filling me like I didn’t know I ached to be filled, he starts smacking my tender ass. This time there’s no doubt at all who’s doing the spanking because his cock is deep inside me and my eyes are locked into his and he’s saying my own name. This time, when I shudder and scream, it’s with Mike.
Yum. Spanking and fucking, two great tastes that taste great together, far better than peanut butter and chocolate. It’s just… it’s just not something I’ve ever let myself do before. My ex liked to keep it separate, and it was easier, safer, that way.
He feels my body tense, asks me what’s wrong. I sort through a few variations before finding the right words. “That was great. But I don’t want you punishing me. That’s what Daddy’s for—so it’s not real and I can enjoy the spanking.”
I didn’t think he could pull me any closer, but he manages to. “Kaitlyn, sweetheart, you know this isn’t punishment. It’s fun. Sometimes I’d rather just be me, spanking the woman I love.”
“But…the book. You were scolding me. I don’t like that.”
“Oh, shit, you weren’t supposed to take that seriously! That was part of the game.”
Then he makes a weird face. “Besides, I picked that one off the bedside table because the cover picture was sexy and…well, the next thing I knew it was three hours later.”
“Ha! Told you they were addictive!”
He goes on. He loves to talk about books. “I loved the bit you’d bookmarked because the heroine was so open about liking to be spanked—and the hero is like me, loving how much it turns her on. I wanted to read it out loud during our scene, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it and still sound like Daddy.”
I feel a weight sink off me and through the floor. Now that we’ve tried it, I’d like good clean spanky fun mixed with fucking on a more regular basis, and I think I can even admit that now.
But a bit of me is disappointed. When an ER doctor has a bad day at work, it’s
really
bad. I want to make everything better, to save everyone, to get the world back under control, and I can’t. When I get home after a day like that, shucking being a grown-up and being bratty Cherise taken in hand by Daddy is exactly what I need.

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