Girl's (2 page)

Stunned, Meg stammered, "Y-yes, sir."

"I'm not going to drop you," David said. "Don't worry, just do as I told you. Wrap your legs around my waist."

More than a little in awe of his strength, Meg obeyed, locking her ankles behind him. His hand on her bottom felt warm, and oh so very right. That spot where he'd struck her right cheek tingled, but even that felt good in a funny sort of way.

"You're too little a girl to be walking some places by yourself," he said as he carried her to the porch and up the six steps. When he reached the top, he wasn't even breathing hard, and Meg melted a little in his arms. She hugged his thick shoulders, burying her face into the gap between her elbow and his neck. Old Spice. He wore Old Spice aftershave.

Opening the front door, Daddy David said, "Welcome home, baby."

And Meg dissolved into tears.

* * * * *

Meg sat on the kitchen table, her car keys in her hands, her hands resting lightly in her lap, watching as he moved around the kitchen. The rules, as he had already explained, were very simple. They would talk until she felt comfortable, regardless of whether that took hours or even days. When she was ready, all she had to do was give him her keys. From that moment on, Daddy was in charge. Period.

"I've had three little girls before you," he was saying. He took a clean cloth from a drawer, wet it with cool water and came back out of the kitchen to the partially separated dining room. "They none of them lasted very long. I wasn't right for number two. Number one wasn't right for me. Number three was killed in a car accident; that was about five years ago." He smiled faintly, though it didn't mask the minute sadness that touched his eyes. Folding the cloth in his hand, he gently washed her face. "I've talked to a few women on various Internet groups, in chatrooms, and such."

She closed her eyes as the washcloth passed over them, cool and comforting. She wished she hadn't cried so hard. Now they hurt. She sniffled.

"I've met a couple of them. Either we didn't have enough in common or there was no chemistry. I don't think that's going to be a problem here, though," he said and chuckled, a low rumbling sound from deep inside his chest. "At least not on my end."

Meg could feel the hot flush of embarrassment stealing up her cheeks as she confessed, "No...um, it's not a problem for me, either."

"There goes that blush again. How charming." As he finished bathing her face, he bent to drop a chaste kiss on her lips. "It's a privilege that you would allow me to be your first daddy. I'm glad you came."

"Thank you." She melted again, a soft, warm heat that suffused her belly, rising to her cheeks, trickling down between her thighs.

"Would you like something to drink?" He offered. "This might be your last chance to have a cold beer. For a while, at least."

Catching her breath, Meg held it for a moment, then slowly shook her head. Her hold on the keys had tightened, until she could feel the bite of the teeth in her soft palm.

"Would you like the grand tour? I have a full selection of Disney movies and the cutest Little Mermaid panties you've ever seen in your life. Your room is upstairs, next to mine, of course. I remember you said lavender was your favorite color. I've done some redecorating over the last few months. I think you'll like it."

"I know I will," she said honestly, touched that he would go through such effort for her.

"Nervous? You're being awfully quiet. On Instant Messenger, you were always a little chatterbox. I was afraid I might not be able to get a word in edgewise."

Again her breath caught in her suddenly too tight throat. Softly, she confessed, "I-I don't know how to say what I want to."

His dark eyes never wavered from hers; a corner of his handsome mouth turned slightly upwards in a small but knowing smile. "Is there something you want to give me, baby?"

When he held out his hand, Meg lay her car keys into his open palm.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded shyly and held out her arms. This time when he picked her up, Meg needed no encouragement to wrap her legs around his waist.

He hugged her tightly, his hot breath brushing her ear as he murmured, "Who's the boss?"

Her answer was instant. "Daddy."

"When does Meggie get to be big again?"

"When I gets my keys back."

"Good girl." He carried her from the dining room, down the short hallway and into the downstairs bathroom. He put her down next to an old-fashioned, claw-foot bathtub. Sitting on the edge, he bent down to put the plug in the bottom and turned the faucet on, taking a moment to adjust the temperature before turning back to her. There was an excitement in his eyes that belied the gentleness with which he beckoned her. "Come here, baby."

If he thought her timid blush in the kitchen charming, she wondered what he thought of the beet red embarrassment coursing through her right now. Meg hovered at the sink, staring at him and the tub, willing her reluctant legs to obey.

"Meggie," he said again, this time firmly rather than cajoling. "Mind me, little girl."

She began to tremble and still her legs refused to move. "I-I don't wanna bath."

"Do you want a spanking instead?" he countered calmly. The skin of her bottom prickled as she saw his right hand flex once.

Her hands went behind her, and she shook her head.

"I'm not going to ask you again, Meg."

Unable to keep his steady gaze, she looked down at the floor. Very slowly, with tiny little steps, she approached him. When she drew close enough, he caught the waist of her jeans and pulled her to stand between his knees. Then he began to undress her. Meg bit her bottom lip when he lifted the hem of her shirt up over her head and tossed it aside. His warm hands ran up over her stomach, the tip of his finger tracing the ragged ridge of an old appendix scar, making her shiver. He reached around behind her, unhooked the clasps of her bra and, slowly, deliberately, slide the straps off her shoulders and down her arms.

Meg couldn't help it. As he bared her breasts, she tried to cover them again, first by replacing the slipping bra, then with her hands when he pulled that out of reach.

"Put your hands down," he told her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to step back. But he caught the waistband of her jeans again and pulled her that much closer.

"Meggie," he said softly. "Put them down. This is your second warning; there isn't going to be a third one."

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it fiercely as, with the utmost reluctance, she lowered her arms back to her sides.

His hands went to the top button of her jeans; she closed her eyes, her breath catching as he unfastened them, took hold of the zipper, and lowered that as well. She wasn't quite successful at biting back the involuntary groan as he took her pants all the way down to her ankles.

"Step," he instructed.

Holding his shoulder to keep her balance, Meg lifted first one foot and then the other while he removed her shoes, socks and pants, and tossed each item onto the growing pile of her discarded clothes. Without pause, he hooked the elastic band of her cream-colored panties and started to draw then down her hips.

It was too much; Meg slapped his hand. Catching hold of the slipping waistband, she yanked her underwear back up into place. She learned something then: when a little girl stood between her daddy's splayed knees, it took very little effort on the daddy's part to up-end her across his ready lap and that, perhaps, acting up wasn't in her bottom's best interest. It certainly hadn't saved her modesty. The minute he had her across his knee, he swept her panties down her legs and dropped them on top of the rest of her clothes.

She tried to get up again, but his left arm around her waist held her pinned in place. Slapping his hand had, she realized, staring at the white tile floor not six inches from the tip of her nose, been not one of her better ideas.

* * * * *

When David tugged her underwear down her legs, she tried to catch them again, but he pulled them easily out of reach. She kicked her legs instead, futilely struggling to right herself over his knee, despite the arm he held braced across the small of her back. Keeping her pinned in place wasn't difficult; Meg really was a tiny thing-short, but exquisitely-formed. He took an extra minute, admiring the view and looking for those extra pounds she'd repeatedly cautioned him about. So far, all he saw was a beautiful, blushing armful, with just the right amount of padding to make her round, wriggling rump a spankable, rather than bony, target.

"I don' wanna spankin!'" Meg blurted when he lay his palm flat against the closest of the two creamy mounds. He could hear the panic behind her little girl words and decided it would be too cruel to make her wait, even for a well-deserved lecture.

His broad hand caught her right bottom cheek, hard, the clap of flesh meeting bare flesh echoing sharply through the enclosed bathroom. She jumped, her entire body stiffening and he promptly struck the left side, equally hard. He didn't believe in gentleness in spanking, not when there was bad behavior to correct. So her gasp of pained surprise was as pleasing to his ears as the sight of his palm and finger prints reddening the surface of her skin.

"Owie!" Her hand snapped back, but he caught her wrist and held it easily out of his way. "No!"

"I do not tolerate misbehavior well." And he began to spank in earnest. Despite her frantic kicks and mewling cries, which escalated quickly into long, mournful wails, with single-minded dedication, he darkened her blushing bottom to match her lovely pink embarrassment of only a moment ago. He took her right to the edge of tears, until her kicks of protest had become a near wild thrashing, not so much to get free anymore, but to wiggled her bottom someplace where his iron hard hand couldn't reach it.

"No more spankin'!" She broke down then, ragged sobs distorting her words as she cried, "No more, Daddy! I be good! Please, Daddy, I won't never be bad again!"

His hand came to rest on the hot swell of her bottom, and he waited until her sobs began to ease. "Are you going to mind me now?"

She nodded, sniffling and hiccupping as she struggled to pull herself back under control. "I be good, Daddy. I promise."

"Are you ever going to slap my hand again?"

She shook her head furiously, scrubbing at her tear-streaked face with the back of her wrist.

"Why not?"

"B-because," she began to cry all over again. "Because it's bad an' dis'spectful an' I get a smackin' on my bottom again!"

He rubbed her back gently, letting her cry. By this time the water level in the tub was about right and he reached back to turn the faucet off. He checked the temperature again, then patted her thigh. "All right, Meggie. Up."

Meg pushed slowly up off his lap, whimpering as she reached back to touch her tender flanks.

"No rubbing," he told her, and she immediately clutched her hands tightly over her stomach to keep from disobeying. Instead, her shoulders shook under a fresh wave of misery. She choked on the sobs, and he reached for her sympathetically. "Come here, baby."

She all but flung herself into his arms, burying her face against the side of David's neck while he held her. He rocked her gently, enjoying the soft, warm bundle of her and the heat of her crimson bottom burning through his jeans. He wasn't sure just when her thumb found its way to her mouth, but when he drew back his head to look at her, there it was, her soft pink lips circled round it, sucking for comfort.

"I don't think we are four years old just yet," he mused, brushing back her bangs, his hand caressing her cheek. "I think my baby is younger. After her bath I think she'll need a bottle, diaper, and a nap."

Meg shook her head and, around her thumb, said, "I be a big girl. I be almost growed."

"Not today you're not." He patted her hip. "Into the bath before the water gets cold."

Standing her up, David held her hand for balance as she stepped up into the old-fashioned claw-foot tub. Then he went to the closet to retrieve a washcloth, shampoo and soap. From under the sink, he found a bag of loose-mesh netting filled with toys. Setting the soap, shampoo and washcloth on the floor, he opened the bag and took out a bright yellow, rubber duck.

"Quack quack." He tapped the end of her nose gently with the beak and was rewarded for his moment of silliness when her thumb popped out of her mouth and she grinned. When she reached for the duck, he up-ended the bag of toys into the tub. "You can play for a few minutes. I'll be right back."

He dropped a kiss to her forehead and left the bathroom, heading for the stairs. It only took a few minutes to fetch two dark blue towels, a diaper, and a pair of pink and white pajamas. But when he returned to the bathroom, he stopped just inside the bathroom door. If ever there were a mischievous look, then clearly Meg wore it. Her hazel eyes danced with it, and it curled the corners of her little, pink ribbon of a mouth.

David took a quick mental stock of what toys he had given her and what he could see floating on the surface of the water. Ah, yes. Missing was a little pink clam, capable of squirting water a good three or four feet. A quick glance of the walls showed where she had tested the distance.

His eyelids drooped half-closed. "I don't suggest you try it."

She mock pouted, but that evil little twinkle didn't disappear from her eyes until he leaned in from the doorway to remove a large, wooden-backed hairbrush from a drawer in the sink cabinet. He set it on the counter in plain sight. Sighing, she released the tiny rubber clam and it bobbed up to the surface of the water.

Setting his bundles down beside the brush, David unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled the sleeves well up past his elbows. While she played with a little, toy boat and pretended oblivion to what he was doing, he knelt on the floor beside her. A tell-tale blush stole over her cheeks when he dipped the wash cloth in the warm water and soaped it into a thick, white lather.

He held out his hand. "Foot."

She cleared her throat, unable even to raise her eyes to his. "I can do that myself."