Girl's (5 page)

Pouting, she glared at the binky before reluctantly popping it back into her mouth. They went back to watching cartoons in time to see the Coyote take a nose-dive off the top of a cliff. As he hit the ground in a huge cloud of dust, David touched her shoulder.

"Come sit on daddy's lap."

Pulling her binky from her mouth, she craned her head back to look at him. "You still want to hold me?"

He smiled. "I always want to hold you. Why wouldn't I?"

"But you threatened to spank me."

"That doesn't mean I don't want to touch you. Or cuddle you. Or lay you down beneath me and make love to you until neither one of us can move." He stroked her bangs back from her eyes. "I've waited eight months for you. Just because your naughty bottom needs an occasional smack or two, doesn't mean all those other feelings are going to disappear."

"Oh." She bit her lip. Smiling shyly, she crawled into his lap, putting her back to the arm of the sofa and resting her head on his shoulder.

The Coyote went over another cliff, this time with the help of a catapult. David knew how he felt. At the moment, he was feeling nothing short of catapulted himself. The cushion of her luscious, diapered bottom on his thighs and the light tracing touch of her fingers as she followed the line of shirt buttons down his chest, was causing an uncomfortable straining sensation in the front of his jeans. And if she didn't keep looking up at him with that sweet, little smile, he didn't think he was going to be able to keep his hands to himself for much longer.

"Daddy?" she asked. There was a funny little hitch to her breath that he was coming to recognize as arousal rather than nervousness. The sound went straight to his groin.

"What is it?"

Looking up at him through her lashes, she softly admitted, "Those feelings haven't disappeared for me either. Will...um, will you fit inside my crib?"

He leaned his head back on the couch and laughed.

Chapter Three

Spaghetti sauce bubbled on the stove. The aroma of fresh baked garlic bread wafted through the kitchen, Daddy David rinsed the steaming hot noodles at the sink, and Meg hadn't had to cook a thing. She hadn't even helped.

"I don't want you to get burned," Daddy had said, and he'd put her in a full-sized, wooden highchair.

At first Meg felt awkward simply sitting there. But unable to see under the tray to figure out how to work the strange latches beneath, she was stuck. So she sat with the puzzle book Daddy David had given her, drew a crayon line through a round maze, and occasionally sucked at her sippy cup of fresh juice or snacked on the cheerios he'd given her.

"I hope you like pasta," David gently tapped the pasta strainer against the side of the sink and then poured the noodles into a large bowl.

"I didn't know daddies cooked." Her brow furrowed as she stared at the maze. She had just crayoned herself into a dead end.

David smiled, spooning several large meatballs over the pasta and then smothering all in a thick tomato sauce. "My father is Italian; my mother's Jewish. Which means this particular Daddy can cook just about anything, and if you don't have at least four helpings, I can make you feel guilty about it, too." He collected a single fork from a drawer and brought the bowl to the table. "Would you like more to drink?"

She up-ended her cup to drain the last few sips before handing it over to him. "Do I get s'ghetti, too?"

"Of course."

"How come there's just one bowl?"

"Because I'm going to feed you." He rinsed the cup and this time filled it three-fourths of the way with milk.

She made a face when he set it on her tray. "Don't like milk."

"Drink it anyway."

She pouted, picked up the sippy cup, and put it on the table as far from her as she could reach. No sooner had her fingers left the cup than did he pick it up again.

"In my house, little girls are served milk with every meal. It's good for you." He put it right back on her tray. "So, unless you are allergic-"

"I'm allergic," she said automatically, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt over the lie. The twinge lasted only until he sat down at the table, turned his chair to face her and braced his strong hands upon his knees. The look he gave her was unsmiling and grim.

"Why wasn't that allergy on the list you emailed me?"

The twinge of guilt became a tight little knot of apprehension. She fidgeted with the crayon, wilting a little under his hard stare. "I-I forgoted."

"You forgot to add it to the list or you forgot about the list in the first place?"

The crayon snapped in her hands. Unable to keep his eyes anymore, she lay the broken pieces on top of her puzzle book and slowly wiped her hands on her pajamas.

When she didn't answer, Daddy asked, "How long have you had this allergy?"

She shifted a little, feeling the tender spots from his earlier spanking. Was lying a spankable offense? Her eyes began to tear up. "I might be allergic."

"Did you lie to me?"

She bit her lip, then pointed to the bowl sitting forgotten on the table. "The s'ghetti's gettin' cold."

"Meg. You lied to me, didn't you?"

The apprehension was growing, tightening in her chest and making it hard to breathe. Reluctantly, she nodded and then her bottom lip trembled as he took the pieces of crayon, the book, and her sippy cup and set them all on the table. "I don't wanna drink milk! It's yucky! I don't like it!"

He reached beneath the highchair tray, removed it and set it on the floor. "Go upstairs and get your hairbrush. I want you to bring it down to me."

"No-o!" she wailed. "I won't fib no more!"

"Baby, if I have to get it for you, not only will you still get spanked, but it'll be that much worse."

"No, Daddy! No more spankin'!"

He stood up, and Meg jumped to her feet and ran for the stairs. She was crying before she reached the top. She'd only been here one day and she was about to be spanked for the third time. And with the hairbrush...Again! She cried even harder, with long, loud wails as she shuffled reluctantly down the short hall to her bedroom door.

The hairbrush was exactly where Daddy had left it after the last time, sitting pale-bristle-side up on her dresser. Sticking her thumb in her mouth and sobbing loudly all around it, she carried it back downstairs. Sucking didn't bring her near enough comfort, and the minute Daddy saw it, he said, "Thumb, Meggy!"

It came out of her mouth with a pop, and she folded her arms over her stomach and hugged herself tightly instead. "No more spankin', Daddy. I'll never fib again."

He reached for her arm as soon as she drew near and pulled her the rest of the way to him. Taking the hairbrush from her tightly clenched fingers, he lay it on the table. But rather than drawing her immediately over his knee, he pulled her down to sit on his lap instead.

Without thinking, her thumb headed for her mouth again, but Daddy caught her wrist and firmly forced it down to her side. He lifted her binky, still attached to her pajama's collar by a ribbon, and though she tried to turn her head, popped it past her lips and deep into her mouth.

He rocked her gently, stroking her back as he said, "Every time you tell a lie, you hurt us. It damages the foundation of our relationship and erodes my trust in you. I want to be able to believe every word that comes from my baby girl's pretty little mouth, but I can't, can I? Because she just lied to me."

The binky fell from her mouth as she cried, "I'm sorry!"

"I know you are. But being sorry doesn't change what happened, or what has to happen now."

"But I'll won't do it anymore!"

He hugged her, sighing heavily. "I'm glad to hear that, baby. But just the same, I'm going to make sure you don't."

With a groan, she lay her head against his shoulder. "Are you gonna spank me hard? Is it gonna hurt?"

He half smiled as he stroked her hair. "It wouldn't do much good if it didn't."

Meg clung to him, burying her face in the side of his neck as she whimpered, "My tummy doesn't feel good."

"I'm not surprised. Knowing you're about to get a good spanking can be hard on a little girl's nerves."

"Maybe I'm gettin' sick." She couldn't help the hopeful note that crept into her voice. She pressed a hand to her own forehead. "Maybe it's the flu."

He sighed again, but when he spoke, his tone was absolutely neutral. "Do you really think you might be coming down with something?"

"Maybe." She rubbed her stomach. "I don't get sick very much, but my tummy really does feel upset, Daddy. An' I'm not lyin' this time."

"All right." He stood her up and, with the hairbrush in one hand and her hand in his other, he walked her out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom. "If you are sick, we'll postpone your spanking until you're feeling better." He fixed her with a stern look. "But you are still going to get one and it's still going to hurt. Understand?"

Meg nodded and swiped at her eyes with the back of her wrist.

Laying the hairbrush on the sink, he opened the medicine cabinet and took down a glass thermometer in a two-tone plastic case. When he uncapped the lid, she opened her mouth expectantly.

He smiled. "Nope. Think again."

Her eyes became as wide as saucers when he took out a small jar of Vaseline. She put her hands behind her, crossing her legs with childish reluctance. "Not in my bottom."

Lowering the seat on the toilet, Daddy sat down. He beckoned. "Come on. Let's get those pajamas off."

Though facing her third spanking, Meg wasn't a slow learner. This time when he undressed her, she didn't interfere. She didn't even cover her breasts, though her hands did itch to, especially when he pulled her pajamas off her shoulders and his thumbs brushed the sides of her nipples. Bared to the air and his touch, the twin little, pink tips stiffened. She blushed, hoping he wouldn't notice, but he continued to undress her without comment.

"Step," he said, and she dutifully lifted each foot in turn until she was standing before him in only her pull-up pants. While he unpinned her binky from the collar, Meg touched her diaper. She hadn't yet made up her mind as to whether she liked the bulky feel of it between her legs or not. Truth be told, it was a little embarrassing to be in one. But at least he hadn't demanded that she use it, and Meg crossed her legs again, the plastic pants crinkling as she squeezed her thighs tightly together.

Untying the binky from its ribbon leash, he popped it into her mouth, making her protests little more than whimpers as he whisked her dry diaper down her legs and discarded it next to her pajamas.

He reached out to stroke her soft belly, his fingers caressing down to touch her bare little girl's mound. Softly, Daddy said, "I have got the prettiest baby girl in all the world."

Meg blushed furiously, both embarrassed and pleased by his praise, though she knew it wasn't true. She was too chubby, her hips too round, and her waist...well, suffice it to say, she would never be a runway model beauty. Funny how Daddy didn't seem to care.

"Absolutely beautiful," he said again, and she blushed even brighter. He held out his hand. "Come here, baby. Let Daddy help you feel better."

She whimpered only once and vigorously sucked at her binky as he drew her face down over his thighs. She clenched her legs again when he removed the lid on the Vaseline jar.

"Be a good girl," he said. "Relax your bottom."

She whimpered again, soft mewling sounds that were muffled by the binky. Seeming to know how hard this was, he rubbed the small of her back and murmured words of comfort until she complied.

"Such a good baby girl."

She closed her eyes, covering her face with both hands as he prized her bottom cheeks apart. Without preamble, the gel-slickened tip of the glass thermometer slipped past the tightly puckered rim of her anus. Meg stiffened at the invasion, reaching back to grab his hand and stop him from going any deeper. But he caught her wrist and pinned it to her side, and the thermometer continued on until it was seated to the hilt inside her.

"It's all right." He pressed a finger against the end to keep from her forcing it back out again. "Relax your bottom, Meggy. There's a good girl."

She began to sniffle. But he continued to hold it firmly in place, ignoring her tiny mews of protest until several minutes had passed and he could check her temperature.

"You don't have a fever. Does your tummy still not feel good?"

Meg nodded haltingly.

"Well, I think I can fix that."

He patted her hip, helping her back to her feet before washing the thermometer in the sink and putting it away. While she watched apprehensively, he withdrew a darkly red, rubber bag with a long white hose from beneath the sink. The hose ended in two currently deflated balloon like objects, one in front of the other, and twin round, black hand pumps.

Taking the binky from her mouth, Meg took a timid step backwards, not really sure if she wanted to know the answer to the question that perched trembling at her tongue. She hesitantly pointed. "What's that?"

"A double bardex nozzle." Setting the whole contraption in the counter, he clipped the hose closed and turned on the water. He adjusted the faucets, pausing every few seconds to test the water.

Subconsciously, her hands crept behind her to cover her bottom. Meg swallowed hard. "I-I don't wanna nenema, Daddy."

His reflection in the mirror looked at her. "Wants and needs are often two very different things. This happens to be just the thing for little girls with unsettled tummies."

Dipping the rubber bag under the faucet, he began to mix a solution of warm water and liquid soap directly into the opening. Only when the bag was bulging did he turn the faucets off and lift it from the sink by the metal hook that was looped through the top.

"No!" Meg protested. "I don't want one!"

Daddy paused in the process of hanging it from the towel rack long enough to fix her with a very stern glare. "Don't tell me eno,' Meg. I won't tolerate it."

She whimpered, her eyes fixed on the solution-heavy bag. And when he passed her to pull two towels from the closet, he took the binky from her hand and placed it firmly back into her mouth. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he said, "Trust that I'll always do what's best for you. Do you want your Bear?"

When she nodded, Daddy lay the twin folded towels side-by-side on the floor near the hanging enema bag. "Kneel there. I'll go get him."

As he walked out of the bathroom, the urge to grab the bag and dump it out in the sink was almost overpowering. Maybe she could unclip the hose and at least empty some of that soap and water out. She glanced over her shoulder at the open doorway, listening as Daddy walked down the hall to the living room. Then she looked at the hairbrush.

She hugged her arms tightly to her chest and sucked furiously at the binky, trying not to cry. She'd get caught, and she knew it. Then she'd get spanked, and she'd still have to take the enema. She'd never had one before, but she had talked to other elittle' girls on the website whose mommies and daddies often dealt out enemas when they were naughty or not feeling well. Not a one of them ever had anything nice to say about the experience.

When Daddy returned, he handed her the well-loved teddy bear. "All right, I want you to kneel on the towels and put your head down."

Meg didn't move. She just looked at him, her expression one of absolute misery.

In his most authoritative tone, Daddy commanded, "Kneel."

Her shoulders drooped at the finality of the sound, and she hugged Bear tightly as she lowered herself to the towels.

"Head down. Prop your bottom way up."

Using Bear as a pillow, Meg lowered her head to the floor and stuck her bottom well up into the air.

"Legs apart," Daddy said, kneeling behind her.

Turning her face into Bear's soft belly, Meg sucked even harder at the binky as she shifted her knees apart. She consoled herself with knowing that at least she was not about to be spanked. Well, yet anyway. She began to whine, closing her eyes tightly against the fresh sting of tears.