He burst into the house trailer through the unlocked door, eyes blazing like a wild beast, looking left and right in pursuit of his prey.
“Where’s the little brat, Ma?!” he growled asking his 64-year old mother who was sitting on the sofa in the living room watching the Family channel.
She was the grandmother of the little brat and pointed in direction of the bathroom saying in a hushed voice, “She just went in when she heard you pulling up.”
He stomped down the narrow corridor to the bathroom and discovered that the door was locked from the inside, further spiking his rage.
“Young lady, open this door now,” he shouted. “Otherwise, I’m coming in to get you myself.”
When there was no response from his 14 year old daughter, he banged his fist on the door making the whole trailer shake. “You better do as I tell you, you little brat.”
The grandmother was holding her breath, hoping her son wouldn’t have to resort to breaking down the door. But, this time he came prepared with a long, thin nail which he inserted into the tiny hole in the door knob and the door swung open.
Misty was sitting in the bathtub with the shower curtain drawn hugging her knees, hoping her father wouldn’t find her. It was no use.
He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her screaming out of the bathroom and into the adjacent bedroom. There, he threw her on the bed and closed the door. She was about to crawl under the bed, when he grabbed her by the hem of her shorts, ripping them and her panties off at the same time with one mighty tug.
With her creamy bare ass exposed, he laid her across his lap, pulled the sleeveless T-shirt over her head and started spanking her. “I’m going to tan your ass until it glows red in the dark.”
The more she wailed and kicked, the harder he spanked her. Grandma was listening to every smack, enjoying the sound and the cries. Misty not only deserved, but also needed a good hiding administered by a strong, authoritative male figure like her father. Despite her age, Grandma felt a faint tingling deep inside between her thighs.
Misty’s ass was becoming crimson red and hot, and towards the end she raised her ass in the air in anticipation of the palm of his hand, no longer kicking, no longer complaining. However, before releasing her, he felt her ass and slipped his hand between her thighs to her sex. His fingers found her heat, slipping along her wet slit to her clitoris. She jerked her hips and yelped when he touched her nub, the size of a pea, yet sensitive enough sending bolts of pleasure throughout her body.
He removed her top and swung her from his lap onto the bed. She scrambled for safety leaning against the headboard. Sitting on her sizzling ass was not an option. Her arms were tightly around her upturned knees, shielding her budding breasts, yet hiding little of the puffy, hairless triangle between her thighs. He brought his marinated fingers to his nose to inhale his daughter’s feminine perfume while his eyes zeroed in on her pussy. The pressure in his groin grew and his cock wanted to chew a hole in his pants. He quickly kicked off his shoes and removed his shirt and pants. He was commando and his cock sprung free already hard, pointing at her like a heat-seeking guided torpedo.
“I told you I’d teach you a lesson for what you did, you stinky little brat,” he snarled grabbing one of her ankles and pulling her to the center of the bed.
“Please, Daddy, I won’t do it again,” Misty pleaded, her arms now covering her perky breasts, tears filling her eyes.
“Too late now!” her father growled, as he held down his daughter struggling to break free.
The more she kicked and screamed, the angrier he became and the greater his resolve grew to show her who was in charge. He grew up in an old mining town where things got straightened out the old-fashioned way. It was slam-bang done fast and furiously; few words if any were employed. However, when the dust settled, order and calm was restored. He knew no other way to make her behave, to break her snotty attitude, than to use such tried and true methods, asserting his sovereignty of male over female.
Misty was 5 when her mother died of cervical cancer and was raised by her grandmother. Her father provided food and clothes and even bought the trailer for them to live in, while he shacked up with a young widow, one of many in the mining community, who needed a man to bed her more often than his stamina allowed.
.... There is more of this story ...