Chapter 4

I came downstairs late the next morning, around eleven o’clock, wearing a pair of tight booty shorts and a little white ‘wife-beater’ tank top. I’d just completed my morning workout and I thought a cup of coffee would help recharge the batteries before we had lunch. I’d put on a little black lace thong under my shorts and I wasn’t wearing a bra.

When I entered the kitchen, I saw my father sitting at the dinette table, and he watched as I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down across from him.

“Hello, Kenna,” he said conversationally.

“Hi, Daddy,” I replied after shooting him a little smile.

“When you finish your coffee, come into the den,” he told me. “I have something to discuss with you.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Once I finished my coffee, I put my mug in the dishwasher and headed for the den. When I got there, he was sitting in the middle of the couch, and he gestured for me to come and stand in front of him. When I’d done so, he leaned forward and pointed to the floor next to his feet, and I cringed. I’d been up late the previous evening, after my father had gone to his room, watching porn on the big-screen TV and masturbating to relieve the pressure. But when he pointed down, I saw that I’d forgotten to take my house slippers with me.

“Did you forget the rule about picking up after yourself?” he asked gently.

I shook my head. “No, Daddy, I didn’t forget the rule, I just forgot to take them with me. It wasn’t intentional.” I hoped calling him Daddy would maybe get him to treat me like an errant little girl and forget about his silly rule just this once.

“I believe you,” he said in that still-gentle tone, “but there are consequences for forgetting.”

There was a smoldering sexual heat building between us. I felt it, and I was certain he felt it too. “Please, Daddy, I won’t forget again, I promise,” I pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Kenna, but if I don’t enforce the rules, you won’t obey them. Turn sideways and pull down your shorts.”

I couldn’t hide my utter shock. “You’re actually going to spank me?”

“Yes, I am. I probably should have done this when you were younger; maybe you’d have turned out different. Now drop your shorts.”

My first instinct was to refuse him. I was a woman, not a little girl, and just the thought of being put over his knee like some type of wayward child was mortifying. However, I did break one of his rules, and we were getting along so well I didn’t want to make waves. Whatever. I’ll let him give me a couple of swats if it makes him feel better. It isn’t that big a deal and it won’t be that bad.

Thankfully, I’d put that thong under my little shorts, something I didn’t always do; baring my bald pussy to my father would have been way too much for me to handle. Hesitantly, I put my thumbs into the waistband on both sides and slowly pushed the shorts down my legs until they were puddled at my bare feet.

“Daddy, this is so embarrassing,” I complained.

“Tough,” he replied. “Now bend over my knee and let’s get this over with.”

I reluctantly did as he demanded, bending over to rest my crotch on his thigh and my head on the couch cushion next to him. My thong was pulled up into the crack of my ass, exposing my cheeks to his view in their entirety. I couldn’t help being a bit coquettish and I could feel the heat and wetness begin to build between my legs. I had to admit I loved his eyes on me and that look of unbridled lust etched on his face. If he was going to actually spank me, I thought I’d tease him a bit. If he’s going to mess with me, he’s going to get it right back.

“Do you like the view, Daddy?” I whispered.

His response was non-verbal, a sharp swat across my right cheek.

“Owww,” I squawked. “That hurt.”

“It’s supposed to hurt,” he retorted. “Maybe this will help you remember how to pick up after yourself as I instructed when you moved in.”

He swatted me again, on the left cheek this time, and then continued, alternating sides, for about a dozen strikes. I could feel my butt getting warm from the spanking and I knew it was turning a bright shade of pink. I’d enjoyed rough sex at times, and I’d been incredibly horny for weeks, but I was totally mortified to feel my pussy further moisten as he spanked me. It was also turning me on when I felt his growing erection press into my mound.

He gave me several more swats, then stopped. He didn’t say or do anything for several seconds, then asked, in a curiously quiet voice, “You’re wet, aren’t you, Kenna?”

I could feel my face break into a deep red ember. “I ... I ... I don’t know...” It was a lie and both of us knew it.

He reached down, put his hand, palm down, between my body and his leg, and rubbed his pants where I was lying on him. Then he pulled his hand up to his face and deeply inhaled. “You stained my trousers,” he said in a deep low, sensuous tone. “You enjoyed being spanked, didn’t you?”

“I ... I...” I didn’t know what to say. I started to turn my head to look up at him, then couldn’t continue the motion. I put my cheek back down on the couch and whispered, “I ... I guess I did.”

“You like men using you like this, don’t you?” I could feel his hand roaming over my freshly-spanked ass. “You like being used roughly, being taken hard ... don’t you?”

My pussy was on fire, and it was as if my brain refused to form coherent thoughts. His sensual, erotic, probing questions were breaking me down mentally. I could feel tears beginning to form at the edges of my eyes. “Yes,” I said while quickly wiping the tears from my eyes.

“You’re a slut, aren’t you, Kenna?”

I wanted to touch myself, or touch him, anything that would quell this ache, this need deep inside me. Somehow, it was as if he could read my mind.

“You masturbate, don’t you?” he said, lust dripping from every syllable in his words.