Page 78 of Impressing Brett

“Yeah, my Little lamb is curious.” He turns toward the counter near the sink again, grabs something, and returns holding it up. A plastic spatula?

I stop breathing. He’s serious.

“What’s your safeword, Little lamb?”

“Red,” I manage to murmur as I draw my legs together.

Daddy shoots me a firm look. “Keep your legs open and your hands behind your head.”

I press my knees toward the island again. “Yes, Sir.” My nipples are hard points. I’m staring at the plastic spatula in both fear and intrigue.

When he suddenly lifts it and swats the flat end over one of my titties before I can process his intent, I cry out.

Holy shit. The burn is fast and intense. And it feels so good.

He swats my other titty before I’ve recovered from the first. “I think my girl likes a bit of pain.”

He knows I do. I let him spank me pretty hard. I like the way spanking me chases the bad things out of the house and leaves me feeling renewed. But this is different. I feel alive and needy. Swatting my titties is not going to lull me into subspace. It’s making me nearly crawl out of my skin, and I suspect if he uses that on my pussy, I will detonate.

Daddy sets the spatula on my belly so his hands are free to cup my breasts. He avoids my nipples as he molds his hands to my soft globes. He leans over me, hovering, but not close enough. Nothing is touching my nipples, and I need it so badly.

“Daddy…” I whimper, squirming.

“Did you like that, Little lamb? Did you like Daddy swatting your nipples?”

I nod. My cheeks flush. It’s a bit embarrassing. I shouldn’t still be embarrassed every time something turns me on, but I still am sometimes when we try something new, and I realize how kinky I am all over again.

Finally, he dips his face and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth while he pinches the other one.

I cry out. It’s so hard to leave my hands where they are, but I don’t want him to stop. If I move out of position, he might stop.

“Ready for more?” he asks after releasing my titty with a pop.

“Yes, Sir.”

Daddy releases my breasts and grabs his spatula from my tummy. He sets one flat corner between my breasts and drags it down to my belly button, making me squirm.

The edge is so thin. It’s maddening how aroused I get when he drags it along the edge of my panties.

“Keep those knees wide, Little lamb. That’s the rule. If you move them, I will stop. If you move your hands, I will stop. If you squirm too much, I will stop. Do you know why?”

“Because you might swat me in the wrong place and injure me,” I tell him. He’s told me this dozens of times.

“Good girl. If you can’t stay still, I’ll assume you don’t really want Daddy to swat your pussy.”

Just saying that out loud makes me moan. My clit is pulsing beneath the cotton of my panties. They are soaked.

Daddy flattens the spatula over my pussy and presses against my folds.

I tremble. The need is growing. It’s powerful and consuming. God, I want him to swat me there. I’ve never even considered something like this before, and now, I need it like a drug.

Daddy lifts the spatula, but instead of swatting my pussy, he gives a light tap to my inner thigh and then the other.

I flinch, my breath hitching. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a tease. Just a small taste of what he can do. And I want it.

He taps one of my nipples again, unexpectedly, not as hard as the first time, but enough to reawaken the sting. My other titty is jealous and throbbing with need. When I arch it into the air, Daddy gives it a matching tap.

He drags the flat part down my tummy again and taps my cotton-covered pussy so lightly I almost can’t feel it, but I’m soaked. Drenched.

---