Page 38 of Daddy's Little Convict
"I can't say that."
"Yes, you can. It's one of my favorite things to hear. Open up your pussy for Daddy and tell me how much you want me."
Something so mortifying should never have been so titillating. Reaching down between her legs, she caught her breath as she spread open her own folds. Shyly meeting his gaze, she stammered, "M-my kitty wants you, Daddy."
It felt awkward to say, but the reward was immediate. She jumped as the tip of his finger touched her now too, his thumb gliding up and down her seam before circling the bead of her eager clit.
"Is your kitty hot for Daddy?"
Her legs shook as he stroked her again, another up and down caress that ended in a circling stroke that had her panting.
She nodded.
His hand abandoned her. He looked at her, one eyebrow arching in gentle rebuke until she realized her mistake.
Was there anything more embarrassing than having to repeat dirty things? She writhed, muffling a protest behind tightly clenched lips.
Quick as a flash, he spanked her pussy with the flat of his fingers. It was more of a pat than a spank, he barely used any force when he did it. But the tiny bundle of nerves he punished didn't need much force.
She yelped, even as the minute shock of it melted into breathtaking sexiness so intense and surreal that she couldn’t stop the wriggling squirm of her hips.
"Do you need another spank?" he asked, silken smooth.
God, yes!
She swiftly shook her head, beyond mortified to be this turned on. "D-Daddy, my… oh God, m-my kitty is so hot for you."
"What does your kitty want, baby?"
She muffled another whine, and he immediately gave her clit another light swat. She shouted, the impact nowhere near painful, just intense. Beautifully, erotically intense.
"Please don't spank me there," she pleaded, to which he smiled.
"If this isn't effective, Daddy has no problem turning you over and spanking your little asshole instead. Do you want that?"
She mewled and shook her head even harder. "My kitty wants, um… it, um, wants…" She glanced at his crotch but even that was embarrassing. It was also breathtaking all on its own. He had an erection, a bulge tenting the front of his pants so sizeable that she couldn’t even stare. She pointed at it, dying from the shame.
"What do you want?" he asked huskily.
She pointed again.
He hmmed, and before she could react, he gave her greedy pussy another slap. This one hurt, but it wasn't what she protested when he said, "Roll over, young lady. Head on the mattress, ass all the way up, hands behind your back."
"No!" she wailed, her breasts growing heavy, her core pulsing with wanton lust so intense that her thighs began to shake.
He got up off the bed. "You don't want to not be in position when I come back. I've got a wicked peach tree in the backyard that you do not want to have to visit, I promise." Firm in his resolution, he got off the bed and headed into the master bathroom.
Was he threatening to make her cut her own switch?
Not wanting to find out, she scrambled onto her hands and knees, and promptly did as she was told. She was just catching her own wrist behind her back when he came back with a washcloth in his hand.
He stopped by the dresser and she heard the pop of a snap and a metallic clinking before he brought his handcuffs back to the bed.
Her breath caught. Just looking at them stole some of the sexiness from the situation.
He showed them to her, dangling the cuffs by their rings. "These are not police handcuffs," he said. "Do you know what they are?"
Eyeing them, she shook her head.
