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Our road trip to Los Angeles
last weekend, going and coming, was hellacious. No kidding.
All the way in from Phoenix to L.A., we were buffeted with strong winds and because Route 10 runs through the desert, the wind constantly threw dust at us. Good enough reason right there to simply keep the windows and vents shut and run the van's air conditioning, right? Right, but add to that the temperatures that rose to the eighties on Friday and the sunny, clear sky, and you get plenty of good reasons. Except, the air conditioning wouldn't work.
Was it my fault that it also just so happened that my hormones were completely out of whack last week, and I had the worst hot-flashes I had experienced in about a year? I don't think so. If you've ever experienced hot-flashes, I'm sure you know just how lovely I felt given the above mentioned circumstances. If you don't know from hot-flashes, just imagine your internal thermostat suddenly, and repeatedly, being turned up to extreme high as if you were baking in the noonday sun without even a hat to shade your head, and then put yourself in that situation.
By the time we were in the heart of L.A., but still miles from my daughter's house, I was pretty cranky. My Daddy was amazingly calm, though. He had been pretty calm throughout the whole trip and tried to make me feel better by doing things, like reaching over and unbuttoning my blouse further so it was open all the way down past my bellybutton, and then slipping his hand inside and pinching a nipple or two.
Our daughter said she would try to get off work a little earlier that Friday, but we figured she wouldn't be home as early as 2:30 Pacific Time--we had gained an hour. Since we had some time to kill, I had asked my Daddy if we could look for a K-Mart and stop there before going to her house, but apparently he had other things on his mind.
As we were approaching the exit near her house, my Daddy said that he was going to have to 'adjust my attitude when we got there.' He said he was 'going to have to give me a lesson and that corner time might be called-for.' Going down the exit ramp, down the streets to her condo building, and gathering up stuff in the van, my mind was filled with thoughts about what he had said and then some. I couldn't believe he would actually do it, but I was deliciously excited over the prospect that he would; that he would spank me in my daughter's condo; that he would make me stand in a corner and pull my pants down and spank my bare bottom right there! I mean, I thought, 'What if she walks in on us or hears the smacks when she gets to her door?!' Oh, I was wet just thinking about it!
When my Daddy started unlocking the security door to the building, I said, "Aren't you going to buzz her just in case she's already home?" But, Daddy just shook his head, turned the key, and opened the door. On the way up in the elevator, I wondered if my Daddy had brought any of his implements, and then I remembered he was wearing a belt. I looked at it. I looked at his big thighs and then his hands holding the stuffed tote-bag, and I quivered inside. An image of those hands pulling the belt out of his pants' loops flashed through my head. My pussy drooled!
And then, we were outside my daughter's door and as my Daddy reached out to unlock the door, I said, "But, Daddy, aren't you going to even knock, just in case?" Daddy rapped his knuckles on the door twice, but not very forcefully. He was just turning the key in the lock when the door suddenly opened and there stood our daughter, beaming with happy surprise. I wonder if she saw the disappointment and blushes on our faces, even though we were so glad to see her?
(Sigh.) Soon after our arrival, I excused myself to freshen up. My panties were so wet, I had to exchange them for a new pair.
The weekend was rife with spanking references. My Daddy often addressed me as "young lady". (I wonder what my daughter thought of her father calling her 49-year-old mother that!) In preparing us for the nudity in the play she was in and that we were going to see, my daughter gaily said, "Something for everybody--well, no spanking, though!" I laughed, but lowered my eyes. She wasn't right, though, because she played a young prostitute who referred to her pimp as her "daddy" and when she asked her potential client to rub lotion on her back, we saw faint red stripes there. Not exactly spanking, but still I couldn't help but feel a tingle and of course, shame for feeling that.
Daddy snuck in light smacks to my bottom here and there; in the bedroom and in the bathroom. But, they did not help ease the craving that had grown--they just made the ache sharper. By the time we left for home on Sunday, visions of spanking danced round and round my head.
The trip home was only marginally better than the one out. The winds had died down and the temperature had dropped a little, but without the air conditioning, it was as hot as ever in the van. My nerves were raw from near misses with cars on the crowded five-lane stretch of highway from L.A. through Palm Desert, so when the water-thermos sitting on the floor behind me fell over and my Daddy took his eyes off the road to right it, I exclaimed, "Honey! Goddam it, just...." I stopped myself; shocking myself into silence.
"You just watch it, young lady!" Daddy said. "I'll pull this car over right now and put you over my knee!"
I looked at him with a nervous pout that rather quickly dissolved to a smile and a giggle. He laughed too, his bright eyes crinkling upwards. I almost said, "You wouldn't have the guts!" but I didn't. But on the rest of the trip home, I passed the time by imagining that I did say it and imagining that he did have the guts. I pictured him driving the car off an exit ramp, pulling it over to the side of the road, hauling my ass over his lap in one smooth and fast blur of hands, tearing my pants down my legs, and furiously spanking me 'till I was kicking and screaming and begging him to stop.
(Sigh.) I sighed a lot during that trip, because when I was done with that fantasy, I made up another one about what he did to me when we finally got home. Of course, that one was colored with real anticipation of the evening yet ahead of us.
There was the promise of a spanking clearly hanging in the air between us, and it had a good chance of materializing but for one thing, that modern convenience--the answering machine. My Daddy never should've checked that answering machine. That thing sucked the life right out of my dreams.
Only temporarily, though. Only for that night. The next morning, the craving to be soundly spanked and fucked was too strong for this mortal girl to handle. Shortly after my second cup of coffee, my Daddy's spanking threats began playing in my head and the previous day's fantasies sprang back to life on the big screen behind my eyes. Had my Daddy's boss not left a change of schedule on that answering machine, or had my Daddy not listened to the messages on the machine when we got home, or had we not had the darn thing to begin with, my Daddy would've still been home, and I would not have broken a cardinal rule. I would not have pretended I was getting that spanking over his lap inside the van on the side of the road, while my fingers teased and rubbed my clit. I still would've been a fairly good girl.
(Sigh.) When my Daddy got home last night, he found a letter I wrote him lying on top of the pile of his mail. I nervously swung my legs back and forth as I sat on the kitchen bar stool watching him read it. Daddy looked up at me over the rims of his reading glasses once or twice while he read. That look made my cunt tingle and twitch.
"So!" Daddy said. "You were a bad girl today. Not once, but three times! Well, I'm going to have to teach you a good lesson!"
"Not three separate times during the day, Daddy!" I cried out too loudly; too loudly because I was embarrassed and excited and I could feel my bottom clenching.
"Yep. A good, sound spanking is what you're going to get tonight, young lady!"
Later, after dinner and after I massaged my Daddy's tired feet, Daddy pulled me across his knee. He lifted the hem of my short denim dress and spanked me. He smacked my bottom all over with his hand until it was all warm and prickly. And then, Daddy pulled my panties aside and checked my pussy to see how wet it was. He wiped his fingers on my bare cheeks by slipping them under my panties, and then he stuffed my panties up inside my crack and spanked me some more. He spanked with his hand and spanked with the leather paddle. He spanked and spanked and spanked. And for good measure, he whipped my squirming cheeks and my naked pussy with the squid whip.
Sometimes while he spanked me, he held my hair tight in his fist and pulled my head up, and asked me if I was going to be his good girl. "Oh, yes!" I gasped through my struggles to breath slowly and surely, while exclaiming from the pain of the smacks mixed with the pleasure flowing from my cunt like a river undammed.
But that wasn't good enough for my Daddy. Daddy had to make sure I would be his good girl, and I knew exactly how and when he was going to do that. I stopped my wiggling and stayed perfectly still--my legs poised on tip-toes and my bottom softly relaxed--for what I knew was coming. My Daddy slowly pushed the butt plug into my bottom's littlest hole, and pleasure-sparks quick as lightening shot through me. Daddy slowly pulled the plug almost out and pushed it back in, again and again, and while I was lost in that delicious storm hailing from there and from my pussy, he smacked the plug in firmly; literally smacked it in with the palm of his hand. And then, my Daddy took the leather paddle to my cheeks again--fast and hard, about five times, just past the moment when I wailed really loudly.
Oh, yes, I was definitely his good girl then. And I was so happy to take my Daddy's thick cock inside my mouth, except when I did, I felt so crazy to have it elsewhere. I mean, I couldn't contain myself; it was all too much; my bottom was radiating heat and my pussy was screaming out for that cock to be deep inside of it. I moaned and moaned as if I was in agony, but my Daddy knew how to fix that. He rolled me over on my back and grasping each of my ankles, spread my legs wide, and then, right as he began pushing his swollen dick inside of me, he said, "Your pussy just needs to be fucked good, doesn't it? Huh? Doesn't it, little one?" I answered him the only way I could; with my cries and the orgasms that swept me away to la la land; the orgasms that kept going and going as he fucked me and fucked me, until he came with groans and moans and strong thrusts of his spurting cock.
Later as I lay in my Daddy's arms, he asked me if I was his good girl and if I'd learned my lesson. I assured him that I was and that I had. I kissed his cuddly chest and played with the hair there as my thoughts drifted. It's funny, you know--cause and effect. One day you're on the road barreling through a dust storm on your way to the City of Angels and the next, you're professing what a good girl you are and how you learned your lesson well. Well, I don't know....maybe that's not cause and effect; maybe it's chaos theory. I'm no scientist. I'm just a girl with a propensity to be naughty, who needs her Daddy's love and discipline to keep her happy and good.