Caroline's Rocking Horse by Emily Tilton, Blushing Books
Authors: Emily Tilton, Blushing Books
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ageplay with George, I have—without even realizing it or trying—found a way simply to shut it off when I'm being a little girl. The up-side is that at those moments I'm so deep into my character as my daddy's young lady that the libidinous parts of me are utterly at his command, making for hours and hours of the hottest sex imaginable.
The down -side is that I will sometimes for apparently no reason have little tantrums. That first Christmas morning as my Daddy's little girl was not a little tantrum, though; it was a very big one.
We had just come back from church. George had made me wait to see my presents until then, and I was being an angel bec ause, you know, Christmas. Plus, I was so, so sure that there was going to be a rocking horse under the tree, and I was blushing and warming between my thighs every time I thought about my first ride.
Then, when at last he let me into the living room, I saw a big teddy bear and a bunch of little boxes that might well contain lovely clothes or even jewelry, but they didn't matter in the slightest because there was no rocking horse.
I felt my eyes start to water and my chin start to quiver. He had betrayed me, after all. There was one thing I wanted, and given the shameful things I had done for him—that he had made me do—he couldn't be bothered to get me the one thing I wanted—that I knew he knew I wanted.
"Merry Christmas, Caroline," he said, with love in his voice.
"But you said you were going to get me a rocking horse, Daddy!" I yelled, in response.
George laughed, clearly sure that I was joking.
"I'm not joking, you asshole!" I turned and actually started to hit his chest with my fists. "You turn me into your little-girl whore, and you don't get me the one thing I want! Did I not suck your cock well enough?!"
"Caroline! What the hell?" I rea d bewilderment in his eyes—and also rising anger. I hit him again, and the wrath won in a very big way. As I struggled he grabbed my wrists and took them into his left hand, while with his right he half-dragged, half-walked me over to the couch. He sat and pulled me over his lap. I kept struggling, but he put my left hand under my chest and grabbed my right wrist and bent my arm back and held me there. My legs kicked, to no avail. He yanked my skirt up, exposing the blue panties with the lace trim that I knew he liked so much—that I had worn for him that morning as a Christmas present. He began to spank me—huge, punishing blows, incredibly painful, with no warm-up beforehand, incredibly painful even atop the panties.
"I don't know if you're just playing, young lady, but even if you are , I'm going to teach you that good girls don't play that way." He emphasized nearly every word with a tremendous smack; he delivered them in sets of three: right, left, center. I was already howling with pain and the indignity of the way he was holding me down for my punishment. I kept kicking, though, still furious with him for betraying my trust.
"You were a foul-mouthed little slut a few moments ago, and this bottom is going to pay the price for that unacceptable behavior."
"Ow! Oh, Daddy, ow, oh please! Please, stop." He was hitting me very, very hard—so hard that I was close to using my safe-word.
"And for accusing me of using my little girl that way." My bottom was on fire—I was a hair's breadth away.
"You do use me that way!"
"No! Not that way, Caroline. I didn't turn you into my little-girl whore."
There was something important there, but it got lost for the moment, because he delivered another wallop, and I screamed, "YELLOW!"
And my Daddy gave me three more hard spanks.
I screamed, "I SAID YELLOW! You're hurting me!"
"That's my intention, Caroline, you shameless slut. You need to learn your lesson."
"What? Owwwwww! YELLOW YELLOW YELLOW."
He spanked me after each yellow, as if to say, "So?" In utter confusion, I felt the tantrum leave my body, and I went limp over his lap as three more spanks landed, at which I
The down -side is that I will sometimes for apparently no reason have little tantrums. That first Christmas morning as my Daddy's little girl was not a little tantrum, though; it was a very big one.
We had just come back from church. George had made me wait to see my presents until then, and I was being an angel bec ause, you know, Christmas. Plus, I was so, so sure that there was going to be a rocking horse under the tree, and I was blushing and warming between my thighs every time I thought about my first ride.
Then, when at last he let me into the living room, I saw a big teddy bear and a bunch of little boxes that might well contain lovely clothes or even jewelry, but they didn't matter in the slightest because there was no rocking horse.
I felt my eyes start to water and my chin start to quiver. He had betrayed me, after all. There was one thing I wanted, and given the shameful things I had done for him—that he had made me do—he couldn't be bothered to get me the one thing I wanted—that I knew he knew I wanted.
"Merry Christmas, Caroline," he said, with love in his voice.
"But you said you were going to get me a rocking horse, Daddy!" I yelled, in response.
George laughed, clearly sure that I was joking.
"I'm not joking, you asshole!" I turned and actually started to hit his chest with my fists. "You turn me into your little-girl whore, and you don't get me the one thing I want! Did I not suck your cock well enough?!"
"Caroline! What the hell?" I rea d bewilderment in his eyes—and also rising anger. I hit him again, and the wrath won in a very big way. As I struggled he grabbed my wrists and took them into his left hand, while with his right he half-dragged, half-walked me over to the couch. He sat and pulled me over his lap. I kept struggling, but he put my left hand under my chest and grabbed my right wrist and bent my arm back and held me there. My legs kicked, to no avail. He yanked my skirt up, exposing the blue panties with the lace trim that I knew he liked so much—that I had worn for him that morning as a Christmas present. He began to spank me—huge, punishing blows, incredibly painful, with no warm-up beforehand, incredibly painful even atop the panties.
"I don't know if you're just playing, young lady, but even if you are , I'm going to teach you that good girls don't play that way." He emphasized nearly every word with a tremendous smack; he delivered them in sets of three: right, left, center. I was already howling with pain and the indignity of the way he was holding me down for my punishment. I kept kicking, though, still furious with him for betraying my trust.
"You were a foul-mouthed little slut a few moments ago, and this bottom is going to pay the price for that unacceptable behavior."
"Ow! Oh, Daddy, ow, oh please! Please, stop." He was hitting me very, very hard—so hard that I was close to using my safe-word.
"And for accusing me of using my little girl that way." My bottom was on fire—I was a hair's breadth away.
"You do use me that way!"
"No! Not that way, Caroline. I didn't turn you into my little-girl whore."
There was something important there, but it got lost for the moment, because he delivered another wallop, and I screamed, "YELLOW!"
And my Daddy gave me three more hard spanks.
I screamed, "I SAID YELLOW! You're hurting me!"
"That's my intention, Caroline, you shameless slut. You need to learn your lesson."
"What? Owwwwww! YELLOW YELLOW YELLOW."
He spanked me after each yellow, as if to say, "So?" In utter confusion, I felt the tantrum leave my body, and I went limp over his lap as three more spanks landed, at which I
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