Page 156 of Daddy's Pride

“But, if you beg me, princess—” Isla leaned over, her shirt brushing Rachel’s back and Rachel had to bite back a whimper— “if you beg me, I’ll make you come until you can’t remember your own name.”

Fuck.

Rachel considered the merits of holding out, of letting the tension build and build and build, but then Isla bit her earlobe and she groaned. “Fine, Daddy. Fucking spank me.”

“That doesn’t sound like begging to me.”

“Please, Daddy. Please spank me.”

“Because?”

She swallowed, then suspense almost too much to bear. “Because I was cheeky, and cheeky princesses get spanks.”

“Yes they do,” said Daddy Isla, and her hand came down sharply on Rachel’s arse.

The sound Rachel made was almost guttural and at any other time, with any other person, she’d have felt embarrassed. But today, here, she felt glorious. Free.

“That’s it, babygirl, take Daddy’s spanks.”

They came down faster then, and Rachel felt each sting and each thud right in her core, even if Isla’s aim never faltered from her cheeks. When the spanks became a flurry, she gave up any hope of holding back and let everything go, giving herself over entirely to the sensations.

At some point, as if form far away, she heard Isla say, “You green, babygirl?”

“Yes,” she replied dreamily. “Green, green, green.”

There was a laughter, and the volley of spanks paused, cool hands brushing over her arse cheeks gently. “Oh babygirl, you’ve gone all subspacey, haven’t you?”

“Uh huh,” Rachel murmured, “all subspacey for Daddy.”

“Oh darling, onto your back now.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

She let Isla help her onto the bed, and roll her onto her back. Her arse stung dully, but she didn’t mind it, couldn’t think of anything other than Daddy Isla. Reaching up, she pulled the other woman down on top of her. “Kiss me,” she pleaded.

Daddy Isla obliged, with gentle kisses than made Rachel’s head spin. “My darling princess. Would you like Daddy to make you feel good now?’

Rachel nodded. “Yes please, Daddy.”

Isla sat up, straddling Rach’s hips, and in one fluid movement pulled her shirt up and over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra either, and her perky tits jiggled softly.

Rachel reached out, tweaking a nipple with one hand and giggling when Isla cursed.

“You cheeky thing, you.”

“You like me cheeky,” said Rachel.

“You’re right, I do,” said Isla, and she leaned down and kissed Rachel again, running her fingers up the inside of Rach’s thighs.

The sensation sent her spinning again, the gentlest touch turning stronger, using more pressure as Isla’s fingers grazed the top of Rach’s legs, stroking the creases and the joins and ignoring the throbbing button sat at the center.

“You going to make me beg again?” asked Rachel.

“No,” said Isla. “Not yet. You will beg for me to stop, though,” and before Rachel could work out what she meant, she flicked Rach’s clit.

Rachel felt that everywhere. In her nipples, her toes, even behind her knees. It was as if that touch had been a strum on the guitar that was her body, and now she was coming alive with music.

If she were a hill, Julie Andrews would be singing about her.