Page 7 of Hunter's Baby Girl

Chapter 4

My stomach had been filled with butterflies all day long. I’d found it difficult to so much as concentrate on typing an email or paint my nails. This was it. My first day as a Little.

I’d done some Internet sleuthing as to what would be expected me of as a Little. Actually, I saw myself as more of a Middle. This was something he and I would have to discuss. He had treated me as a Middle on Friday night, from what I could tell. But I didn’t want to assume anything.

I stressed over what to wear. My “Britney” outfit had suited Friday night’s activities, but it wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted to whip out every day. I wondered what sort of outfit would say “bratty teenager”. I grabbed an old pair of jeans out of one of the storage totes in the basement and cut holes in the knees, then cut the neck out of an old black tee so it slid off one shoulder. I pulled my hair into a high ponytail and rimmed my eyes in dark liner. I was definitely more of a parody of a teenager than what an actual teenager looked like. If Daddy had a problem with it, we could always talk it over later.

I told him I’d leave the front door unlocked. All that was left to do was wait for him to come over. I sacked out on the sofa and turned on some random reality TV show. It was mindless and silly, but I was playing a role after all. I took out my phone and scrolled through my social media feed. My heart was pounding, and I was hoping he would actually show up.

But he did, right on time. He walked into the house and shut then locked the door behind him. “Where’s my Little Girl?” I heard him ask. My heart skipped a beat. Here we go.

“In here,” I muttered just loud enough to be heard. He rounded the corner and saw me lying there. I didn’t tear my eyes from my phone.

“What are you up to?” he asked. I shrugged.

“I thought we talked about this,” Hunter said. “You’re supposed to be doing your homework or cleaning your room, not lying on the couch watching garbage TV and texting your friends.”

“I’m not texting my friends. I’m looking at Facebook.” I didn’t so much as glance at him.

“Do me a favor and look at me when you’re speaking to me, or I’ll take that phone away from you,” he said.

I looked at him. “I said I’m not texting my friends. I’m looking at Facebook.” Then I looked back at my phone again.

“I think we have to have a discussion about your attitude, young lady,” he said. Wow, we were getting into this very quickly.

I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes. “Just because I’m taking a break from all the work you want me to do?”

“Because your tone of voice needs work, Little Girl. I think you forget who takes care of you around here. I deserve a little more respect.”

I pretended to deliberately ignore him, goading him on. When I didn’t reply, he said, “I’ll give you a choice. Either I take away your phone, right now, or I take you over my knee and teach you a little bit about respecting your Daddy. What do you think? Your decision.”

I looked at him, defiant. “I’ll take the spanking.” I saw his eye gleam and knew he was pleased with me.

“I bet you think I won’t break you,” he said to me. “I bet you think your Daddy can’t make you say you’re sorry for acting this way, and that you’ll be better.”

“I bet you’re right,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes and smiled. I sensed danger in that smile.

“Get up,” he commanded. I took my time, sighing as I did, never letting myself break eye contact. I stood in front of him, hands at my sides.

He sat down on the sofa. “Unbutton your jeans, then get over my knee,” he commanded. Again, moving slowly and never breaking eye contact, I did as I was told. I unbuttoned my jeans and lowered the zipper, then stretched out over my Daddy’s lap with my knees and forearms resting on the sofa.

I felt his fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans and pull them down. Once again I was wearing a thong, and my entire ass was exposed to him. I felt his right hand gently caress the skin, moving back and forth from one cheek to the other. I felt goosebumps rise in the wake of his gentle touch.

“Such a nice, round ass, Little Girl,” he murmured admiringly.

Then smack! He caught me with the palm of his hand, once, briskly. I gasped. To go so quickly from pleasure to pain was a surprise. It also heightened the arousal I felt once the momentary pain subsided.

“See what being a bad girl gets you?” my Daddy asked. He slapped again, this time on the other cheek. The sound echoed off the walls and reverberated through me. My skin tingled.

“If there’s one thing I ask for” — smack! — “it’s respect.” Smack!

I could feel myself becoming more and more aroused with every stroke. My hips flexed and moved without my even intending them to. I couldn’t keep myself from responding to the feeling of his hand against me.

“Hmmm . . .,” I heard. “It looks like somebody is enjoying this a little bit. Is that true? Do you like it when Daddy spanks you?”

I didn’t know how to best answer, and I must have hesitated too long, because I felt his hand grasp my ponytail and yank my head back. “I asked you a question. Answer me. Do you like it when Daddy spanks you?”