Daddy's Girl Phone Sex Diary

Dear diary,

I've been bad. Really bad. And Daddy knows it.

It started on Monday when I talked back. I don't even remember what about, something small, but I heard the tone in my own voice and I knew. He just looked at me over his coffee, calm as anything, and told me to be careful, little one. That was the warning. I should have listened.

But I didn't. Tuesday I forgot to do the things he asked me to do. Wednesday I rolled my eyes when he told me to be careful driving in the rain. Thursday I stayed out an hour later than I said I would and didn't text. Each time, he got quieter. Each time, that look in his eyes got heavier. By Friday morning I was practically vibrating, because here's my secret, diary, the one I'd never say out loud: I wasn't being bad by accident. I was being bad on purpose. I wanted him to finally do something about it.

Friday night, he was waiting for me in the living room when I got home. The lights were low. He was sitting in his big chair, and he didn't smile when I walked in. He told me to come here.

My stomach flipped. I went to him, and he pulled me down across his lap, not roughly, but firmly, like I weighed nothing, and I knew what was coming, and I wanted it so badly I could barely breathe.

He told me I'd been testing him all week. He asked if I knew what happens to little girls who test Daddy. I whispered no, which was a lie, and we both knew it. He said they get reminded exactly who they belong to.

He lifted my skirt and pulled my panties down, baring me over his lap, and I buried my face in the couch cushion, trembling. The first spank landed with a sharp crack that made me gasp, not too hard, never too hard, just enough to sting, just enough to make my eyes water. He spanked me slow and deliberate, each one followed by his hand soothing the spot, and I squirmed and whimpered over his lap, feeling the heat bloom across my skin.

He asked if I was going to be good for Daddy. I whimpered yes, that I was sorry, that I'd be good. He murmured good girl, and his hand slid between my thighs, and found me dripping. He made a low sound of approval. He asked if I liked that, and I couldn't answer. I just pressed my face harder into the cushion and nodded, and his fingers started moving, slow circles, teasing, knowing exactly how to touch me. Over his lap, spanked and exposed and completely at his mercy, I came apart with a sob, my whole body shaking.

But he wasn't done. He stood me up, and I was wobbly on my feet, my face burning, and he looked me over, rumpled, flushed, his good girl thoroughly undone, and smiled for the first time all night. He said bedroom, now.

I went. I always go. He followed me in and closed the door, and then he was on me, kissing me deep and possessive, his hands everywhere, stripping me bare with an urgency that told me he'd been holding back all week too. He laid me on the bed and spread my legs wide, and just looked at me for a moment, drinking me in. He said mine, simply. And then his mouth was on me, and I cried out, my back arching off the mattress. He was relentless, licking, sucking, his fingers pushing inside me, driving me up and up until I was begging, actually begging for him.

He rose over me, and I watched him free himself, thick and hard, and when he pushed into me I moaned his name like a prayer. He filled me completely, deeply, and he set a rhythm that was steady and claiming, every thrust a reminder, every groan in my ear a brand. His hand wrapped gently around my throat, not squeezing, just holding, just reminding me who was in charge.

He demanded softly to know who I belonged to. I gasped that I belonged to him, Daddy, only him. He growled that's right, driving deeper, and I shattered, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me, my body clenching around him. He followed with a deep groan, pulsing inside me, holding me so tight I could barely breathe.

After, he held me against his chest, stroking my hair, my still-tingling bottom pressed against him. He asked quietly if I'd been testing him on purpose, little one. I nodded against his chest, too shy to speak.

He chuckled, that low warm sound I love, and kissed the top of my head. He said then next time, just ask. Daddy's always happy to remind me.

This is my daddy's girl phone sex diary, and if you're reading this, you already know the truth about girls like me: we act up because we want to be put in our place. We push because we want to be pulled back. We need a firm hand and a soft voice and someone who knows exactly what to do with us.

And I have him. I'm the luckiest bad girl in the world.