“Hand me a pen and come closer,” he said, his words making me want to obey and disobey him. He always let me decide if I wanted to brat or not.
But I was already so horny, I didn’t want to prolong the rough fucking he had promised.
So, like his good girl, I picked up a pen from the desk and handed it to him. His silk pants brushed over my bare legs as he pulled me closer, asking me to stay still.
My breath hitched in my throat when he wrote on my naked skin. I secretly loved it whenever he labeled me. Sometimes Daddy’s Princess, Naughty Brat, or Daddy’s Pet.
But he wrote something else.
I swallowed, looking down at my hips, his hand moving gracefully, his penmanship clean. “There,” he said, pulling back and tilting his head. “Daddy’s Pussy, with a little arrow to remind you who it belongs to.”
My lips parted at the words scrawled below my belly button, an arrow pointing down to my sex. He wassofilthy.My dirty Daddy.
“Let me write something on your pretty tits too,” he said, scribbling on my sensitive skin. “Can’t have them miss out on the fun, can we?”
I bit my lip, taking deep breaths to stay still. I felt so turned on that I wanted to ride him. My pussy kept getting wetter, and I was sure he knew.Tease. He could probably smell how turned on I was just by him writing words on me. Owning me. I felt embarrassed.
“You look wonderful, Princess,” Sean said, his eyes raking over the words. He handed me the pen and pulled me towards my desk. I frowned when he sat me down on the chair and opened a notebook with a plain page.
“Now, for the punishment,” he started, his bulge right beside my face when he pointed to the page. “You’re going to write ‘My orgasms belong to my Daddy’ twenty times.”
“What?” I asked, surprised by how snappy my voice was. I wasn’t expecting him to say that.Who the hell writes lines for punishment?—
“Princess,” he tsked, shaking his head. “Not every punishment needs to be sexual. Be a good girl and start writing.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I looked between the blank page and his face. “You’re serous? You can’t be,” I scoffed, dropping the pen on my desk.
“Hmm, let’s increase it to twenty-five lines,” he said, checking time on his expensive watch. “You better get done in fifteen minutes with neat handwriting.”
I could practically hear the ‘or else’, but kept my mouth shut. Knowing him, he would make me write lines a hundred times, kiss me and then drive us home.
Pursing my lips, I asked, “Is this… can I safe-word out of this punishment, Daddy?”
He frowned, his brows furrowing as he leaned down to my face level, and asked, “Is it uncomfortable?”
I shook my head.
“Is it hurting you anywhere, Princess?”
Swallowing, I shook my head. “No, Daddy.”
His eyes darkened. Leaning closer, he whispered in my ear, “Then start fucking writing, Princess. Or I can make you crawl on rice instead,hm?”
“I’m writing,” I squealed, grabbing the pen and scribbling the sentence he told me to. God, he was scary.
It was terrifying how he could be clingy, silly and scary in a span of minutes.
“Good girl,” he patted my head and walked back to his desk.
After writing three lines, I realized why he had undressed me, collared me, labeled me and then made me write lines. Because I kept getting wetter with each line I scrawled on the paper.
He was making sure I knew who I belonged to. Whothispussy belonged to. And after that punishment, I knew there was no chance I was going to ever question it.
After ten lines, I looked up and found him working. My face fell.That jerk.
Clearing my throat, I made my voice extra sweeter and asked, “Daddy, I wrote ten lines. Can I?—”
“Do I need to teach you how to count, sweet girl?” Sean asked, his voice soft and gentle.
