I have a confession, and I am not even a little bit sorry about it. Last night I waited up for Daddy on purpose.
He thinks I fell asleep on the couch. He thinks it was an accident, the way his shirt hung off my shoulder, the way I just happened to be curled up in his spot wearing nothing underneath it but skin. Nothing about it was an accident, baby. I planned every single second. That is the first thing you need to know about me. When I want something, I do not sit around hoping. I arrange to get caught.
I heard his keys in the door and my heart started pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I stretched out slow on the couch and made sure that shirt rode up just enough. A girl does not wear a man's shirt by accident. She wears it because it smells like him. She wears it because it hangs loose in all the right places. And she wears it because she knows exactly what it does to him, walking through the door after a long day and finding her in it.
He stopped in the doorway. I watched his whole face change. All that tired, end of the day heaviness melted right off him, and something hungrier took its place.
"Do you know what time it is, little girl?"
I know exactly what time it is, Daddy. It is way past my bedtime. On purpose.
That is the moment that gets me soaking wet, every single time. The moment he realizes I have been bad on purpose. Not careless bad. Not oops bad. Deliberate bad. Planned it all afternoon bad. Shaved my legs and picked the shirt and practiced my innocent face in the mirror bad. He can see it all over me. I am not sorry, he knows I am not sorry, and we both know what happens to brats who stay up waiting to get caught.
He did not say another word at first. He just crossed the room slow, loosened his tie, and looked down at me like I was a problem he had been thinking about solving all day. Then he held out his hand.
"Up."
One word and my legs were shaking. I put my hand in his and let him pull me to my feet, and that shirt of his barely covered a thing. He turned me around right there in the living room and bent me over the arm of the couch, and I gasped because the leather was cool against my stomach while the rest of me was burning up. His hand came down flat and firm across my ass and the sound cracked through the quiet house.
"Count," he said.
So I counted. If you have never heard me count out a spanking in that breathy little voice, begging between every number, you are missing the best sound in the world. One. Thank you, Daddy. Two. Thank you, Daddy. By five my eyes were watering. By eight I was squirming and pressing back against his hand because the sting had turned into something else entirely, something hot and throbbing that I needed more of. That is what a good punishment does to me. It does not teach me to behave. It teaches me exactly how good being bad can feel.
He knew it too. He always knows. His hand slid from my burning skin down between my thighs and I heard him laugh, low and satisfied, because I was drenched and we both knew the punishment had turned into a reward about six smacks ago.
"This is what you waited up for, is it not?"
"Yes, Daddy."
After that, there was no more counting. There was his mouth on my neck and his hands everywhere and that shirt getting pushed up out of the way while he took his time reminding me who I belong to. I came so hard my knees nearly gave out, right there against the couch where anyone could have walked in, and I did not care about anything except his voice in my ear telling me what a bad, perfect girl I had been.
That is a real night with me, baby. That is what I am like. I do not wait to be wanted. I set the trap, I wear the shirt, I stay up too late, and I get caught exactly the way I planned. And if you are sitting there hard just reading this, imagine what happens when it is your voice I am begging for on the phone.
I am right there on PhoneBuckFuck waiting for my next call, and it is only a dollar a minute to find out how bad I can be. One dollar. That is less than the coffee you bought this morning, and I promise I taste better. Come catch me doing something I should not be doing. I will even wear the shirt.