50 I Know You (1/2)

His big palm smoothes over my bottom. ”I'll tell you that another time. Right now, I'm dealing with you. You have to be more careful, Trissa. You have to stop taking these wild impulses to their conclusions. You're going to be a mother.”

”How did you know?”

”You've been gone months and filled with cum more often than not, I'd wager,” he says, his palm clasping my ass possessively. ”And there's going to be more.”

A tingle of excitement rushes through me. More cum. His cum. Inside me.

He runs his hand over my bottom and between my thighs. ”You're wearing far too much clothing,” he says, stroking the flat of his palm against the crotch of my pants. ”This has to come off.”

And come off it does. It all comes off. With me over his thighs, Mattias strips me of every bit of clothing until I am utterly nude and vulnerable.

”You're beautiful,” he purrs. ”You've always been beautiful, but you're even more so now.”

He is caressing me, his hands roaming my body, finding my breasts, my belly, my thighs. He is making the punishment become pleasure, swift stinging slaps finding my cheeks intermittently between caresses that slide down between my legs and tease the lips of my sex.

”Daddy...” I moan the word.

”Yes, little girl,” he growls right back. He slides his fingers up and down my pussy, stroking my outer lips until I am so desperate for something, anything to be inside me I become a whimpering, moaning mess.

I lose myself in his touch. I get to be small. I get to be lost in desire. I get to be a slave to my base needs—and to him.

”I need you,” I moan, my hips bucking over his lap with each fresh slap that lands time and time again, not letting me forget that this is a punishment, and I am a very, very naughty girl.

”You have me,” he rumbles back. ”You will always have me. I will never let you go again, Trissa. I let you go once. I gave you what you thought you wanted, and you came back. Now you're mine.”

He emphasizes the words by slipping a finger slowly, deliberately, deeply into my sex. I let out a sigh of pure relief, even though it is not entirely what I need. I need his cock. I need the thick rod that I can feel prominent against my hip. I need him to forgive me—and I need him to fuck me.

”Please,” I whimper. ”Take me.”