Every time she sees me go to put on my belt or remove it, she instinctually bends over and pulls down her pants or skirt and gives me her ass for a good spanking. Not violent by nature, I furtively tap that ass with the leather strap, but she insists on it being harder and more forceful, more violent. She wishes for me to “punish” her and to leave marks that she will feel for the rest of the day (or night). It makes the inside of her thighs wet to feel her bottom spanked with strength and authority. She begs me to give her my cock so she can get down on her knees and suck it. She pleads with me to fuck her multiple times a day. (Who am I kidding? — multiple times a morning, a noon, a night.) Why? Why me? She could have any man she set her sights on, but she is, frankly, as obsessed with me as I am with her.
Recently I gained a sudden and startling insight in to this enigma. She and I had watched the movie Clueless together. It happens to be one of Lo’s favorites and she insisted that I watch it with her. My tastes tend to a more sophisticated and intellectual brand of cinema — Zinneman, Bergman, Huston. But, for my Lo, what low-brow entertainment wouldn’t I endure, if only to indulge her girlish inclinations? I will say that though the story was trite (even if it was loosely based on a Jane Austin novel; emphasis on loosely), the costume director made some rather excellent choices for Cher (Alicia Silverstone) and so I found my way into enjoying the film if for no other reason than for its visual effects.
As Lo and I were reclining on the couch together watching it, Lo’s left hand unconsciously found its way into her panties and slowly stroked her pussy. I’ve come to discover that this is a habitual act of Lo’s. Whenever she watches something — any form of visual entertainment (no matter what it is) — she strokes her pussy unawares. She actually has to have her attention drawn to it in order to prevent it. There have been numerous occasions when I had taken Lo to the theater to see a Broadway play or to the opera or ballet (to hopefully cultivate that Clueless taste of hers) and I had to speak to her in order to remind her that we are not at home on the couch alone. She would look at me with those big brown eyes that wordlessly inquired, “What have I done wrong?” and I would have to surreptitiously draw her attention to her meandering hand. On occasion, if the lighting was very dark and the chances of getting caught were low, I would allow her to have her way and I, for my part, would be far more entertained by my little Lo’s public performance than the professionals performing on the stage.
After watching the movie we retired to the bedroom. Lo spread her legs and her naturally well lubricated pussy ached for my cock. I penetrated her ferociously and sunk down into her awaiting body as our two bodies fused into one. She raised her lips to my ear and said, “Do you know why I like that movie?”
“No,” I whispered back.
“I like how the daughter dances around her father in her little skirt and tiny top.”
“What do you like about that?” I asked.
“I like that. . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Say it,” I said with a little pelvic thrust for emphasis.
“No. It’s bad,” she said.
“Say it,” I demanded, with a harder thrust this time.
“No,” she whispered, “I can’t say it.”
“Say it!” I commanded with a very forceful stab at her entrails.
“I like that he’s her. . . daddy.”
“You like that?” I asked, coaxingly.
“Yes,” she said.
“What do you like about that?” I inquired.
“I just like it. It makes me think of. . .” Again she trailed off.
“Of what?” I asked.
“No,” she said, “please don’t make me say it.”
“Say it,” I uttered.
“Please,” she begged.
“Say it or I shall be angry with you.”
“It makes me think of. . . of. . . you.”
I knew that this was what she was going to say, but I wanted to hear it. She continued, “I like how she calls him ‘Daddy.’”
“You do, do you?” I asked.
She responded with a very little girl voice and simply said, “Yes Daddy.” At that moment she came like the breaking of a levee.