“Will it upset you if I read it?” she inquired.
I shrugged my shoulders again and, after a moment, said apathetically, “Do whatever you want to do. I don’t really care.”
For a small eternity we lay there in silence and then I felt her reach for her phone. She turned on the cold blue light of the screen and within a few moments I could hear her breathing grow deeper with some long, heavy sighs. I could feel the slight rhythmic jiggling of the bed as the fingers of her right hand found their way to her pussy. I felt the movement in the darkness as she pulled off her pajama bottoms and spread her legs wide and I could hear her begin to moan. She then whispered, “I’m so wet. I’m so wet.” I could feel the motion of the bed as her right hand plunged deeply into her pussy, pounding it with three, four, maybe even five fingers. She groaned and sighed in the telltale way that indicates she’s climaxing. She grabbed my right hand from around her and pulled it down to her crotch and forced it between her legs to feel how wet she was, how her pussy was dripping down the sides of her groin.
“Slap me, Daddy,” she begged, “Teach me a lesson. Punish me.”
I slapped the top of her pussy once, right on her clit. Her whole body convulsed and, a second later, she let out a little moan of delight. “Again,” she said. I slapped her again. “More,” she said. I slapped her four or five times, very hard.
Her right hand moved to her pussy, pushing mine away, and she was at it all over again. Again she climaxed. Again she asked me to slap her. Again I did. And all over again she was diddling her pussy, clit, cunt. As she did so she said, “I can’t stop.” Her left hand reached to feel my groin and see if my cock was hard. It was. “Do you want me, Daddy?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Then why is your cock hard?”
“It just is.”
That damn cock. It has a fucking mind of its own. I didn’t want her. But it. . . it can’t help itself. When it hears her voice moaning in the darkness, when it feels her wrist moving in such a fashion as to move the whole bed from its gyrations on her clit, when it knows what she is up to there under the covers, it wants her. It betrays me. Mutiny! Damn it! I should name that prick Benedict Arnold.
She brought herself to an orgasm over and over again. And then she asked me to spank her pussy to teach it a lesson. I moved my right hand to her clit and I slapped her twat silly with about fifteen good, hard, firm smacks of my open hand. I kept going until she covered her pussy with both hands and said, “I’ll be sore tomorrow, Daddy.”
“Good,” I said, “You little nympho.”
[Excerpt from the story “Transformations,” as found in the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]