Daddy's Sweet Punishment

Hello everyone. I'm Claire. I'm a new writer so please let me know if my writing is grammatically incorrect. I'm very open to feedback but please don't be too harsh.

Just to be clear, this story is one of my deeper fantasies that I had to write out. I'm unsure if I should have published it because perhaps it's a little too much. Please let me know if anything about this is toxic or unhealthy. I wrote what was in my fantasies and what turns me on.

Also, they are BOTH consenting and legal adults. The girl is 18 and has been for months. Don't worry. If you don't like the age gap, move on. They're both legal and allowed to do as they please. The daughter is fully consenting to and enjoying this, don't worry. This is her fantasies brought to life basically, so as far as I'm aware, nothing is toxic in here.

If you're expecting gentle intimacy and romance, please move on. This is quite erotic- for me, at least, I don't about you guys- and has lots of explicit scenes, lots of dirtiness, lots of humiliating and degrading and roughness in this. There's also a very explicit dominant/submissive dynamic where the dominant obviously has a lot more control over the submissive. I apologize if I don't make her consent and feelings on this matter obvious enough. She is willing. As I said, I don't write that often so I might not have expressed my characters well enough.

Please let me know if I'm doing anything wrong, and if I agree with it and if others do, I'll edit.

Thanks,

Claire xx

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The days leading up to the final party of senior year were a whirlwind of excitement and anxiety for me. I had spent the past few weeks oscillating between fervent anticipation and moments of doubt. The culmination of high school had been marked by a series of parties, each one an opportunity to let loose and make memories. But tonight was different. Tonight wasn't just about celebrating the end of an era; it was about me finally grasping the courage to lose what I should have lost ages ago.

The evening had arrived with the weight of anticipation pressing down on me. I was 18 now and had been for months. After months of unresolved tension and simmering desire, tonight was the night I intended to confront my own desires head-on. Tonight, I was invited to party, something promised to be the perfect setting.

I had spent the afternoon preparing for this party. No, the whole week. I've been picking out possible outfits, going shopping, switching my makeup. I've been lying to my parents about where I'm going and who I'm with just so I could prepare.

As the clock inched closer to curfew, my excitement grew. I could already imagine the energy of the party, the way the room would vibrate with music and laughter.

I've been asked out by many guys in my year. Even college guys. I know that most of them just want to get in my pants, and I'm regretting not accepting Nick Ross's invitation to his bedroom back in sophomore year. I'm starting to regret not going with every guy who's ever asked me out. It would have given me more experience.

But for some reason, I never accepted a man's invitation. I don't know what exactly I was waiting for. The guys at my school are good-looking, but for some reason I don't feel as into them as I should be.

Tonight, however, was the night I wanted to finally lose my virginity. I was determined.

For months, I had been wrestling with my own feelings of longing and curiosity. I'd watched my friends explore their sexuality, their stories filled with vivid experiences that left me both envious and intrigued. The thought of finally breaking free from my prim title and restrictions had become an obsession, one that grew more intense with each passing day.

I know I might get in trouble tonight. I'm not supposed to be coming home even a minute past my curfew of 11PM but leaving the house past it? I was already so cooked it wasn't even funny. But I had to go to the party tonight. It was the last big party of senior year before prom and I needed to be there.

The process of getting ready was a ritual. I had carefully applied my makeup with my friend Carly's tips, ensuring my foundation was flawless, my eyes a little bit glittery, and my lips full and inviting. My hair, curled and cascading down my shoulders, framed my face perfectly. Each step was a declaration of confidence, a preparation for the night I had been waiting for.

I checked myself out in the full length mirror in my bedroom, spinning around a little so I could get a good look at myself from every angle. I'm not conceited by any means, but I'm self-aware enough to know that I'm an attractive young girl. I have long brown hair, green eyes and olive toned skin. I stand at 5 feet 4 inches, which was shorter than I would have liked but the insecurity quickly vanished when I realized how much men loved the height. I had a slender frame with slim, toned legs from years of dance. I have a nice hourglass figure defined by gentle curves at my hips that are rounded enough to grab at nicely and 34b breasts that are a nice handful.

My friend Carly picked out a dress for me; it was a tight mini pink dress that barely even reached my mid-thigh. It was so short that you could almost see my lacy blue thongs. The dress had a low cut cleavage that made my tits spill out. The thin fabric hugged every curve of my body and made my legs look like they went on for days. The perfect dress for the last party of the year. And the perfect dress to get a boy's attention. My body looked terrific in it and I never felt so- dare I say- sexy.

As the clock ticked closer to the party time, my excitement mixed with a twinge of anxiety. I knew the risks of leaving the house past my curfew, but the allure of the party was too strong. Both of my parents were very likely to be fast asleep by now, but still.

I glanced at the clock, realizing I was cutting it close.

I slipped on a pair of white pumps and made sure to throw on an oversized hoodie before quietly making my way down the stairs, making sure not to wake my dad up. My mom was on a business trip for the next week, so he was left in charge of me.

As I reached the front door, a wave of panic hit me--my car keys were missing. I frantically searched through my purse, the kitchen, and the hallway. I rummaged through the closet downstairs for my coat which is where my car keys usually were. I couldn't find them though.

"Shit," I hissed when I couldn't find them anywhere. I looked at the key hooks, in the kitchen, in my purse and nothing. I finally found it in the living room. The seconds ticked away, and my frustration mounted. Finally, I found the keys in the living room, but the delay had already set me on edge. I quickly swiped them and made haste so I wouldn't be too late for the party. I hurried to the door, only to hear the sound of footsteps approaching. Before I could even make it out, I heard my dad's voice.

My heart skipped a beat as I turned to face him. He stood there, tall and imposing, his eyes sharp and critical.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Eleanor?" he yelled at me when he saw me.

I quickly thought on my feet, doing my best to stay out of trouble. "Hi dad," I said with a sheepish smile. "Nothing. I was just um, running to go on an errand."

He raised his eyebrows. "An errand? At 11 at night?"

"Yeah. I, um, ran out of tampons," I said, smiling innocently so it looked believable. But I was wearing a full face of glowy makeup and my hair was curled, with white heels.

His eyes narrowed at me and then swept up and down my body. My legs were very exposed in my hoodie that barely made it past my ass. "Come here," he beckoned me.

"What? Dad, I really have to go," I told him, starting to panic.

Instead, he marched up to me. With each step he took forward I took one back until my ass was pressed up against the door, with him towering over me. My dad was a tall man of six-four height, with a large muscular frame. He had a bit of a dad bod, but overall he was very fit for a forty-four year old. His chiseled jawline was softened with a medium stubble, framing his rugged features. I had his dark hair and his green eyes but I got my mother's height and her slim figure. He was attractive for a man of his age, something that my friends have told me on multiple occasions.

My father was usually a very calm man, too. He never yelled at me growing up and was always the good cop. These past few months, he was getting angsty, though. Losing his temper a little more, giving me more scolding and lectures, etc. Tonight, however, he looked like he was on the verge of losing it. His jaw was locked tight, his eyes were narrowed, there was a vein protruding in his forehead, his gaze was intense and burning, something that I had never seen in them before. It should have scared me. It should have made me listen to him.

These past few months, you see, I felt something new between my father and me. There was another layer of added tension that I couldn't place the older I got and the more I grew into my body. The more I dressed up to suit my figure, the madder he seemed to get. Like I said, he used to be a calm man who was always smiling and laughing, but these past few months there was something new about him. He was more agitated, more tense, especially around me. He had an issue with what I wore, who I spoke to, what I did. He would look at my body for too long in the wrong places, notice when my makeup changed, etc. He would snap at me more when I went on dates and he would always hide in his room or the bathroom when I wore particularly revealing pajamas during family movie nights.

I just assumed this was part of the process of having a teenage daughter, this newfound angst of his. That if I listened to him and started covering up more, at least around him, that it would go away. Maybe I should have.

But, no, instead it made a spark ignite in me. It made me want to disobey him even more. Whenever he yelled at me for wearing certain clothes, it made me want to go to the mall and buy more things like that. Whenever I caught him staring, I'd feel my body flush with pleasure. I liked that I was riling him up. I didn't know why I liked it or what I was waiting for or what I expected, but provoking him gave me a sense of satisfaction.

Except for the fact that I poked the bear one too many times and tonight, it seemed, he finally showed his claws.

"Take your hoodie off," he ordered me.

My eyes widened. "W-what?" I sputtered, knowing I was so busted. It was probably the hair and makeup that gave it away.

"You heard me. Take your hoodie off."

Oh, I was so, so screwed. "I'm not wearing anything underneath," I tried to say.

"Ellie, if you don't take that hoodie off then I will for you," Dad said, his eyes flashing with anger. I could see the veins pulsing visibly on his forehead from how frustrated he was.

"You wouldn't do that," I said in disbelief.

"Don't test me," he warned, his voice low and filled with simmering vexation. "I mean it, Eleanor. Test me and you'll know what it means to be punished for real."

I felt an odd pulse between my legs at the sound of that, one that I chose to ignore.

It wasn't as if I was completely innocent in the building tension between my and my dad. I enjoyed his attention. And the more the tension built, the more erotic my mind became.

In the quiet solitude of my bedroom, my thoughts became a playground for my burgeoning desires. My fantasies, once innocent, began to take on a more intense and provocative nature. I would lie in bed at night, my body flushed and my heart racing, as I imagined my dad's authoritative presence in my fantasies. I pictured him with a commanding demeanor, his gaze locking onto mines with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

The fantasies were not just about physical attraction--they were about control, power, and a tantalizing mixture of dominance and submission. They were bold and vivid. I envisioned Dad in moments of dominance, easily taking control of me. His touch in my dreams was both commanding and rough, a combination that made me feel desired in a way I had never experienced. I imagined him pulling me close, his voice low and commanding, sending waves of heat through my body. The way he would command my attention, his hands exploring me with deliberate, confident touches, igniting a fire within me. His presence was overwhelming, his dominance palpable, and each scenario left me breathless and yearning.

I envisioned Dad guiding me with a firm grip, his touch both commanding and sensuous. The thought of him instructing me, his voice thick with desire as he told me exactly what he wanted, exactly what I had to do for him, made my body tingle with anticipation. The fantasies were intense, detailed--I imagined the feel of his hands on my skin, the pressure of his body against mine, the way he would take control in the most intimate ways.

These thoughts were both thrilling and deeply confusing, given my conservative upbringing and the guilt that accompanied such desires.

I was so desperate for sex, so in need of physical touch and intimacy that I was fantasizing about my own father. That's how pathetic I was.

And the craziest part? I always came the hardest when I thought of my dad instead of any other boy.

Knowing that I was in big trouble either way, I sighed and reached for the hem of my hoodie and pulled it off of me, to show the extremely tight and revealing dress I was wearing. I watched his eyes take in my body- almost hungrily- his gaze dragging down my curves and spending a few seconds too long on my breasts and down my legs. I felt a clench in my core.

"And where do you think you were going dressed like a slut, hmm?" he asked me, bringing his eyes back to mine. I didn't answer him, but my pulse quickened when he called me a slut. The degrading name should annoy me, especially coming from my father, and yet... I liked it a little.

He shook his head in disappointment. "One more chance to tell me the truth, Ellie," he said, and the threat in his voice was real. I bit down on my bottom lip.

He sighed, like I exasperated him. "You know what your problem is, Ellie," he murmured, his voice low and raspy, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "You don't take me seriously. You think that I'm going to let you get away with every little thing, no matter what. You mistook my good attitude and patience for softness." He grasped my chin and tilted my head up. I swallowed as I looked up at him. Something in his eyes had changed. It was darker and more... steamy. Something else was burning in his gaze and it made my legs wobble a little.

"I have been a patient man these past few months. I've let you get away with countless things. The way you dress, the people you go out with, your cheeky attitude and disobeying me time and time again..." he continued, his thumb stroking my jawline, his callouses scratching against my soft skin. My pussy pulses when I imagine what it would feel like against my clit. That's your father, you dirty girl. "I've tried being nice. I've used up all the soft discipline methods. I've tried talking to you, taking your phone away, grounding you. I've used every good cop method there is in the book. But none of that seems to work, does it?" His thumb swiped at my bottom lip when a little bit of drool collected. I swallowed again, my throat bobbing. The tension between us was so thick, so hot. "You know what I think?"

"What?" I whisper, my voice shaky.

"I think... You need better discipline. Something harsher. Something rougher. Something that will really teach you a lesson." He pinched my bottom lip. "You need something that you won't forget. Something I've been wanting to do for a really long time. Something that will make you think twice before whoring yourself out to men other than me."

My eyes widened at the sound of that. "W-what do you mean by that?""

"You want to tell me where you were going?" he asked. "This is your last chance."

I knew I should have listened to it. Took that chance. But for some reason I was emboldened. I wanted to find out what he meant. "No," I said stubbornly.

I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, my breaths shallow and rapid. The air between us crackled with unspoken tension, heavy with a mix of defiance and apprehension. My father's gaze bore into mine, unwavering and intense, as if daring me to challenge him further.

"Hmm?" he said, his eyes glittering with a cold amusement.

"No," I repeated, my voice steadier this time but tinged with a hint of nervousness.

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. "You think this is a game, Eleanor?" he asked, his tone low and dangerous.

I shook my head, feeling the weight of his disappointment pressing down on me. "Stop daddy. Please," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He let out a little groan, why I don't know. He took a step closer, his presence dominating the small space between us. "Stop? You want me to stop?" he pressed, his voice a mixture of frustration and something else--something darker that sent a shiver down my spine.

"I..." My voice trailed off as I struggled to find the words, to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling inside me.

He reached out, his hand hovering near my cheek, his touch gentle yet possessive. "You've been testing me, Eleanor," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "Pushing me to see how far I'll go."

I swallowed hard, feeling a flush spread across my cheeks as his words washed over me. There was no denying the truth in his statement--that I had been pushing boundaries, provoking him with my actions and choices.

"And I've all but reached my limit," he continued, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent a chill down my spine. His hand slid from my cheek to the nape of my neck, his fingers curling gently around the base of my skull, anchoring me in place.

I shivered involuntarily, torn between the instinct to pull away and the unnerving desire to lean closer, to feel the heat of his body against mine. The tension between us crackled in the air, thick and palpable, charged with unspoken words and unexplored desires.

This was so, so wrong. He was my father. He helped bring me into this world and yet here I was, fantasies swirling through me and dark, dirty thoughts clouding my mind.

Fuck. I was so screwed.

"Dad," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath, uncertainty coursing through me. My heart hammers in my chest.

His gaze bore into mine, intense and unwavering. "You think you can provoke me, tease me with those outfits, those little rebellions," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a feather-light touch that belied the underlying strength in his grip. "But you have no idea how far I'm willing to go to make you understand."

My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear and fascination swirling within me. His words were both a warning and a promise--a promise of consequences that left me breathless and strangely exhilarated.

"I didn't mean..." I started, but his gaze silenced me, the weight of his unspoken expectations pressing down on me.

"You need discipline," he continued, his voice low and commanding. "And I'm going to give it to you."

A jolt of fear mingled with a strange thrill shot through me at his words. Part of me wanted to protest, to argue that I was too old for discipline, that I could make my own decisions. But another part--a part I barely recognized--was curious, intrigued by the intensity in his eyes, by the raw vulnerability simmering beneath the surface.

"Dad, please," I started, my voice trembling slightly. "I... I didn't mean to upset you."

He scoffed a little. "You haven't upset me, Ellie," he said quietly, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek. "I'm more disappointed in you than upset. I thought I raised my daughter better than this. I thought I raised her with morals and proprietary. Instead, she's going behind her father's back and whoring herself to any man who's willing to spare her a second glance. But you need to understand--there are consequences for your actions."