Desires Within Young Girls

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Brandi stood in front of me, defiant with her arms crossed. She wore her skin tight ripped jeans and a t-shirt that was extra small and clung to her perky breasts.

"What you need, young lady, is a good spanking. Out half the night, and we couldn't get a hold of you! What the heck?"

She looked at me with that angry stare.

"What were you thinking, Brandi?"

Silence.

"Brandi. Talk to me!" I yelled.

"What do you want me to say? I was at Stephanie's. We stayed up. My phone died. I forgot. What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to be a little more responsible and call us."

"Okay. Can I go now?"

"No you can't. There needs to be a consequence for this."

"Sam. NOTHING HAPPENED. OKAY? SO, CAN I PLEASE GO NOW?"

"No, Brandi, you can't. "

"What do you want me to do? I said I was sorry."

"Brandi. Sorry isn't a consequence. I think I'm gonna take your phone."

"NO!"

"You didn't use it to call us like you're supposed to, and it's the one thing you don't want to lose. So, yeah. Gimme your phone."

"Sam, no. I'm not giving you my phone!"

"Brandi. Give me the phone, please. Don't make me get upset."

"You are not my Dad. I'm NOT giving you my phone!"

It wasn't too long ago that we used to call Brandi, frumpy Brandi because she wore baggy jeans or sweatpants, baggy sweatshirts or sweaters, and no one knew whether she was fat or thin or wide or narrow.

That all changed when her lithe, young teenage body began to blossom. As the little buds on her chest turned to full, round globes, and her legs took on shapeliness in the hips and the calves, and as her bottom turned into a round, heart-shaped ass, Brandi began to wear the types of clothes that instead of covering up the body, actually accentuate and draw the eyes toward the body, toward those parts that men desire most.

As the body changed, Brandi discovered the power of makeup, and mascara, and lipstick, and sparkly body lotion, and perfume. She discovered ribbons for her wavy blonde hair and necklaces, and colorful bracelets. She discovered leggings and tight jeans, and she discovered extra small tops that hugged her breasts and exposed her taut belly and her belly button ring.

For many teenage girls, these discoveries of makeup and clothes and accessories happen well in advance of bodily changes, but for Brandi, the transformation from frumpy girl to nubile young woman happened in tandem and took about six months, or so it seemed. As the body changed, so did the outerwear.

As the man who married her mother two and a half years, I suppose I'm her stepfather, but I had no part in raising her until I moved in when Brandi was 15. But in these last two years or so, I have seen this remarkable change in Brandi from young girl to young woman. And I could see that she changed not only the outerwear, but the underwear as well—from boxers to panties, from sports bras to push ups.

Now, I say that Brandi transformed into a nubile young woman—that's true for her body—it has become a sexually attractive object of desire, no doubt. But Brandi's maturity level was still that of a teenage girl still wrestling with the transition from girlhood to adulthood.

"Brandi. If you want to prolong this, I'll keep the phone for a week, rather than the three days I was planning on."

"Three days? NO. Where's Mom? I want to talk to her."

"Your Mom left today for a three-day conference. Like it or not, I'm in charge."

"I am not giving you my phone for three days. Not even one day."

I was silent, returning her angry stare.

"Okay, Brandi. What do you propose as an appropriate consequence to coming home at 3AM without calling or texting when your curfew was 12?"

"I'm 18, you know! I'm an ADULT! I can do what I want!"

"You are 18, that's true. But as long as you live here, you are under our supervision. That means you follow our rules. You are under our care. We have to know you are okay. And staying out until 3AM without telling us anything is NOT OKAY. So, I'll ask you again, what is an appropriate consequence?"

Brandi didn't say anything. She looked down. Arms still crossed. After a very long pause, finally, she whispered toward the floor. "I don't know. What about what you said?" She bit her lower lip and looked at me.

"What I said? Huh? Taking the phone?"

"No. The other thing."

"What other thing?" I said incredulous.

She looked up at me and stared. "The spanking."

I looked at her. "Seriously, Brandi?"

She stared at me.

I thought for a minute, not believing the predicament I found myself in. I couldn't spank this girl. And I kind of think she knew that. And since the blossoming transformation, she might even be aware of the recent times that she's walked by me at night on the way to the bathroom or bouncing down the stairs in the morning, wearing little more than a t-shirt and a pair of Victoria Secret's PINK panties. Maybe she knows the times that I stared longingly at that lovely round ass wrapped in those tight white or yellow or baby blue panties. Or the time I saw her leave the bathroom just a few days ago with nothing but a long night shirt on, her heart-shaped ass switching back and forth as her ass cheeks peaked out from underneath. I often thought that since her transformation she just might be a deliberate little cock tease, but somehow I thought of her as too innocent to realize what she was doing. Even though her body had changed, her mind hadn't caught up with that fact yet. She was caught in the middle and trying to decide how to act, how to behave, how to be, really, now that she has the body that the genes of her mother gave her. Her mom, to put it mildly, is a looker, and part of the reason why I married her two-and-a-half years ago. In fact, when I first met Brandi's mother three and a half years ago, I thought I had met an angel—she was, and still is, stunning! I couldn't believe she wanted me.

"Well?" She asked and walked toward me. I was sitting on the sofa with my arms leaning on my knees.

She stood over top of me looking down.

I looked up and finally said, "Okay, Brandi. Okay." I breathed deeply. "If this is what you want as a consequence, you got it. But I promise you, this is going to hurt."

"Fine," she shot back with that defiant teenage attitude.

"Undo your jeans and pull them down and bend over my lap." I said firmly.

She did as ordered, slowly unbuttoning her jeans and wiggling them down over her ass and down her slender legs. She kneeled and laid herself across my lap revealing a pair of the cutest pink polka dot panties I think I have ever seen.

In the eastern philosophies, craving is the cause of all suffering. Staring down at her across my lap with the sweet smell of her teenage perfume, her perfectly rounded ass, her long blonde curls of hair down her back, and the honey-brown hue of her skin, it wasn't suffering that entered my mind.

It was torment.

Was I punishing her or was she punishing me?

I needed to stay focused.

Her knees were on the floor, and she leaned her arms on the sofa as I leaned back.

"Brace yourself, Brandi."

I raised my right hand and before I could think twice, I came down on her right ass cheek, smacking it with such force I surprised myself. I felt her wince and buck forward in my lap. I raised my hand again and came down on her left ass cheek. She bucked again, and this time I heard a whispering whimper.

I came down again and again and again and again alternating between her cheeks four, five, maybe six more times. The last time, I rested my palm on her ass not wanting to pull it away. All I wanted to do was caress it and move my hands underneath her panties and finger that sweet, tight, forbidden entrance of wet skin and lips. In fact, this thought presented another problem—the growing erection in my pants which I now feared she could feel underneath her.

I pulled my hand away, longingly staring at the round mounds just two feet away from my hungry eyes.

And then I realized she was crying.

I stopped. "Okay, Brandi. I think that's enough of a consequence."

She stood up and pulled up her jeans and looked at me, tears and mascara streaming down her face.

"Brandi. I, I, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's what I wanted. It's over." She wiped her eyes.

I stood up and wrapped my arms around her and nuzzled her hair. "I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have done that."

She cried in my arms as I stroked her hair. "I'm sorry too." She finally said.

"There's some aloe in the bathroom. Why don't I get it for you."

"Okay." She said sniffling.