The Colonel's Daughter 2011

Lana touched herself almost every night to fantasies of her father, the Colonel, a strict disciplinarian she'd developed an insatiable fantasy for, imagining him going past just reprimanding her.

Generally a kind man, it was when he became stern with her Lana she thought about, that made her warm inside, that made her hunger for it. She would get so hot, so wet with anticipation purposely doing things to be scolded for, and then the waiting for him to find her, to scold her, to punish her, all was, well, so perversely delicious she'd quiver and shake building a nervous sexual energy anticipating, plotting, how she'd provoke him again, and again.

Thrilling, her little secret, her father giving her pleasure he didn't even know he was giving her, her secret, that none of the house help knew, that made Lana so hot and wet her nipples would tingle and become erect and hurt as she awaited being reprimanded for one thing or another.

He was in her, his voice making her body hum. Tonight she was especially horny, her pussy hot and tingling deep inside her belly; she'd have to resist rubbing herself off, the tension so utterly amazingly hot, building in her to the point where she intended to prod him further, curl her lip at him, to set him off.

For years she would run back to her bedroom her bottom red and stinging through her dress, the silken burning impressions of her father's bare hand stinging red, thrusting her fingers inside her knickers, cumming almost immediately to images of her father spanking her, scolding her, putting her in her place. She'd drop her knickers and turn to see in the mirror the welts he'd left, his fingertip's wrapped so terribly around her legs, her soft hips, satisfied and pleased with herself, the burning wounds a badge, his fury, his power, burning deep inside her hot little cunt.

She'd go riding after to prolong and re-injure her bottom, aching from the bruises as she bounced on the wide back of her horse. The pain compelling her to rub harder into the saddle, making herself cum harder, especially in front of her riding trainer, the woman oblivious trying to correct Lana not realizing her words were pushing Lana over the edge. Even as Lana shuddered and thrust into the saddle, banging into the horse's gait, to images of her father lashing her legs, her bottom, even her back. She came, to the long leather reins dangling into her groin, lapping at her through her thin white cotton riding pants pulling so tightly between her legs, her nipples so swollen and hot they could burst, her hot little cunt bouncing into the leather saddle.

She couldn't admit it even to herself at first, that her rebelliousness, her hostility, her anger, was her denial of how much her own father turned her on, and her inability to openly acknowledge it to herself that she wanted him to reign her in, that she wanted him to take control of her, that she wanted him to stop her served to enflame her all the more. That he could, turned her on so much she didn't know exactly what she wanted, her frustration mounting, her having to bury her fingers inside herself, pulling at her nipples, images of her father's stern face making her cum.

She knew she was being difficult, she couldn't stop herself, fearing if she wasn't she'd lose all control; the intention to provoke kept her from going fully into the chaos admitting she would want him even without giving him reason, fearing he would reject her desire to be openly punished for no reason other than the sheer ecstatic pleasure of it, even if he didn't know.

He often threw her over his knee telling her she had become an impetuous child, when really she was manipulating him into again pulling her over his lap, sometimes twice in one day.

Though she struggled, though she yelled and screamed at him to let her go, it's what she wanted, her flowered panties soaked through by the time he let her off his lap.

Sometimes she'd struggle so much, so that her dress would ride high enough over her bottom that it didn't pad the blows, her father's hand making direct contact with her pantied bottom, sometimes with the backs of her bare legs. Sometimes she'd try to move just as his hand was coming down, in hopes he'd touch her directly between her legs, or wriggle just so, tempting him, knowing he must see the wet stain of her panties between her flailing legs, wishing, willing him to press his fingers into her hot wet pink little slit under her panties. The mere thought would make her arch her back, cum on the very next blow of his big hand.

Sometimes he'd just lecture or scold her, which she equally enjoyed, each and every word getting her closer. How she'd stand there in front of him, seemingly listening to him but really just focusing on the warm sensation sweeping through her belly the tone and temperament of his voice causing her mind to reel, her nipples to grow hot, the feeling deep in her belly she relished, the sensation of her getting wet so incrementally powerful it almost became like prayer, wanting him to know.

Her arousal was so plain to her it made her angry at him for not noticing, for not responding, at herself for feeling the way she did, for having the thoughts she did; how dare he turn her on like this, how dare he not make her cum, how dare he make her so hot, how dare she have these thoughts at all.

***

Coming back from college during break, Lana remembered perfectly when all this began.

From the time she was little, she'd witness, first with her stepmother, and the staff, the men who would come to the house, how it began to turn her on, the power her father wielded, how he took charge.

That was the phrase she'd repeat to herself in her thoughts.

How he took charge.

She'd tell herself anything to deny it made her wet, that final barrier, father and daughter.

The Colonel at some point realized the affect his scolding had on his lovely Lana.

He'd observed her drift off as he raised his voice, how her eye-lids would half close, how she unselfconsciously rubbed her legs together her hands clasped in front of her.

He recognized she would run to her bedroom afterward, a ritual. He knew fairly quickly that, her moans and whimpers emitting from inside her closed door, echoing from down at the end of the long hall, were not though tears and sobs.

He could tell what his words did to her. When with her hands clasped in front of her she would squeeze her shoulders together, how her nipples mounded through her blouse, how she'd tighten her arms, her shoulders turning inward as if she were trying to rub her upper arms over her nipples, which she was, without being aware she was, or to even realize her father would notice, as if he'd never seen a woman as aroused as she was, as if he wouldn't himself be aroused.

He saw how as he'd raise and lower his voice, she'd press the heels of her palms against her mons, the slight turns of her hands so obviously rubbing the cleft of her slit, the creamy wet slipperiness already between her legs as she pressed against her swelling clit through her fitted skirt. He did see how wet her panties were; he did imagine touching her, worried she would feel how hard he was under her warm soft little belly over his lap.

Lana knew she was touching herself in front of her father, however, she thought inconspicuously, she didn't believe her father knew. When he asked if she understood why he was scolding her, she'd just nod, sometimes purring a slight "nnn-hnn, yes Daddy" in answer, already drifting into that place, already her eyelashes fluttering, her face flush, fully knowing she hadn't at all, which was perfectly fine for her father, he would have reason to scold her again.

Lana didn't realize how her father had also taken to clasping his hands in front of him as he reprimanded her. How he hid his erection behind his tightly tailored suit-jacket covering his waist. The harder he became, the louder or more severe his scolding would become, and how sometimes he'd become so powerfully intense Lana's legs would tangle under her as she came in shuddering concentrated little waves right in front of her father.

He could detect the scent of her warm sex, and once, himself rubbing his cock with the heel of his palm, his hands clasped in front of him, he came, right there in his slacks, right in front of Lana, her eyes closed, only realizing something had changed when his voice changed momentarily to a groan snapping her out of her own reverie. Lana opened her eyes, her father trying in vain to recover; they looked at each other and he knew she saw. Everything was different from then on.

Before long, they both became practiced. Lana's father intoned each word with perfected pitch until Lana's eyes would close altogether, her lips slightly parted, her breathing deep and ragged while he rubbed his cock brazenly in front of her. His one hand clasping the wrist of the other, his free hand openly squeezing, rubbing, pulling on his engorged cock through his slacks his scolding a certain perfected choreography. He watched his daughter react, her body shake and quiver, her lips tremble, how hard his cock would get when she'd bite her lower lip listening to his chastising.

Lana too was brazenly rubbing herself behind her clasped hands, her little fingers turned upward behind her clasped hands, rubbing, sliding back and forth through the cleft of her damp little slit, over her clit, her panties increasingly wet under her long thin summer dress pulled tight at her waist. It was as if with her eyes closed he couldn't see her dress clinging to her, pulled tight into the v of her groin, her hips almost imperceptibly rocking, her body subtly jerking and shaking to the damning music of his voice.

Before long, they were essentially collaborating in their mutually relished performance. Lana would act out, to be punished. Her father would invent new ways, new scenarios by which they could bring each other off without touching one another, or admitting this was what they were both doing.

That unspoken thrill of pretending the other didn't know charged their relationship with an electricity other's didn't recognize for what it was.

***

A year after she had graduated from Oxford, Lana came home to help care for her sick aunt. One evening the Colonel wanted to talk to her about how she had treated her stepmother at a recent family gathering.

The way the Colonel approached her, the way he said it the look on his face was like an erotic jolt brushing through Lana's awareness. So many memories came flooding back. She felt little again, felt her heart race, her pulse quickening, the slipperiness between her legs return, her breasts humming with electric tingles. She became suddenly self-consciously aware, fearful she'd be discovered when her father already knew, her pussy quivering, her nipples so suddenly hot, her breasts so suddenly swollen, burning, the familiar slippery warmth now pouring from between her legs.

Lana flushed and nodded, looking into her father's eyes with a mixture of sumptuous erotic excitement and imploring anticipation. The Colonel felt his cock hardening, rising in his dark slacks, his balls tingling hot so full of cum for his little girl.

Behind closed doors in her father's study, the Colonel said he didn't think she was really hearing him when he was reprimanding her. His pauses were intentional, deliberate, watching, studying Lana's expressions, knowing he was taking her to that place again. He told her it was time she receive a more thorough punishment, and watched as his daughter's body visibly shook.

Lana was already wet being called into the Colonel's study, following him, now, these years later, her entire body humming with excitement. She looked straight ahead, at her father, but inside, she was a churning well of heated perverse arousal. It had been a long time since her father had punished her. She'd missed it. She'd tried to provoke boyfriends that way, but none of them understood. She was so surprised and so intensely aroused she felt herself become so aroused she felt light headed, as if in a dream. She felt her breasts swell under her blouse and her nipples become even harder, achingly desperate to be pinched and pulled like she would do in bed at night, almost every night dreaming of her father.

She looked toward the Colonel, into his eyes and then demurely looking down, wondering whether he saw how hard her nipples were, whether he could smell her heat, whether he saw her rubbing the heels of her palms into her pubis, how she turned her wrists so subtly to press into her clit, her father, a certain nervous sexual energy in her that he picked up on, that she was unable to harness, to restrain, to keep hidden that brought our a beast in him she recognized and longed for.

The Colonel began.

He couldn't after all let her, his daughter, go on to marry still behaving as she was, could he, that, she couldn't go on to behave this way with her husband, or her husband would have to punish her as well.

Lana shuddered, her nervous sexual energy radiating from her like pheromones, imagining how wonderful that would be, her father and her future spouse both punishing her how she'd find ways to be deserving of both; she saw herself still returning to her father's house, even after she was married.

Her father saw her body's long familiar natural reaction to his words, his voice the signal of her nervous energy; his cock ached, hard and throbbing under his slacks, hidden by his suit jacket. He was as excited as Lana, his cock dripping pre-cum, knowing what Lana didn't know.

He delighted in little had changed. He had jerked off so many times thinking about her while she was away at school, images of his daughter, disciplined, obedient, kneeling in front of him, asking him, to take him into her mouth, his beautiful daughter, sucking his cock, her wild sexual energy, her need to please him, to suck him harder, to make him cum in her beautiful warm little mouth.

Lana nodded, a faraway look in her eyes.

"Good girl," he said abruptly. "Then we should begin your training immediately."

Lana's eyelids fluttered, she felt flush hearing him say, my good girl.

It started with the Colonel scolding her much as before, but now, standing in the middle of the study, the door closed and locked, as she would glance at him he would increasingly stringently tell her to stare straight ahead. Her nipples throbbed. He'd not been this demanding before.

He would walk around her his voice raising and lowering, sometimes booming causing Lana's insides to quiver as he'd brush against her, sometimes even bump against her bottom the touch sending waves of vibrating feelings between her legs causing her to draw in her breath.

Her father hearing the shuddering escape of air from his daughter, her sighs, felt his cock ache and throb as he passed close enough to smell her sexual heat. He longed for that moment each day.

Sometimes he would tell her to stand with her hands clasped behind her; he didn't want her able to touch herself. He'd brush by her, purposefully dragging his shoulder across her swollen hot nipples, their both pretending he wasn't purposefully letting his fingers dangle and touch so perversely close to his daughter's cunt, her hips always pushing toward his hand as if she weren't.

Lana couldn't have anticipated her father the next day in his study telling her to bend over. She thought at first to spank her, and she felt that delicious anticipation course through her, wanting to raise her dress rather than feel his hand through the material, waiting for his next command.

His plans for her though had become even more refined. She did as he told her, unselfconsciously spreading her legs to shoulder width, locking her knees, and bending from her waist, waiting for the first strike of his hand, her hands on the wooden back of a chair, her fingers curling around it, tightening, as her father's voice sent wave after wave of delicious, vibrating humming surges through her.

She became aware of the air movement of his passing by her flowing up under her skirt, between her spread legs, felt it tantalizingly swish up between and across her inner thighs, her skirt tight around her legs, hugging her soft little bottom, her thighs, her pussy underneath warm and wet.

He just made her stand their like that, chastising her, telling her how she would indeed comply with his wishes, her bottom finally slowly swaying, her knees bending under the weight of her arousal, her hips subtly rotating, gyrating at the air, at his words, at the image of her father's steely hard erection under his dark slacks burning through her closed eyes. Her panties soaking damp and warm, her pussy dripping wet under her skirt, Lana was already cumming, the sheer pleasure of him demanding it of her, and him watching. The next time, she didn't wear panties.

Day after day, week after week, the scolding became a daily event. There was no longer reason for her to be punished. They both, father and daughter, began to need it, crave it, anticipate it, and Lana found herself looking at her father during the day, imploring, looking to him to signal when it was time, every scolding an escalating repertoire of her father's increasingly creative demands, and Lana's uncompromising willingness, within and under the pretense of her being scolded, for her future well-being.

One day, Lana sensed something different was going to happen, and she was right. She realized he'd brought her all along to this one place, this one moment. He had her stand, this time a few feet away from the wall, facing the wall.

Her father's voice moved around the room behind her, back and forth, getting closer and closer until he was standing behind her, his front pressed to her, touching her, the closest he'd ever stood. She didn't dare look behind her. Unmovable he pressed himself firmly against her bottom, his chest against her shoulders, his whispering hot growling voice right at her ear each whispering cruelty a loving slap causing her to quiver and shake as if she'd been physically struck, her knees weakening, her freshly shaven cunny tingling and dripping wet, her breathing deep and hard, her entire body alight with brimming pleasure.

He threatened that he would have to take greater measures to assure her obedience, and she almost lost her balance. She could feel the heat of his breath, his intensity, his intention, the hardness of his cock pressing through the folds of her pleated skirt, against her bottom, and she again shuddered with a renewed wicked, heated excitement.

She felt herself flush, her perspiring, and her father noticed, too. She could barely breathe, her legs parted, her cunny bare and hot and dripping wet under her skirt, surprised, as her father suddenly tapped the length of the crop he often carried against the outside of her calf. He stepped back, tapped it on her soft hot skin, then harder, the leather stinging, against her outer thigh telling her to bend over as he had before, and Lana, naked under her skirt, her pussy quivering did as she was told, pressing her fingertips to the wall, her bottom pushing back fully into her father's raging hard cock, her tight skirt so firmly gloving her soft little bottom pressed up on her high heels.

The Colonel continued talking, his thighs against the backs of hers, his legs pushing into the backs of her legs preventing her from moving. Their shared heat moist and hot and pulsing, transferring into each other, his groin pressing into her soft bottom, her hot little cunt, his cock standing upright under his slacks pressed firmly between her legs, his thickness pushing through the lips of her pussy radiating her feminine heat, the Colonel rubbed himself flagrantly into his daughter's up thrust bottom, rubbed himself over her heated cunt separated only by the thin material of their clothing, their shared slight movements becoming purposeful, subtle, albeit...unintentional.