Dirty Daddies(51)

This was always how it should be.

All those sessions in Michael’s office, sitting across from him in that chair, thinking about how much I wanted him as he tried to help me any way he could.

Any way but the way I really needed.

He should have put me across his knees right then and there in his office. He should have made me take my punishment and shown me that bad behaviour has consequences other than getting thrown out of yet another home.

I didn’t know it then, but this was always what I wanted.

I take a breath as I shuffle my way across to him, loving the way my dropped jeans restrict my movement. Loving the way his eyes are on my pussy. Loving the way his breath hitches as I let myself drop across his lap.

His hands are kinder than Jack’s. His fingers tickle up my stinging thighs and I wish he’d put them inside me, but he doesn’t.

“I hope you realise we’re doing this because we care,” he says and I find myself nodding again.

I squirm until I feel his dick underneath me. I gasp because I know for sure now that he really does want me.

They both do.

Jack’s voice is gruff when it sounds across the room.

“Tell him you’re going to be a good girl. Tell him you know you deserve this.”

I’ve never felt the way I’m feeling right now, so small and raw and vulnerable.

It feels so nice to let go of the fight in me. It feels so nice to have two men who care enough to work through my shitty attitude.

“I’ll be good,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I’ve been bad, but I promise I’ll be good now.”

“Jack got you pretty bad,” Michael comments and my tummy tickles as his fingers spread my ass cheeks. I burn up all over again at the thought of him staring at my asshole, but I like that too. “You’re so pink.”

I want him to see just how pink I am, so I wriggle until my jeans slip down around my knees and spread my thighs as wide as they’ll let me.

I wonder if I’m leaving a wet patch on his trousers. I wonder if I left one on Jack’s.

My pussy is tingling and desperate to be touched. If I didn’t need my arms to balance myself I’d struggle not to reach back and rub myself.

Michael runs his fingers up the inside of my thighs. I moan for him but he stops too soon.

I stare across at Jack and moan again when I see he’s palming his dick through his trousers. I want him to touch himself. I’d love to see him touch himself.

I don’t think Michael is going to hit me as hard as Jack did, but he surprises me and hits me harder. His slap is loud and stings and sends me jerking forward on his lap. He takes my hair in his fist to stop me and I love the way it pulls at my scalp.

“You’ve been rude to me for a whole fucking week,” he says, and hits me again. “You’ve been rude to me for five whole fucking months.”

And I have. I tell him so and he hits me again.

I tell him I thought he was a pussycat and he slaps my thighs so hard I squeal.

I stop saying anything just to concentrate on how my skin is on fire. It burns a nice burn – one that blooms at my ass and travels right through me.

I love the rhythm as he lands his palm right on all the sore parts. I love the way his breath is raspy.

“I showed Jack my tits,” I tell him. “I took a picture of them and I wanted you to see. Both of you.”

“I know,” he says. “Jack told me.”

“I play with myself in bed at night and I think of you. Of both of you.”

Jack’s palm rubs against his dick through his trousers and his eyes are wild and dark. I hope Michael’s are too.

“Shh,” Michael hisses, but I don’t want to.

“I wanted to fuck Eddie Stevens to make you jealous.” The words sound so raw as they come out. “I wanted you to get angry.”

“It fucking worked,” Jack says. “If you’d have let that loser inside your pretty little pussy I’d have ripped his fucking dick off.”

I cry out as Michael speaks through his hand. Harder now. Much harder. His slaps tell me everything.

“Stay away from Eddie fucking Stevens,” Michael growls and he slaps me again and I squeal like a pig.

“I don’t want Eddie,” I tell them, panting for breath. “I want you. Both of you.”

“You’re too young,” Michael snaps and Jack’s hand stops palming his cock.

“I’m eighteen,” I argue. “I’m more than old enough.”

“We’re in our fucking forties,” Michael says, but I know that.

I like that.

I tell him so and he lands me a good one, right between my ass cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for all of it. Just don’t make me leave… don’t send me away… not even if you have to do this every night, not even if you have to wash my mouth out with soap…”