Oh, Lola

Lola is being a brat.

Her office is closed today. She wants me to stay home with her and I can’t, so she’s acting up.

First, it was pouting. Those soft lips of hers, tinted pink, puckering into a perfect little rosebud while her chin dimpled, and her Wedgewood blue eyes glittered with tears. She has this way of inclining her head and looking up at me through her dolly lashes. It looks innocent enough, but the way she pulls her arms in and leans forward so I follow the line of her eyes, to her pout, to her cleavage reveals it for what it is.

Manipulative little so-and-so. Every other time I’ve seen her pull that trick I’ve grabbed her and kissed her breathless, so why she thought it would work today is anybody’s guess.

When I let her go, rosy-cheeked and gasping, she stamped her foot. I raised an eyebrow. She folded her arms, pushing her tits higher. The little bow of her gingham dress got trapped between them. She thought she had her own way when I reached out and ran a finger around the lace edge of her exposed bra, but when I just liberated the bow and walked away she squealed in temper.

Like I need this today. I look harassed as I open my briefcase, slip in my glasses, a couple of files, and an apple. I look busy, flicking through a few papers, checking the time, making sure I haven’t forgotten my fountain pen.

But the truth of it is, my attention isn’t on work. It’s on the whiny brat kicking up a fuss in the en-suite. I can hear her talking to herself. She’s mumbling to one of the rubber ducks on the side of the bath. The one with the ball gag in its mouth is her favourite so it’s probably that one. She’s telling it that I’m not going to get very far and I immediately know what she means.

“Where did you put my car keys, Lola?”

I peer into the en-suite when she giggles, and she slaps a hand over her mouth. The fingers of her free hand fiddle with the lace tops of her ankle socks. She widens her already alarmingly large eyes and shrugs.

For fuck’s sake! I turn away quickly so she doesn’t see the sudden bulge at the top of my left leg. My keys will be in the blanket cupboard in the hall, she always puts them in there. With a long-suffering eyeroll I go to check and, as expected, there they are. Right at the back beneath her Care Bears blanket.

Lola’s on the bed when I go back into the bedroom. Her mobile phone is playing one of her favourite songs – Girls Just Want to Have Fun – and she’s hugging a frilly pillow and swinging her legs. I try not to, but I can’t help slipping my gaze from the lace at the tops of her socks to the lace at the top of her thighs. The short gingham dress is edged in it. If it hadn’t been there I’d have been able to see her knickers.

I speak sternly, pointing at her with my keys. “I should spank you for that, lady.”

One of the keyrings catches my eye. It’s a picture of us; me in a grey suit and Lola wearing white satin. And lace, of course. The sight of it pulls me in another direction for a second so I lower my hand and say, “Consider that a warning.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

My briefcase snaps shut just as she says it, lending a sense of impertinence to her words. I know she doesn’t…she wouldn’t…but I can’t help but grip the side of the dresser while I count to ten.

She knows I’m doing it. The tight set of my shoulders, the way I dig my toes into the carpet…she knows I’m struggling with myself.

I peer over my shoulder and see something I don’t think I can deal with right now. The pouting is gone. It’s been replaced with a barely concealed smirk. What the fuck has she done now? I need to get out of the front door because if I don’t…

Thanks to the aching, rock hard cock in my trousers I move slowly. Socks on. Where are my cufflinks? There, on the dresser beside Lola’s work ID. My house keys? If they’re in the fucking bread bin again…ah, no. They’re on the unicorn hook beside Lola’s pink feather boa.

“Where’s my belt?”

It should be on the back of the dresser chair, but it isn’t. The next breath I take feels like it’s full of thorns. My throat is dry. My palms aren’t. Although I only spoke quietly when I asked about my belt, it was Lola’s cue to say she didn’t know. But she doesn’t utter a word.

When I turn my gaze on her I can read my expression in the changes in hers. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. Pulls on a curl. Hugs the pillow tighter and draws her knees beneath her.

I know by her wide-eyed stare that my eyes have darkened from pale grey to slate. That my jaw is flexing every time I grind my back teeth together. And I know that when I say her name, my voice will be deeper, rougher. Full of restraint that’s just about spent.


“Yes, Daddy?”

Fuck! My cock strains against my trousers when she starts to bite her stilettoed, pink fingernail.

“Do you have my belt?”

Of course she has it.

“I do, Daddy.”

“Give it to me, please.”

I expect her to reach under the duvet and slip it out, faking contrition as she loweres her gaze and hands it to me. But that’s not what she does. She gets to her feet, swinging her hips so that her dress puffs out a little at the hem. It flashes her bare cunt, but that only holds my attention for a few seconds. She’s pulling the top of her dress down. Slipping the sleeves off her arms, letting the nipped in waist stop it from dropping to her feet. And there, wrapped tightly around her tits, is my black leather belt.

Jesus! What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? I need to go to work, I have to get there before nine because…shit. She’s unbuckling the belt. The quiet rattle of the buckle makes my ass tighten. Seeing her nipples emerge, seeing the red lines the belt has left across her tits…my cock starts to leak. Then when I see that not quite remorseful frown…

“On your knees, Babygirl,” I whisper.

Lola drops where she stands, eyes and mouth both open wide.

I take the belt from her. Loop it in my hand and crack it, making her fingers stumble on my zip. When she tries to pull my trousers down I whack her knuckles with the belt.

“Leave them on. Just get my cock out.”

She does as she’s told. A breath rattles from my lungs as she laps up the beads of precum on the tip. I love watching her do this. She’s always been so good at sucking cock. But part of my mind is on the clock and I don’t have time to savour her talents like I usually would.

Whipping the belt around her neck, I pull her closer. “Take it all in,” I instruct.

She parts her lips further, using her tongue to pull me deeper into her mouth.

“Did God give you hands just so you can eat?”

Fingers cup my balls. I shudder when one finger presses just beneath my asshole.

“That’s it,” I coo. “All the way to the back of your throat.”

Lola’s forehead presses against my belly and I hear a quiet croak. So I bounce myself off her face. A louder croak. I’m breathing hard when I yank on the belt and thrust forward at the same time. Lola gags and tries to rear back but I won’t let her. Her hands flail, my heart races, her hands flatten against my ass and I sigh as she pulls me closer.

When I start to thrust, Lola moans. She looks up at me and my heart almost explodes when I see gratitude shining from her teary eyes.

“That’s my good girl!” I growl, belt in one hand now so I can grab handfuls of her silky, honey curls. “Suck Daddy’s cock just like that.”

She isn’t really sucking my cock, though. She can’t, I’m face fucking her too hard and too fast. Smeared cherry pink lip tint makes the skin around her mouth look raw. Her eyeliner is trickling down her cheeks in wishy-washy black lines. One of her dolly lashes is hanging down the side of her eye.

It never fails to amaze me how happy she looks when I abuse her like this.

I notice that she’s playing with her nipples. Watching flashes of her squeezing hard, pinching, stretching and slapping makes me want to come. I know I’m about to come, so I grab her by the shoulders and drag her to her feet. To the bed. I throw her down, face first, loop the belt and hiss,

“Beg for it!”

“Please, Daddy!” she wails. “Please, please, please.”

The only thing that could possibly be louder than the rattle of leather raining down on a bare ass would be the screams that would wake the dead if Lola didn’t have her face buried in the duvet. After I give her the sixth lash I flip her onto her back and shove her leg in the air.

She’s grinning from ear to ear. My chest burns so much I’m choking on my breaths, my vision is blurring, my wrist is aching. How, after all this time, can she still do this to me? How can she make me – the man who is supposed to be calm, collected, protective – lose control to the point where I treat her like a piece of meat?

“Give it to me, Daddy,” she pleads. Her sweet little voice is gone now, taken over by her very sultry, very grown-up one. “Cover me in it.”

I double over, crying her name, covering her mouth and nose with my hand until her eyes are bloodshot and my cock is spent. Spunk trickles down the crack between her lips. Using one finger, I press it between them, rubbing it in until she stiffens beneath me, revelling in the desperate, greedy gasp of air she drags into her lungs when I let her breathe again.

“I’m going to work,” I tell her. Her satisfied smile drops a little, so I add on, “Tomorrow,” with a sigh. She gives me that sweet smile of hers that says, I win.

Ah, my Lola. What a fucking brat you really are.

Week #189
Prompt by Missy

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