It’s The Morning Of Christmas Eve And We’re Packing And Getting Ready To Head To My Family’s For

It’s the morning of Christmas Eve and we’re packing and getting ready to head to my family’s for Christmas celebrations. Our house is a flurry of activity and all of my clothes, etc. are laid out on the bed and I’m searching for my weekender bag when @NoblyHigh walks in.

“So I see we’re heading on a week-long trip,” he teases.

“Shut up,” I laugh, not even looking at him.

He moves across the room without a word and grabs me by the back of my neck, pushing me facefirst into the bed. He immediately starts to spank me, hitting first one cheek and then the other, reddening them both, while I whimper and whine and squirm beneath him.

“Stay still,” he commands, pushing me harder against the bed, continuing to spank me. I continue to whimper as he hits me but stay still, and suddenly his hand is between my legs.

“Spread them,” he growls and I do, spreading my legs as wide as I can, giving him better access.

His fingers rub my clit and then push roughly inside me. “So wet,” he says, pumping his fingers in and out of me as I writhe beneath him. “Such a pathetic slut,” he continues, abandoning my cunt and beginning to beat me again. “Who gets wet from being treated like this?”

“Me,” I whimper.

He yanks me up by my hair and closes his hand around my throat.

“Are you a good girl?” He asks.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Yeah, you want to be, don’t you?”

I nod.

“And does a good girl tell her Daddy to shut up?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“Knees. Now.”

I sink to my knees in front of him and immediately and willingly take his cock into my mouth. This is my favorite thing to do - my favorite place to be - on my knees, servicing him, giving him pleasure, being his good girl.

Too soon he pulls away and kneels down beside me, his hands going between my legs again, his fingers dipping inside of me.

“Do you want to be my good girl?” He asks.

I nod, moaning and rocking my hips against him. “Yes, Daddy. Yes yes yes.”

He pulls away from me and stands up. “Get up,” he says. “Time to get ready to go.”

As I stand up unsteadily, flustered and disheveled and throbbing and wet, he walks out of the room, but not before he orders: “Write about that, slut.”