"So?"
"So she's caned, of course."
"Caned? You mean like in Malaysian prison?"
"Well, not really that bad. But the way they used to do it in British schools."
"Huh," he said. "That's ... interesting."
The way he said it made me fear for my bottom's future. He wouldn't really, would he? I did want him to be my headmaster, but I wasn't sure I wanted that part.
"Is that all?" he asked.
"Well, no," I said. "Afterwards, the headmaster ... um... teaches Miss Lewis about her young body."
"How exactly does he do that, now?"
"Well, he touches her...."
"Like this?"
"Oh, Daddy, please keep doing that."
"Do I need to teach you about your young body?"
I couldn't respond at that moment, because I was crying out with pleasure. I followed the cry, though, with another cry—this one in the form of the word "Yes!"
"Would you like to request that?"
I gave a little whimper and said, "Please, Sir... Please teach me about my young body."
"Why should I teach you about your young body?"
"Because I am so naughty. I need a firm hand to guide me."
"Where should that firm hand go? Should it spank your bottom?" He withdrew the fingers from between my thighs and gave me a hard spank on both my cheeks.
"Yes! Um... yes," I said, as his fingers returned to where they had been before, rubbing gently up and down the slippery folds.
"Should it pl ay with your young pussy?" That was a special moment in and of itself, for we had never talked dirty before.
"Yes, Sir." But he withdrew his hand cruelly. "Ask for it," he said.
"I shook my head. Please don't make me, Daddy," I said. "I'm a good girl."
"You know that's not true, young lady," he sai d. "Young ladies in this house do what their daddies tell them."
"But it's a bad word!" I protested. "Good girls don't say bad words, do they?"
He spanked me again—three times, hard.
"Ow!" I cried. "What did I do?"
"A proper young lady knows that the most important rule is that she does whatever her daddy tells her to do. Is that clear, little girl?" Three more spanks. Now my bottom was very warm and very painful.
"Yes, Daddy," I said tentatively.
"Now ask for my hand on your young pussy," he said.
"Please, Daddy, please use your firm hand on my young pussy." My cheeks were warm with embarrassment.
"Al l right, my good girl," he said. He returned his hand to the lovely, tormenting pursuits it had been occupied in before. "What's this?" he said. "My good girl's little pussy seems to be much wetter than it was a few moments ago. Really, I can't decide whether you're a good girl or a bad one. So what else happens to Miss Lewis?"
"Mr. Hastings inspects her," I said, "and ..."
"And what?"
"And he touches her... between..."
"Here?" George asked.
"Oh! Yes, Daddy, there."
"Does he only touch her?"
"No," I said. "He—puts his finger..."
"Should I teach you about this place , too? I rather think I shall have to."
Again I couldn't reply. The sensation was simply too great. I could only give a little mew, which I hoped would be taken as assent. He had one finger inside there now, moving it gently back and forth. He had claimed that part of me at last.
He was still sitting on the side of the bed while I lay atop the pillows. I looked up at him; he had turned his upper body (fit but not hunky, I suppose) backwards so that he could reach his right hand down to my little-girl backside and teach me this shameful lesson. He was intent on the lesson; I blushed crimson at the feeling of having to let him use my bottom as he liked, just because he was my daddy. His face was set towards that lewd, humiliating act. He never looked at my face because all my daddy wanted to see was how his finger looked inside my naughty red cheeks as he urged it inward and outward. His disregard for anything but his own lascivious desires where my little-girl posterior was concerned made me quiver with embarrassment but also moan with erotic responsiveness and again to try to ride the pillow to some kind of