Nurturing Britney (Surrender Book 7) by Becca Jameson (best books to read fiction .TXT) 📗

“I don’t like it, Sir,” I repeat as if he needs reminding.

He taps my nose again. “And I don’t like my little girl to misbehave.”

Somehow I finish my lunch, wondering how long he’s going to leave me like this. Sexually frustrated beyond belief. Desperate. So needy that I’m willing to beg.

He wipes my hands and face with a damp cloth and lifts me to the floor. “Go lie on the couch on your back. Stretch your arms above your head as far as you can. Bend your legs and let your knees fall open as wide as possible.”

As I pad across the room, I wonder if this is going to make things worse or better. I do as I’m told, and find myself slightly chilled with the cool leather behind my back. The air in the room is hitting my nipples, making things worse. My panties are soaked and getting wetter. With my knees spread open, I feel very vulnerable and exposed.

Daddy brings his laptop and sits next to me, landing only a few inches from my pussy. He opens his laptop and clicks a few keys before settling his palm on my belly. As he reads whatever is in front of him, he rubs my skin, his fingers gently dancing over me right between the two places I really need the contact. He doesn’t touch my boobs or my pussy.

I concentrate on breathing. Every inhale and exhale brings me closer to the end of this punishment. I vow over and over to be a good girl. I’ve learned several lessons today. Most importantly that Daddy is indeed very strict. I won’t get away with anything under his roof.

When his thumb dips under the edge of my panties, I whimper. He teases that spot for a long time. I remember he mentioned a few hours. That’s a long, long time. I figure lunch was about half an hour. How long is he going to have me lie here open and exposed to him?

I will the arousal to lessen, but it doesn’t. My nipples are still tingling. I don’t think it has even subsided. He adds an element, stroking the undersides of my breasts with his fingers. His hand is large and spread enough to accomplish both of these things at once.

I purse my lips to fight the frustrated moan that wants to escape.

Davis seems engrossed in his computer, but I wonder if he’s pretending. He’s very good at it, absently tormenting me as if he has no idea.

Eventually, he lifts his hand, and I release a breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. He’s not done though. He doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, he switches gears. In fact, he sets his computer on the coffee table and turns to face me. He sets his elbow on the back of the couch and leans his cheek into his palm.

He looks every bit of calm, cool, and collected, and now his other hand is stroking up the inside of my thigh.

I purse my lips, bracing myself for I don’t know what.

He moves so slowly, hardly touching me. When he reaches the edge of my panties, he traces along the elastic. He does this again and again and then moves to the inside of my other thigh and teases that skin next. All the while, he’s watching me, sometimes glancing down at what he’s doing but mostly watching my face.

And he’s smiling, a small knowing grin.

When I arch, he shakes his head slightly. “Stay still.”

He loves doing this to me, making me remain still. It’s maddening. He knows it.

My nipples are screaming for attention. It’s so hard to keep from moving.

He drags one finger over my pussy and flicks my clit.

I cry out.

“You’re permitted to make noises, sweet girl. You may whimper, moan, scream, anything you want to release the tension. You may not move.”

I fist my hands above my head. His words have made my arousal shoot higher.

“Your panties are so wet that the material is darker. I don’t even have to cup your pussy to know you’re soaked.”

I roll my head from side to side. Apparently, that’s permitted because he doesn’t comment.

I’m not looking at him when his finger circles my nipple again, so I arch from the shock.

He flattens his palm between my breasts and applies slight pressure. “No arching.”

I fight the need to defy his demand, panting as I control my spine.

He circles my other nipple next. Not close enough to the tip. Just enough to drive me crazy. He does it again. And again. And then too many times to count. Switching back and forth between my tits, leaving them wanting, needy. I’m crazed with lust.

After a while, his hand trails back down to my pussy and he torments me some more there, teasing the edge of my panties along the top and then sides, next to my pussy. He even pinches the cotton material above my clit and tugs my wet panties up so that they are tighter against my swollen sex.

I groan. My clit is pulsing with the beat of my heart. My channel keeps clenching as if it has any idea what it wants. In a way I understand. There’s a driving need building inside me to have Davis’s cock. I want him to bury himself in me to the hilt. I don’t even care if it hurts a little at first. I want it so badly.

He circles my clit over my panties, not making contact. Sometimes he speaks softly, telling me what a good girl I am, how pretty I am, precious, sweet, sexy, his. His. His. His. He tells me I’m his several times and I can’t breathe from wanting that to be true.

“You’re mine, Britney. My sweet little girl. My good girl.” His voice is gentle. Loving. Serious.

I want to be his good girl. I want to be his everything. I can’t talk because the words are jumbled in my head, all of my attention focused on the