Chapter Seven
"Thank you for the party last night, Natasha. Carol said that you were the one who planned most of it. I had a surprisingly good time." Her father took a sip of his orange juice and smiled at his lovely daughter.
"It's my pleasure, Daddy. You know I love you."
"I love you too, princess." He paused for a moment before speaking again. "You know, is it just me, or have you been happier lately? You've been rather giddy all weekend."
Natasha blushed. There was a reason that she giddy, and his name was Dean Ambrose.
"Well actually, Daddy…I met a boy."
"A boy, hmm?" he asked, peering over the Sunday newspaper.
"Well, he's a man, really. A very strong, manly man."
Natasha saw her Father slightly drop his newspaper; she had caught his attention on that last bit. He'd often accused Natasha of not dating 'real men', but he could never accuse Dean of not being a real man.
"What does he do?" Daddy asked.
That was always her Father's first question about her boyfriends. If they were suitably employed he would ask more questions and if they weren't he'd berate Natasha for her poor choice in men. Natasha didn't think he would approve of Dean's occupation, so she wasn't sure how to answer.
"I'm not sure," was the answer she eventually settled on.
This made her Father actually set his newspaper aside.
"You aren't sure?" he repeated, frowning. Natasha sucked in her bottom lip awaiting a lecture from her Father. "Natasha, how many times have I told you that the first question you should ask a man before you accept a date from him is what his job is?"
"Oh, I asked Daddy! I just ... it's complicated. He travels a lot," she burst out. If she wasn't careful rather than protecting Dean, she'd make him sound like a bum.
She became concerned that she'd given her Father the wrong answer, especially when he made a 'tsk' noise.
"He won't even tell you what he does for a living. 'He travels a lot', I bet he does! Where does he travel to? Between different women?" he said, his voice rising up at the end of his thought of a man messing his daughter around.
The funny thing was, he probably wasn't far off the truth. Natasha wasn't so naive to truly believe that he had only had sex with her, but she could still hope that it was the case.
"No, Daddy!" she blurted out anyway, "I know what he does. I just can't tell you because he works on TV and nobody can find out about me. I promise you he does. I've seen his shows!"
"Oh," her Father answered in surprise.
"Is he like an actor?"
Natasha just nodded. It wasn't far from the truth, really.
"Oh, Natasha! That's fantastic news!"
If there was one thing her Father wanted more for his daughter than a rich husband, it was a famous husband.
"Well, how old is he then?"
Natasha had to think about that one, but her Father did not find her pause before answering suspicious. She often took a long time to answer questions.
"Ermmm, 28," she eventually said.
Her Father nodded enthusiastically. Twenty-eight sounded like a good age to him, not too young, not too old.
"And you say he's a 'strong, manly man'"? her Father said with a grin.
"Oh yes Daddy!" she gushed, blushing just thinking about how he looked. "He's really tall and muscly, he works out a lot. And sooo handsome!"
"I'm so happy for you, princess," he said cheerily as he picked up his paper and began to read again.
Or at least he would have if Natasha hadn't continued rambling.
"He has these icy blue eyes that twinkle when he's on top of me. And his hands….his hands are sooo big and they feel so rough when he grabs me…"
"Natasha."
"…And his mouth can make me feel things I never thought were possible, and he's such a good fuck!"
"Natasha!"
She was jolted out of her rant by her father's booming voice. She hadn't meant to get so carried away, but thinking about Dean just sort of got her going.
"I'm sorry, Daddy."
"I really don't want to hear that stuff. Please. Just…don't lose this one, okay? He sounds…like a keeper."
She nodded, smiled, and ran over to kiss him on the cheek. She dismissed herself from the dining room and went upstairs. She was about to turn into her room, when something caught her eye in her father's room across the hall.
It was rare for her to enter her father's room, so she was a bit nervous. She knew that her dad liked to keep it neat and clean, so he'd know if she touched anything. She walked toward the back wall, which was what had caught her eye, and sized up the brand new oil painting that was hanging there. Her father loved art and often commissioned paintings. This must have been the new one that he purchased for his birthday. She was admiring the color contrast and texture of the paint when her phone vibrated.
"Hey bitch, ready for your last challenge?"
Such a charmer…but Natasha felt oddly turned on by his degrading term of "endearment".
"Yes, Mr. Ambrose. Hold on one moment. I'm in my dad's room, so let me go back to my room."
She turned to leave when she got a quick reply back.
"No. Stay there. That's perfect. You dirty girl."
Was he insane? It would look the worst if she stayed in her Father's room and got caught doing something inappropriate. Also, did he actually think she was already doing something she shouldn't be in there? That was just gross!
"I'm sorry, I can't. I might get caught," she texted back.
Then she left her Father's bedroom, being careful to keep her footsteps light. Even though he would not shout at her for looking at his painting, Dean had made her feel really bad about even being in there. As she was walking down the long corridor to her own bedroom, he replied. Natasha leaned against a wall to read his text. She was ready for a mean text because she had just refused to obey an order.
"Bitch, do you want to see me on Monday or not?"
That was not as bad as she thought it would be and he'd just called her that word again that made her feel things she never knew such a degrading insult could. Fuck it. Her Father was busy downstairs. He would have no clue that she had been in his room if she left it in the state it had been when she had entered it. She tiptoed back again and carefully closed the bedroom door. To really impress Dean, she took a photo of the room to show him that she was indeed in her Father's room.
"Yes Mr. Ambrose. I'm sorry. I'm back in his room now," she sent along with the picture.
"You're in his room now? So you left? You better instantly obey my next order. Take off all of your clothes, lie on Daddy's bed and spread your pussy lips."
Natasha grew very hot. She was in a dilemma now. Should she obey and risk getting caught, but definitely see Dean on Monday? If she wanted to see Dean badly that was what she should do, but it just wasn't an option, no one would do what he was asking her to do. All she could do now was beg for leniency.
"Please don't make me do that Mr. Ambrose. If my Dad catches me, he'll go crazy. I can take a pic of myself in here, but I can't do that on his bed."
She was meeting him halfway. That was more than most girls would give. Her heart pounded. Her Father could come up the stairs any moment and if she had to make a dash for her room, it would look extremely suspicious. But then her phone rang, mere moments after she had texted him, and the caller was 'Mr. Ambrose'. God, she'd really done it now. He was ringing up to shout at her at best or to tell her he was never going to see her again at worst. She let it ring a couple of times whilst plucking up the courage to answer.
"Hey M-Mr. Ambrose," she stuttered.
"You do realize what is at stake here, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I'm not quite sure that you want to fuck me as badly as you whined and begged last week. It's no loss of mine if I never see you again. There are thousands of pussies that are desperate for my dick, so if yours wants it again, you'd better just stop fighting it and obey me."
Natasha was silent for a moment. She wasn't quite sure what to say. She really did want to have sex with him again. Even after their first encounter, she knew that there was something addictive about him. She couldn't quite describe it. She really didn't want him to be with any other girls. The thought alone made her jealous and a little angry. Still, if he didn't care about having sex with her again, why was he being so persistent about these challenges? Why was he taking the time to actually call her up to scold her? That made it seem like maybe he cared at least a little bit.
She shook her head of these thoughts and returned to the situation at hand. She had been making Dean wait entirely too long for a response.
"Yes, Mr. Ambrose. You're right. I do want to sleep with you again and I like it when you tell me that I'm a good girl."
"I like it when you're a good girl. One thing though. We didn't sleep together, we fucked. Say it."
She hated that crude word. Sure it sounded sexy when being said in that raspy voice of his, but Natasha really hated saying it aloud. She bit her lip and swallowed, knowing that she'd just have to get over it.
"We fucked, Mr. Ambrose."
"Nice. Yeah, we did fuck and you were such a good little slut. I want to be able to fuck you again, but only if you listen to me. Now get naked, lie on his bed, and spread that beautiful pussy."
His voice was so entrancing that she obeyed immediately this time. Therapists could probably use his voice to hypnotize patients. She left her clothes in a small pile and carefully climbed onto her father's giant four post bed. She stayed near the edge, just in case she needed to make a quick escape. She spread her legs like he had demanded and took a photo, which at this point was something that was safe to assume that he wanted. She brought the phone up to her ear again.
"I'm sending the picture to you right now."
"OK," he simply answered.
There was pause where nothing was said whilst he waited for the picture to arrive. All that could be heard was Dean's breathing down the phone and it really turned her on. She had it so bad for that man that she even found the sound of his breathing sexy.
"Here it is, let's take a look," he finally said. "Hmm you look like such a slut." Then he laughed aloud as if he had been trying hard to contain a laugh and had failed. "Zooming in..."
His talking through looking at the picture was far more embarrassing than just snapping them and sending them to him. Even Natasha was starting to wonder what she had made a fuss about now.
"You're so fucking wet aren't you? Did you get a wet patch on Daddy's bed? You dirty, dirty girl."
"No Mr. Ambrose!" Natasha gasped. She'd taken care to make sure that part of her didn't touch the sheets. It would be mortifying to leave a stain.
"You will now. Touch your pussy for me on Daddy's bed."
"No, I can't," Natasha responded without hesitation.
"Are you sure you can't? Last chance. Do it."
"Please don't make me. I've done everything you asked me to."
Dean didn't answer her and Natasha wondered if she had stepped so far out of line that he wouldn't see her on Monday now ...
"Please, pretty please can we stop this now? I've shown you how much I want to see you on Monday. How much I want you to fuck me," Natasha said blushing. It was not a word that she usually used.
Then Dean let out a long sigh.
"Fine. Go to your room," he ordered.
"Thank you Mr. Ambrose!"
"Don't thank me yet!" he snapped over her. "GO TO YOUR ROOM!"
She quickly tossed the phone to the ground and scrambled off the bed. She pulled her shirt back over her head and slipped her panties and slacks over her ankles. She had just finished pulling them up and was working on her zipper when her dad entered his room.
"Oh Natasha...what are you doing in my room? You know I don't like it when you're in here."
"I'm sorry, Daddy. I just noticed your new painting and came in to admire it."
He walked in past her and nodded toward the painting. She took this as a chance to bend over and snatch her phone off the ground before he could notice it.
"It is a remarkable piece. I can't say I blame you for admiring it."
"Thank you for letting me look at it, Daddy. I'm going to go back to my room now."
Her father didn't acknowledge her leaving, he was so wrapped up in his art, but as she slipped into her room, she heard him ask, "Does it smell strange in here?"
She put the phone back to her ear. "I'm alone in my room now."
"Just admiring the painting, huh? You little liar."
"That was what I was doing when you called.
"You still lied to your father's face and you haven't been obeying me when I first ask you to do something. So for your final instruction, I want you to spank yourself as punishment. I want you to film it and send it to me. I'll hang up so you can get started. You have five minutes."
"Wait! Hang on! What did you say? Hello? Hello?!" she said, but it was too late because he'd hung up as soon as he had given her instructions.
"How am I meant to spank myself" she texted him desperately.
"On your bare ass with your hand. Hurry up. You're wasting time," was his speedy reply.
This felt like the silliest thing Natasha had ever had to do, but she pulled her slacks and panties down in preparation anyway, fully aware that she was getting off lightly. Then when she was naked from the waist down, she realized how difficult a task this could be. She needed to be able to hold the phone in such a position that her ass would be in focus and keep her right hand free to spank herself. She decided to kneel on the floor and lean against her bed. Holding out the phone behind her, she hit record then got ready to give herself the first slap, but hesitated. This was more than silly. This was downright embarrassing. But 30 seconds had passed on the recording and still her hand had not struck her backside, so she clenched her eyes closed and gave herself the first slap. The sound rung out around the empty room and it was worryingly loud. She gave herself another…
"Natasha? Is that you?"
She heard her Father's voice call down the corridor.
"Oh God!" she said to herself, forgetting the recording.
She couldn't respond to her Father without drawing unwanted attention to herself, so she hurried to give herself a few more slaps, much lighter this time and in a fast flurry. She squealed when she felt her cheeks bounce slightly. It did not hurt, but the sensation made her feel ridiculous. After about three minutes of recording had been amassed, she stopped, hoping that would be enough. Then she sent it to Dean without an accompanying message, got dressed again, and slumped face first on to her bed in embarrassment. As she lay there, she thought of how hilarious Dean would find it and the horror of next seeing him and his friends after he'd shown that video to everyone, until her phone rang. She took a deep breath before answering.
"Hey," she answered Dean shyly.
"What was that?" he asked.
"Erm, a spanking?"
"You call that a spanking? Wait until Monday, I'll show you what a spanking is."
"Dean!" she couldn't stop herself wailing. "I took my punishment!"
"Stop whining. I'll spank you harder than you've ever been spanked-"
"But I've never been spanked before!" she interrupted him.
He sighed and waited to see if she would say anything else before he began to speak again. "Okay, let me put it this way. I'm going to give you a spanking that will make every boyfriend you've ever had look like a pussy. I'm going to spank you so hard that whenever another guy tries to give you a few smacks on your ass, you'll think of me and get so wet from the thought that you'll realize that I ruined you for other men. I'm going to give you a spanking that you'll remember for your whole life."
Natasha sat on her bed in a stunned silence.
"Did that get my point across?"
"Y-yes, Mr. Ambrose."
"Good girl. Don't forget to bring those crotchless panties of yours. I assume you'll be in the front row again?"
"Yes, Mr. Ambrose."
"Cool. I'm looking forward to Monday, Natasha."
"It's Natasha, Mr. Am-, wait, you got it right!" she said with a smile, but he had already hung up.
She put her phone down and lied back onto the bed. A spanking that she'll remember for her whole life. Her ass hurt just thinking about it. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.