Some discipline issues with my step-daughter… [Mf]

I pull up at the apartment and I’m angry before I even park. I stomp up the steps and key open the bolt and fling open her front door.

“Britney!” I demand, “I know you’re here. The car I bought you is in the parking lot.”

She scampers out from the kitchen, still in her pajamas. “Daddy! Is that you? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?” Her tone is innocent and cute, as if that would work on me.

“Don’t ‘daddy’ me,” I say, “You only ever call me that when you’re trying to get away with something.”

“But I’m not–” she starts, giving me the puppy dog eyes, “I haven’t done anything wrong, Daddy– uh, Bill.”

There are twin shadows on her chest, points where her nipples jut out against the fabric of her thin shirt. I shake my head. “And dressed like that? Your mother would have a conniption fit.”

“These are just my pajamas!” she says, looking down, pulling on her low-wasted flannel pants.

“I know,” I say, “That’s the problem.”

Her brown hair is pulled back in a tight bun, exposing the piercings that run up her ear, the ones she used to try to hide from me. I sigh and place my hand on her shoulder, guide her to her small dining table. Her butt is prominent, the white letters on the seat of her pants drawing attention to it. I shake my head and pull out a chair for her, set another opposite. “Sit, we need to have a talk.”

“Oh,” she says, looking frightened, avoiding my gaze.

“Do you know what time it is?” I start.

“What? Of course I do, what kind of–”

“Then tell me,” I cut her off, “What time is it?”

Her eyes are wide. “Eleven-fifteen.”

“Eleven-sixteen,” I correct her, “And what time did your classes begin today?”

I see her understand, the realization clicking in. She sucks in a breath, “I can explain! The professor said I don’t have to go to every… what? What?”

I’m holding up my hand, waiting for her to stop. And even when she does, I make her wait before speaking. Finally, I say, “Don’t bother trying to make excuses. There is no justification for ditching classes. Classes that, I should remind you, are at a very expensive private university. Classes that you asked me to pay for. Classes you drive to using a car that you asked me to pay for. While living in an apartment that you asked me to pay for.”

“But, Daddy–”

“When I married your mother,” I continue, “We talked about this. About your education. About how I shouldn’t feel obliged to pay for it.”

“Daddy, please, I can explain–”

I slam my fist on the table and Britney jumps back, tits bouncing under her shirt. “But you plead your case. Explained how you needed to go to this pricey, out-of-state university. How it was your only prospect for the future, how seriously you were going to take your education.”

“Daddy…” she whines.

“You promised, Britney.” I let it linger. “You promised me that you were going to be diligent, do your homework, study at night, no partying, no boys, no distractions. You promised me you were here to be successful.”

She collapses in her seat, head bowed. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Sorry?” I bark, “‘Sorry’ is a little bit inadequate here, no?” I lean in. “We saw your marks from last quarter. Your mother is so disappointed she couldn’t even be here, sent me. The conversation we are having today is…”

I’m not trying to stare at her nipples, but her breasts are large and push out against the fabric of her tight shirt. And her nipples, they’re poking through so clearly, so prominently, I can’t help but notice. “Do you have nipple piercings?”

“What? No!” She’s near hysterics, covering her chest with her arm.

I pull her arm away, look closer. “In what world do you think it’s acceptable to turn yourself into a slut?” I reach out, pinch her nipple before she can block me. I feel the metal barbell, pluck on it, pull on it, watch her tit bounce.

She squeals, “Daddy, what’re you–?”

“Do you like that, pretending that you’re a whore?” I say. I grab her breasts with both hands, groping her as I fumble with her piercings. “Getting your nipples tweaked? Isn’t that what these are for? So you can get off like sluts do?”

“Please, no…” she whimpers as my fingers work, “They’re just for looks. I’ll take them out, I swear.”

“Another promise you can break?” I say, squeezing her chest in my palms, “You’re lucky it’s me here and not your mother. She would never forgive you if she knew about these.”

She’s looking away, arms limp at her sides, shame heavy on her cheeks.

“I wonder,” I say, looking around, re-examining her apartment, “What else am I going to find here? What else don’t we know about?”

Her voice is small. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” I start, pulling her chin up, making her look at me, “I wonder, you’ve shown so little regard for my rules. Maybe you have other secrets you’re keeping from me.”

I see her steal a look towards a cabinet high in the kitchen, then glance away. It’s quick, she doesn’t even turn her head, but I caught it.

“What do you have?” I say, “Cigarettes? Liquor?”

“No! No-no-nothing,” she stammers.

I pinch her nipple, make her cry out. “Show me!” I take her arm, pull her up.

Britney shuffles into the kitchen, chin tucked, disgrace on her face. She stands before the cabinet. “It’s not mine, it’s my friends’, I was just holding it for her, I promise–”

“Open it!”

She stretches up on her tip toes, reaching for the high cabinet, swinging it open. There’s an unusual glass item sitting on a shelf, colorful and twisted, too many curves to keep track of.

“What is that?!”

“It’s… it’s a bubbler.”

“A what?”

“A glass pipe,” she says, “For smoking weed– err, marijuana.”

“Drug paraphernalia?!” I yell, “This is a new low, even for you, Britney. You’ll be lucky if your mother doesn’t disown you when I tell her about this.”

“Please don’t!” she begs, “Please, she’ll kill me! She will.”

I scowl. “You expect me to lie to your mother?” I step closer to her. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to repeat myself.”

She turns around obediently, faces the counter. I push her pants down, expose her ass.

“What are you doing?” she says, her voice shaky.

“If you’re going to behave like a child,” I pull my hand back, “Then I’ll treat you like a child.” I swat her ass, hard. Her butt is thick, plump, full. Perfect for smacking. It rebounds from my hand’s impact.

Britney sucks a breath, tenses up. “Please, Daddy, I’ll be better…”

“And you probably believe that, too,” I say, “But that’s just your shame speaking, your embarrassment at being caught.” I spank her again, making a loud clapping sound.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whimpers, “I’ve learned my lesson–”

“You think this is fun for me?” I spank her again, then again, and again. I let my hand linger, squeeze her ass just for a moment. “Having to cancel my plans, drive all the way out here, have my worst suspicions confirmed?”

“I don’t know, Daddy… I don’t know…” she cries, panting.

Between her legs, she surges with heat, and her skin becomes shiny as a dampness grows on her thighs.

“You– You’re sick!” I exclaim, “You’re getting turned on by this!”

“What? No!”

I spank her again, and she moans, pinching her legs together. “Yes you are, you little slut,” I say, “I can’t believe this.” I spank her again, then slide my fingers between her thighs, slick up my fingers in her wetness. “Tell me that’s not arousal.” I hold my hand to her nose. “Tell me that’s not your slut juice dripping down your leg. And so much of it, I can’t believe you.”

“No, Daddy, it’s just sweat!”

“You’ve never been a good liar,” I say, “Bend over, touch your toes.”

She gasps, “But you’ll see–”

“Do it!”

“Please, Daddy!” she whimpers, but does what I say.

“You think you can hide things from me?” I kneel down, look at her sex. “Like that you’re waxed!? I’m in disbelief, Britney. It’s one thing to waste my money, another thing entirely to spend it turning yourself into a whore.”

She pinches her eyes closed and cries, “You shouldn’t see me like this.”

And then I find it. “A ring?” I exclaim, “On your pussy?” I flick it with my finger, hear her yelp. “You think you’re some sort of porn star? What else have you done to yourself?” I rub my thumb through her lips, over her clit, along her ridge.

She shivers, teeth clenched while her pussy drips anew.

“What’s the matter, Britney?” I taunt her, “Is it the embarrassment that’s turning you on? Or the attention?” I slide my finger inside her, feel her heat. She moans. “Or maybe you just like getting groped like a slut.”

“Daddy, please…” she whimpers, “Let me explain.”

“Fine,” I say, “Explain.” My middle finger joins my index, penetrating her. “Explain to me why I’m paying tens of thousands of dollars for you to break my trust. To whore yourself out. To fail your classes.” My fingers pump into her, an insistent rhythm. “I’d love to hear this, Britney. I’d love nothing more than for you to explain.”

She pants, her chest heaving, writhing on my fingers.

“I’m waiting,” I say, “Any day now.” I give her clit a long, hard rub.

“Daddy, please!” she whimpers, “Please, please, please…”

“Please what?” I curl my fingers inside her, swish them back and forth.

“Please!” she cries, “You’re going to make me–”

I smirk, push into her harder. “Make you what?”

“Make me cummmmmmm…” she wails, “Ohhhnnnggg…” Her legs quiver, and she shakes, fighting to keep control. But it’s too much, her knees give out, and she collapses to the ground, gaze distant, thighs quivering, biting her lip.

“You’re out of your depth, Britney.” I watch her chest heave, her cheeks bright red with shame. “I’m going home now. But I’ll be back next week to check in, see what progress, if any, you’ve made. I hope I will not be disappointed.”

“Sorry, Daddy.” Her hand is between her legs, and she’s masturbating.

I leave her there.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/vdylay/some_discipline_issues_with_my_stepdaughter_mf